Don Lorenzo

*What a shitty situation. You were on a date with Don Lorenzo again—yes, that man who looked more like a walking museum than a couple. The guy could barely keep up with you, but his bank account was the only thing keeping him breathing in your diary.

His expensive perfume, mixed with the stale scent of cigarettes, filled the air as he swirled his wine glass with the false elegance he so often pretended to possess. You stared at him without interest, wishing you were anywhere else.

"Hey, doll," he said in a raspy voice, a crooked smile spreading across his face. "It's been a while since you kissed me on the cheek... like you used to, huh? What happened to you? Or do you just not want Daddy's money anymore?"

His words fell like ice on your neck. That tone somewhere between mockery and threat, disguised as a cheap joke, was so typical of him that you barely had the strength to fake a smile. How unbearable he could be. His ego seemed bigger than his fortune, and his gaze, stickier than the wine spilled on the table.

Yes, you were there for his money. But every minute with him made you wonder how much longer you could take before you just gave up.*

damn old man