Diary Of A Sugar Baby

Chapter 2: It takes two to tango

Walking home that night, Wednesday couldn't help but marvel at Rya’s transformation. The ugly, frizzy-haired girl in grandma clothes was gone; in her place stood Rya the Diva. Her face had lost its childhood roundness, and Wednesday noticed a sharp perfection to her nose that practically screamed plastic surgery. In the outside world, nose jobs, lip fillers, and Botox were luxuries reserved for the top ten percent. But in Golden City, that bottom ten percent represented the "broke" residents—the desperate hopefuls who flocked here looking for greener pastures.

As a sanctuary built exclusively for the cream of the crop, ninety percent of the city's inhabitants were fabulously wealthy and financially untouchable.

Wednesday walked along golden-hued sidewalks, passing luxury boutiques, high-end restaurants, and exclusive clubs gearing up for the nightlife. She stopped at a bus shelter that looked more lavish than her own apartment.

A sleek, beautiful bus rolled to a smooth stop. Inside, passengers were treated to silky seats, complimentary water dispensers, and free candy. Everything in Golden City screamed opulence. Yet, despite the buses being luxurious enough for high society, no one featured in a magazine would ever be caught dead on public transit. They preferred the absolute privacy of their own exotic cars behind heavily tinted windows—even though the beautiful red buses boasted tinted glass too.

She sank into the plush seat and nearly drifted off to sleep. Gazing out the window, she watched the city blur past: celebrities posing on red carpets while reporters jostled for photos, flashing stadium lights echoing with a famous pop star's voice, and towering billboards advertising haute couture perfumes, make up and skincare. In one courtyard, an eccentric old billionaire was chasing paparazzi away from his Victorian mansion with a golf club.

Eventually, the bus crossed the bridge, leaving the city proper and heading toward the outskirts where her people lived. She looked back one last time, watching the massive, LED-lit sign of Golden City fade into the distance.

Suddenly, darkness swallowed the landscape. She was back in her own neighborhood. Her world.

There was nothing glamorous about Pearl Street. It had once been an estate of high-priced condos, but the government had abandoned the development halfway through. Now, those who had nowhere else to go squatted in the decaying apartments the rich had left behind. There were no fine dining spots, no luxury boutiques, no banks, and no schools—just a cluster of run-down buildings nobody wanted. At least the water and electricity still worked.

Hoping for a small taste of luxury, Wednesday tried to take the elevator up to her floor, but the doors refused to budge. Resigned, she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and unlocked her door. After a cold shower and a simple meal of instant noodles, she collapsed into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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The next day, Wednesday clocked out of work by 6:00 PM and headed to meet Rya at Victoria’s. Standing before the grand entrance, a heavy wave of insecurity washed over her.

Dining here required reservations, a deep pocket, and the right social status, which made Wednesday wonder all over again what kind of a living Rya actually made.

Victoria's wasn't just a restaurant; it was a soaring skyscraper. The owner, Victoria Lopez, hated keeping her clientele waiting for an open table. To solve this, her husband had built her a massive 35-story tower, ensuring there was always immediate seating for the elite. The top floor housed the main kitchen, the 34th floor was reserved for staff, and the 33rd floor served as the owner’s private residence whenever she or her husband was in town.

The remaining thirty-two floors were dedicated entirely to the loaded but starving, and ultra-wealthy elite of Golden City.

She walked in awkwardly, heading straight toward an elegantly dressed woman who served as the floor manager.

"How may I help you?" the manager asked, her warm smile matching her striking resemblance to the singer Normani.

"Uh... I'm here to meet someone."

"Can I get a name, please?"

"Yes, it's Rya."

"Oh! You mean Richie? Yes, she's waiting for you on the fifth floor, in room two."

Richie? Is that what she goes by now? Wednesday thought, completely bewildered.

She assumed there had been a mix-up. However, the moment she stepped into the privacy of room two, her confusion vanished. There sat Rya, wearing an off-shoulder black Versace dress with a curved neckline, paired with vibrant red platform heels. She wore her hair in her signature high ponytail and was eating a steak with absolute elegance. Ritchie was clearly her nickname.

"Rya! Oh, thank God," Wednesday exclaimed, letting out a sigh of relief as she sat down. "For a minute, I thought I was in the wrong place."

"Why would you think that?" Rya

asked.

"They called you Richie downstairs."

"Did I forget to mention that? Richie is my nickname. Everyone in Golden City has one."

"I had no idea. So, how was your day?"

"Stressful," Rya sighed. "I spent the entire day lounging by a pool and swimming."

"I would love to do absolutely nothing by a pool all day," Wednesday said wistfully.

"Trust me, it's boring. Some old lady wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing I look in a bikini. I wanted to tell her, 'Look, I know I'm gorgeous naked, but you need to stop staring. Your husband is watching me.'"

Wednesday laughed. "Well, you look like a model now. It's a massive upgrade from high school."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Rya groaned. "I know I was overweight and unattractive back then."

"Clearly, all those hours at the gym paid off."

"The gym? I suppose that helped a little. But honestly, I had plastic surgery before I ever hired a personal trainer."

"Wow. You're incredibly wealthy now. It’s amazing."

"I owe it all to Jasmine. My pure hatred for her fueled my transformation. Speaking of the b***h, I actually ran into her last week."

Wednesday froze. "You saw Jasmine? Where?"

"Right here in Golden City."

"Did you ask her what she’s doing here?" Wednesday inquired.

Rya dropped her fork onto the plate. "You expect me to just walk up to my high school bully after all these years and strike up a conversation? Who am I, the mayor of Question Town?" she snapped sarcastically.

"No, I just figured it might be nice to catch up with an old acquaintance and see how life turned out."

"Acquaintance, not a friend, Wendy. I barely know her. Besides, I already know everything I need to. Her wealthy parents passed away, leaving her broke and orphaned. She moved to Golden City hoping to strike it rich like every other desperate dreamer. I saw her walking out of a shop clutching a folder—probably her resume—just as I was getting into my car. She turned bright red from embarrassment. I just rolled my eyes and drove off."

"Did she recognize you?"

"She isn’t blind; of course she did. Honestly, it feels incredible knowing that the girl she used to torment turned her life around, while she... didn't."

Wednesday cleared her throat, changing the subject. "I've been meaning to ask, how did Rya become Richie?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes. Maybe I can reinvent myself from Wednesday to Wendy."

"I chased the money," Rya said flatly.

"How exactly do you chase money?"

Rya paused her eating to take a sip of her wine. "There are three types of people in Golden City. First, the lifelong residents who already had their fortunes. Second, the dreamers who are drawn in by the bright lights but never achieve anything. Third, the outsiders who move here, learn how the wealthy operate, and manipulate the system to make more money than they ever dreamed of. You are currently a category two. I am a category three."

"That's fair."

"There are only a few ways to become filthy rich. You either inherit it, or you earn it through fame, influence, and grueling hard work. The elite one percent of Golden City—people like me—have figured out how to generate wealth outside of those traditional paths. We stay completely under the radar."

"So you aren't famous, and you aren't an influencer?"

"Exactly."

"Then you must work in corporate banking or finance."

"Nope."

"medicine?"

"oh please"

"Then how do you do it?"

"It's simple. I attract money."

Wednesday’s patience was wearing thin. "I understand the concept, but how do you attract it without working hard?"

"I attract it by looking beautiful. When someone with a massive bank account likes what they see, they give me money."

Wednesday stared at her, completely puzzled. "Are you saying you're a—"

"A sugar baby," Rya interrupted smoothly. "Yes, Wednesday. I am a sugar baby to a man who has more money than he can spend alone. I simply help him spend it."