My Sister's Husband Craves Me

“Lyla, get dressed! It’s your turn, he’s already waiting for you in the room,” Madam Silina snapped, yanking the light curtain open and peeking through it.

I glared at my reflection, and a wild grin slowly spread across my perfectly painted red lips. I loosened the rollers from my hair, letting the soft curls fall gracefully across my shoulders. I reached for the oil and gently applied it to my slightly exposed chest.

Yes! I was ready.

The makeup blended flawlessly with my skin, and my brows were drawn to perfection.

In a rush, I grabbed my glass heels.

“Madam Silina is going to snap at me again,” I muttered under my breath, my hands fumbling with the buckle of my shoe.

I slid my feet into the heels, adjusted the straps, then stole one last glance at my reflection. The thin net top clung tightly to my body, revealing half of my breasts, while the short, tight skirt framed my perfectly pale legs.

Tonight, Madam Silina said the client was a VIP—filthy rich. That meant it was my job to give him all the pleasure a man could crave.

Ever since my dad went bankrupt, our lives turned upside down. He couldn’t handle the pressure and was diagnosed with mental illness, then moved to a mental asylum.

My sister? She married her rich boyfriend and completely abandoned Mom and me. Left us in ruin—no calls, no money, no help.

So, I became a stripper. A prostitute. Just to cover our basic needs.

“Lyla, what are you doing?” Madam Silina’s voice echoed faintly from the hallway.

Swiftly, I strode to my makeup table, where brushes and powders lay scattered. I grabbed a piece of bubble gum and popped it into my mouth. After adjusting my hair one last time, I stepped out of the dressing room.

The air hit me hard—thick with alcohol and the burn of cigarettes. I squinted my nose as the stench crept into my lungs.

I held onto the wall in the hallway for support, feeling the soreness in my ankle flare up.

Last night, while I was dancing on the pole, I accidentally twisted it. Thank God for the painkillers they gave me—without them, I wouldn’t even be able to walk.

I limped gently down the hallway, heading toward the VIP section, when I heard the faint whispers and giggles of the other girls.

I glanced their way and couldn’t help but let out a huff, my eyes rolling dramatically.

Ryen.

She was everywhere. I could already imagine her heart crumbling at the sight of me going to the VIP section.

None of Madam Silina’s girls had ever landed a VIP client before.

And considering how many beautiful girls she had under her wing, I honestly wondered why he chose me.

I walked past them, head held high, cheeks burning slightly with pride—until a hand suddenly yanked me backward.

I turned sharply, only to see Ryen’s hand gripping mine. I shot her a deadly glare and forced her grip off me.

“How dare you touch me?” I said coldly, my voice laced with venom.

She strutted close, her hot breath brushing against my skin.

"I hope you're happy now, hole," she spat, her eyes dark with bitterness and hurt.

Enjoying the twisted scowl on her face, I blew a bubble with my gum and popped it loudly, my lips curling into a smug grin.

"Yes, I am happy. Thanks for your concern," I said, arms folded across my chest, voice dripping with sarcasm.

To be honest, I still don’t know what Ryan’s damn problem is. She’s beautiful—like, stunning—and her body is the kind most girls dream of. So why all this hate?

She shot daggers at me with her eyes, then smirked.

"Well, we’ll see. You think you’re smart, huh?" she sneered.

"I want to see how long you last."

With a cocky flick of her hair, she turned. The girls around her giggled on cue.

I furrowed my brows. What the hell does she mean by that?

"You must be really jobless if you think I’m here dragging this kind of job with you," I fired back, my voice rising. "Who the f*ck would be proud of being a prostitute anyway?"

My voice faltered slightly. I clenched my fists.

"I’m only doing this because life left me no choice. I don’t have the luxury of bickering with you."

Ryen always ruined everything. Every moment.

Did she think I enjoyed this life? Being a prostitute?

Did she think I liked the way those disgusting men stared at me like prey, waiting for a chance to devour me?

Did she know how it felt to undress for strangers… just for money?

With a bitter huff, I spun around and walked off.

"Yes, that’s right. Run away like you always do, LOSER!"

Ryen’s voice followed me like a curse.

I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. I kept walking until their insults and giggles faded behind me.

I stopped in front of the large, reinforced security door that led to the VIP rooms. My hands trembled slightly as I pushed it open. A blinding blue light poured from the hallway ahead, glowing off the pristine marble floors and casting silver shadows against the walls.

I stepped inside, slowly closing the door behind me.

Each click of my heels echoed sharply. My eyes scanned the numbers.

"Room 25..." I whispered to myself.

Then I saw it.

Room 25.

Unlike the other doors, this one stood out—thicker, darker, wrapped in gold trim and glossy finish. It screamed wealth and power.

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the soft fabric of my skirt. My throat tightened.

Then, slowly, I knocked.

Click.

The door creaked open, by itself.

I jumped slightly, startled. No one had told me the door would open for me.

I stepped in slowly, and my breath caught in my throat.

The room was breathtaking—a palace on Earth. The velvet-black walls, the massive golden bed, the glistening chandelier, the priceless art… everything whispered royalty.

I was the only cheap thing in the room.

Just as I began to take it all in, I noticed the silhouette—tall, unmoving, standing at the far end of the room, back turned, facing the open city view.

A man. Quiet. Still. Puffing smoke in and out.

My heart thudded.

Who was he?

His expensive tailored suit screamed power. His aura was heavy, dark, intimidating. My eyes shifted to the table beside him and froze.

A gun.

A real gun.

And stacks of cash.

God, help me. What is this? Who is this man?

"Strip."

The voice cut through the air like a blade—deep, cold, commanding.

I froze.

That voice... It sounded familiar. Too familiar.

"What are you waiting for?" he growled. "Undress."

My heart raced. My fingers trembled. Slowly, I peeled off the thin net top, then reached behind to unhook my bra. It slipped to the floor, my chest heaving as my bare skin met the cold air.

He turned.

My entire body stiffened.

My breath hitched.

My legs buckled.

I stared, my lungs refusing to work, my voice barely a whisper.

"Sir Diego..." I choked, backing away in disbelief.

My sister’s husband?

WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING HERE?