Chapter 2

Don Lothario

Don Lothario was a man of confidence—sure of himself, his looks, and his abilities. He had been born with a natural charm, a gift that had served him well over the years. He lived by a simple rule, one he never questioned: No regrets. His past had taught him never to look back, never to second-guess his choices.

He moved through life with his head held high, certain in every decision he made, every word he spoke. He believed he could handle anything that came his way.

What he didn't realize was that doubt had a way of catching up to even the most steadfast of men. Regret, a figure that could mysteriously appear in your life without notice.

The day he walked into Builders and Shakers gym as the new trainer, he had no idea he was about to meet someone who would alter the course of his future. Someone who would set forth his path to success, but at what cost?

Resilience

Don Lothario grew up in a tumultuous household—one filled with shouting, violence, and bad influences. Don never met his father, at least not that he remembered.

In the years that followed, Don's mother, Adriana, brought men into their home—different men, at all hours of the day and night. As a child, he didn't understand why so many came and went. Some were cruel to him, while others acted as if he didn't exist. In his little mind, he held onto a secret hope—that one day, one of those men would turn out to be his father, coming back for him. Rescuing him from a home built on loneliness and neglect.

But that day never came.

As the years passed, resentment took root in his heart, twisting like an unforgiving vine around the image of his mother. He blamed her for his father's absence, for the cramped walls that they lived in, for the worn-out things they owned, and the friends he dared not invite over. Shame clung to him like a second skin—shame for her and for their life.

The way his mother clung to him made his stomach turn. She latched onto him like a lost puppy, desperate for salvation, as if he were responsible for her instead of the other way around. Some nights, as he lay in bed, he would feel her slip in behind him, curling around him squeezing his body. The scent of another man's cologne clung to her skin, mixing with the stale traces of cigarette smoke, and it made his insides churn.

A mother's touch was supposed to be comforting, but all Don felt was fear and dread. "Thank you for taking care of me," she would whisper, her breath heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke as her hands cradled his face. She would press a kiss too close to his lips, lingering just a second too long. The older he grew the more his mother came to him at night. Her touch slowly became more brazen. Never fully allowing herself to go too far but far enough that made Don squirm on the inside. He never recoiled. He only smiled—soft, gentle, practiced—because what else could he do? One was not supposed to hurt their own mother.

Living with her was unbearable. Then again, so was living in general.

But life had no space for self-pity. He learned quickly that nothing would be given freely, that if he wanted more—needed more—he would have to carve it out with his own hands.

So he did.

Don worked for everything. And along the way, he discovered something else: people liked him. He had a natural charisma, a way with words that made it easy to befriend those around him. In high school, he was a star—set on the path to a football scholarship, a future he wanted, finally within reach.

However, he had forgotten that life had a way of throwing stones in his path. Big, impossible to move stones.

Don had made it a habit of taking his mother's pills with him to school—not to use them, he would never poison his body with that trash, but to make sure she didn't take them while he was gone and possibly overdose like she had done in the past. As much as he disliked her, she was still his mother and had to make sure she stayed alive.

One day, though, he made a mistake.

On a reckless bet, he and some friends broke into an old, abandoned building. It was meant to be harmless fun—until they got caught. A trespassing charge was nothing serious, just a slap on the wrist. But when the police searched his backpack and found the pills, everything changed.

Despite his protests, he was charged with drug possession. Fentanyl wasn't an easy drug to overlook.

And just like that, the college he had spent years striving to impress turned its back on him—forever blacklisting him from any chance of sponsorship. If not for his high school principal, who was well aware of his mother's troubles, he might have been expelled altogether.

His counselors and teachers fought to salvage his future, to convince the board that he shouldn't lose everything over something beyond his control. But Britchester University had no room for scandals. It didn't matter that the drugs weren't his. His family was, and that was enough for them to shut the door in his face.

Anger and frustration consumed him. After the news of his college rejection, he packed his things and told his mother he was leaving—for good. No longer caring whether she would survive without him.

She begged him to stay, to not leave her like his father had. But he shoved past her and ran out the door without looking back. Not mother had taken everything from him, his father, his childhood, his innocence and his chance at a path for his future. He would not allow her to take anything else. He still had a future, perhaps not the one he planned but he had it and he would protect it at all costs.

From there, he bounced between friends' couches, picking up odd jobs and saving every dollar he could. It wasn't easy, but he kept going, determined to make something of himself. In time, he earned his high school diploma—graduating with honors—and finally moved into a place of his own. It wasn't much, but it was his, and that was enough.

Life had been cruel, his past haunted him. Some nights when he fell asleep, he could see his mothers face. Feel her arms wrapping around him. It would wake him up in a shock and leave him sitting there with cold sweat on his face.

He had had enough of that, enough of letting his past consume him, to take any place in his present or future. So he locked it along with all of the feelings that dragged him down away, in the back of his mind where they could never haunt him again. If his past hadn't beaten him, nothing else would.

Detachment

In the years that followed, Don lived by one rule: No regrets. He never settled, drifting from party to party, city to city, woman to woman. Lust and attraction came easily, effortless in their simplicity. But love—that was an entirely different matter. To him, the very concept felt abstract, distant, unimaginable.

What he didn't realize then was that his struggle with love stemmed from something far darker. Deep down, Don resented women. The mere thought of them stirred something bitter inside him, something he couldn't quite name. He never once felt true affection for any of the ones he dated. He pursued them out of habit, out of social expectation, out of the need to satisfy his most basic urges. But never because he truly wanted them.

And he especially loathed certain women—the easy ones. His stomach turned at the sight of them in bars and nightclubs—so willing, so eager, allowing themselves to be used by anyone… including himself. The way they laughed, the way they clung, the way they mistook a fleeting moment of attention for something meaningful. It disgusted him.

Yet, he indulged. He enjoyed the chase, the thrill, the control. He relished the moment they thought they had him—when their eyes softened, their bodies melted against his, when they let themselves believe he was different. That he cared. That they were special.

Pathetic.

The more they threw themselves at him, the more he despised them. And yet, he kept seeking them out. A paradox he refused to acknowledge. He convinced himself it was power—his ability to take and discard as he pleased. It meant nothing, cost him nothing.

They were interchangeable. Forgettable. Disposable.

And that was how it would always be. He had built his life around this freedom, wore it like armor, took pride in it. He belonged to no one.

Until the day he walked into Builders and Shakers gym.

And met Katrina Caliente.

Facade

That morning arrived like any other, and Don rose with the same discipline that had shaped his life around. His routine was precise—jog, breakfast, shower, brush his teeth. He took his health seriously, treating his body well, every habit intentional. But this morning there was something different. That day, he would start his new job.

He already knew what to expect. Women would flock to him, as they always did—hovering, clinging, drawn to the easy mask of charm he had perfected over the years. He had no intention of indulging any of them. His job was simple: play the part of the friendly, supportive gym trainer, smile when necessary, offer encouragement, and keep things professional. That was the plan, at least.

Of course, Don had told himself he wouldn't get involved before. And every time, he eventually did.

It was through this job that he first encountered the Caliente family, led by Katrina Caliente—a woman who, despite her age, looked strikingly youthful. It was almost hard to believe she had two grown daughters nearly the same age as him. It didn't take long for Don to notice their interest. All three of them—Katrina, Nina, and Dina—had their eyes on him, just as many others at "Builders and Shakers" did.

But if he was being honest, he found them more repulsive than enticing. Not because they weren't attractive—they certainly were—but each of them rubbed him the wrong way for different reasons.

Katrina was pleasant, well-mannered, and undeniably successful, but there was a desperation in her that Don found hard to ignore. Despite everything she had, she still carried herself like a woman waiting to be saved.

Nina was another story altogether—demanding, dramatic, the type to throw a tantrum if she wasn't the center of attention. She was loud, rude and generally exhausting.

Dina, though, was the most confusing. She barely spoke to him, yet when she did, there was an air of superiority in her tone, as if acknowledging him was an act of charity. She stole glances but never lingered, as if he was beneath her notice but amusing enough to observe.

Katrina was a regular at the gym, so he saw her often. Both she and Nina had paid extra for personal training sessions with him—something Don found more tolerable with Katrina than with Nina. Eventually, though, Nina put an end to the arrangement herself. After he turned down her offer for a date, she stormed out in a huff, never to return. That suited Don just fine.

He was growing tired of Nina's relentless advances. Keeping up his cool, professional facade whenever she threw herself at him was becoming exhausting. The constant barrage of cliché pickup lines—ones he had heard a thousand times—made it even worse. As rehearsed as his own pick-up lines were, at least when he flirted, he had originality. But the real problem? The way she couldn't seem to keep her hands to herself.

So, the fact that she hadn't shown up again? That was a win.

Katrina, however, kept coming back.

Over time, he learned more about her. She was wealthy, successful, and—though she never said it outright—deeply lonely and desperate. Don had a talent for reading people, and he could see it in the way she lingered after sessions, stretching out conversations just to prolong the time they spent together.

He didn't mind. She was easy to talk to and, at the very least, easy on the eyes. Something about her presence gave him a strange sense of peace.

Then, to his surprise, she asked him out. On impulse, he said yes. Not because he was interested—he wasn't—but because, well… it had been a while since he'd had sex. And she seemed desperate enough to make it easy. The type to fall fast, to cling, to mistake physical pleasure for something more. The type he could discard without a second thought once he got what he wanted.

Their first date set the tone for everything that followed. He had put a lot of effort into recreating Katrina's "ideal" date and it had been a resounding success. Katrina wasted no time after that, spoiling him—lavish gifts, expensive dinners, luxurious outings. Although he insisted, Katrina never let him pay for anything again after their first date. Don hadn't expected it, but soon, he realized what was happening. He had, quite unintentionally, acquired a sugar mommy.

It was a strange shift. He had never been the type to mooch, had never taken anything he hadn't earned. His whole life, he had fought for every inch, paid back every favor, every debt. And now? Now things were simply handed to him—effortlessly. And he liked it. So he kept the charade going for longer than he normally would.

No one had ever taken care of him like that before. The feeling was as unsettling as it was comforting. He had always been the one to handle everything—to step up, to fix, to provide. It made him think of his mother, how he'd been the one cooking, cleaning, providing for them, but most importantly, making sure she didn't fucking die.

Even his friendships followed the same pattern. Everyone leaned on him—for advice, for support, for entertainment. It was always "Don will know what to do," "Don can handle it," "Don this, Don that." A never-ending cycle of expectations.

But this? This was different. For once, he didn't have to be the one holding everything together. For once, he could just be. And it was a damn nice change.

But Don wasn't naive. Nothing came without a price.

Katrina wanted more than just casual company—she wanted something real, something lasting. If he wanted to keep this arrangement, he would have to give her what she wanted. He would have to be her boyfriend, officially.

More than that, she wanted a partner, someone to build a life with.

And Don? He wanted none of that. As enjoyable as Katrina's company could be and as much as he had what he considered a "small" inkling of affection for her, he never let himself forget—this was a goal-oriented plan, nothing more.

Deep down, in the depths of his mind where he still had a spec of a conscience, a flicker of guilt surfaced. He was stringing her along, feeding her a dream he had no intention of making real. She was different than most women, kinder. Was he really doing the right thing? Can I actually do this? He thought to himself. But he pushed the thought away just as quickly as it came. No regrets. He reminded himself. No regrets.

Because at the end of the day, Katrina wasn't any different from the other women he'd been with or any other friendship he'd had, right?. She wanted something from him too—a young, charming plaything to fawn over her, to make her feel adored. She wanted forever.

He, however, didn't believe in forever. Not for a second.

But Katrina thought he did. That was all that mattered. He let her believe, even though he knew their relationship was—finite.