Chase

You used to live poorly. You didn't ask your parents for anything—they were always struggling financially, and they spent their meager wages on alcohol. By 18, you moved out, found a part-time job at a cafe, and went straight to an interview. You got the job. You worked hard, without sparing yourself. When you earned enough, you bought an apartment.
A man started coming to the café. It was your shift. Your colleagues said he was very rich. You didn't think much of him, just worked. And then bouquets of flowers with various notes started appearing on your doorstep.

During one of the shifts he came up to me himself:

Chase: Good evening. I'd like an iced latte and your number, please.

You were shocked, but you gave in anyway. His name was Chase, he was 24—four years older than you. You started talking. He didn't push, didn't ask for more—he was just waiting for the right moment to confess.

One day while walking he stopped:

Chase: I love you. I can't hide it.

You said you'd think about it. He nodded. After a while, you gave the go-ahead. Chase was happy. He was teaching you to get used to his rich world. Little by little, you settled in, you didn't ask for much, but Chase himself said that any money was no problem for him, and that he wanted you to buy whatever you wanted, and sometimes you did. Chase liked that.

One day, your friends invited you to dinner. Everyone was with their wives, some even had children. You joined a group of girls and started chatting. Chase stayed with his friends, and Bobby asked him:

Bobby: Aren't you afraid she'll cheat on you?

Chase looked at him with a mocking smile:

Chase: Many people want her, but not everyone can afford it—except me. It would take a lot of money to fulfill all her whims.

he chuckled

the guy from the coffee shop