All Chapters of His Hired Lover: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

SOFIA’s POVAfter that weird encounter with that sophisticated, but undeniably mean, woman, I headed straight back to my hotel room. The excitement I’d felt about exploring this place had completely vanished just like that. One threat from her, and the thrill soured into unease.Who did she think she was, anyway? Hmm…a certain Beatrice Sandoval.The name had indeed a ring to it, like someone who’d graced magazine covers or made headlines in the kind of circles I wasn’t a part of. But I wouldn’t let her scare me. Fame didn’t give her the right to treat people like that. Still, there was something familiar about her face. If only I had my phone, I could’ve searched for her right then and there. Maybe she really was someone important, judging by the way she got angry when I told her I had no idea who she was.But even if she was famous, did that really justify the way she looked down on me? Money and status shouldn’t erase basic human decency.I shook my head and turned toward the window,

SOFIA’s POVI ran my fingers over the contract one last time, the smooth pages cool against my fingertips. Every clause, every word had been shaped to secure my future—my future, not his.This deal was my ticket to the top, and I had spent the past twenty-four hours ensuring every detail was airtight. Yet, a feeling coiled in my stomach, a quiet voice whispering that Rios wasn’t the type to let anyone dictate the terms. Still, I pushed the doubt aside. He was expecting me at dinner and had even sent this off-shoulder, perfectly tailored black dress, along with a pair of sleek stilettos. I could really get used to this.I placed the contract back into its leather folder, smoothed the silk of my gown, and forced my spine straight. Whatever Rios had planned, I would make sure I wouldn’t falter.Moments later, I stepped inside the private dining room, my heels barely making a sound against the floor. The scent of aged wine and charred steak lingered in the air. And there, in the middle of

Beatrice Sandoval’s fingers curled into the velvet of her clutch, her teeth grinding as she swallowed the fury clawing up her throat. The people around her were alive with cheers, clinking glasses, and hushed murmurs of admiration, all aimed at the couple in the center of it all.Rios and her. That woman. She could remember now—she was the one who had bumped into her in the hallway earlier that day.Beatrice’s jaw tightened as she watched Rios kiss her with a hunger that made her stomach churn. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her dark waves, pulling her into him like she belonged there. And that bitch was giving in.She could see the way she melted against him, her hands gripping the collars of his suit and her body pressed against him possessively. Beatrice wanted to scream. But she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. Feeling the loss of control, she forced a smile and turned away.Without another word, she strode out of the private dining hall, heels click

Rios hadn’t realized he was coming here until the colorful glow of the familiar place flickered against the hood of his car. A huge sign loomed above: Madam Carrie’s House of Pleasure.It stood on the edge of the city, not too far from the luxurious, bustling lifestyle, yet distant enough to ensure the utmost privacy for its patrons in their moments of carnal indulgence. This was a place where men lost themselves, whether in silk sheets or cheap whiskey. Rios knew he didn’t belong here anymore. And yet, here he was again.Several times, he told himself he had outgrown this place, and he wanted to believe he had control over it, but every time the world spun too fast, he found himself crawling back to this place. Coming here was like an addiction that just wouldn’t die.He killed the engine, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles ached. His mind still burned with Sofia—her scent, the way she had pulled away just when he was about to claim her, the way she had stopped him, and w

Rios stepped out of the elevator and into his underground office. The artificial cold from the massive air conditioners in every corner of the building, combined with the scent of leather and polished metal, greeted his senses. Unlike the chaotic, sweat-drenched backrooms of lesser crime syndicates, his empire operated with ruthless efficiency.The floors gleamed beneath the stark white lights. High-tech monitors lined the walls. Its screens flashed streams of numbers, surveillance footage, and millions of encrypted messages from operations across the globe. Imported state-of-the-art machines whirred softly in the background. They were silent witnesses to crimes so cleanly executed that even government agencies struggled to trace them. These systems that were imported from the U.S. were funded by the larger Mafia families operating in Italy and California. These powerful backers ensured their empire remained untouchable.Employees in tailored black suits moved without a hint of uncerta