01

"Oh yeah! Keep it up, baby."

"You like this way?"

Turning off the surveillance camera that captured yet another intimate encounter between Damon and someone else, Elena fought back the urge to vomit. 

She no longer cried. The time when she knew about Damon's betrayals and cried was gone. Now, she just felt disgusted. It was as if that man, her husband, became more and more repulsive.

Elena sat at the desk and opened her laptop. She was a brilliant mind and loved to develop technological projects. It was a pity that her work never materialized. She was a faithful and dedicated wife. All that truly mattered was to satisfy her husband's whims. But as she looked at the screen, she couldn't help but feel stupid and naive.

What good was it to be a good wife if Damon was unfaithful?

That was her husband, Damon Donovan. They had been married for three years but he never once touched her. He'd rather indulge himself in alcohol and women outside.

A knock resounded through the door, its ominous echo vibrating through the silent corridors of their home. Elena closed the laptop. It wasn't good for the people in that house to see her working. "What a waste of time," they always said.

The voice of her mother-in-law, Laura Westin, pierced through the thin veil of sanctuary that Elena had sought in her room: "Why are you hiding in the room again?" Laura's words carried a weight of disapproval, her tone sharp with disdain. "Are you rebelling because Damon is not home?" 

"You've been married for three years," Laura continued, her voice rising in indignation, "and you can't even bear him a child." A reminder of Elena's perceived failure to fulfill her primary duty as a wife.

"Why are you being so unreasonable?" Laura's words lashed out like a whip. "Why did you not come out and cook?" 

Elena sighed and stood up. It wasn't enough to endure Damon's coldness, distance, and infidelity. She also had to put up with her demanding and rude mother-in-law.

'It even takes two hands to clap. Giving birth to a child is not something that I can do alone. Am I supposed to reproduce on my own?' Elena thought.

Suppressing the nauseating feeling that swirled within her, Elena forced herself to open the door and head to the kitchen.

Ever since Elena married into the Donovan family, her once promising life had descended into a relentless nightmare. The vibrant hues of her independence had been muted, and the dreams of building a successful career were reduced to mere echoes of what could have been. 

She had willingly sacrificed everything she held dear, convinced that her unwavering dedication would eventually win Damon's heart.

But her hopes had been shattered, crumbling under the weight of his indifference and his family's animosity. Elena had poured every ounce of her being into this relationship, believing that her love and efforts would bridge the gap that separated them. 

Instead, her sacrifices were met with disdain, as if they were never enough to appease Damon's family.

It was just a marriage of convenience. Damon never cared. Elena had to learn the hard way not to care either.

"Ah! Elena, are you crazy?" Laura's voice pierced through the air, filled with annoyance and disgust. "You are mixing your blood with the dishes! Are you trying to disgust me to death?"

Elena winced as she heard her mother-in-law's relentless nagging, her words like barbs that stung deep within. 

A bead of crimson blood trickled from her finger, evidence of a careless mistake in the midst of her culinary endeavors. Yet, to her surprise, there was no accompanying surge of pain. It was as if her senses had been momentarily numbed, the physical sensation lost in the chaotic turmoil of her emotions.

She stared at the bright red blood dripping from her finger, the vivid color contrasting against the pristine kitchen tiles. As her eyes shifted from the wound to her mother-in-law's face contorted in disgust, a surge of emotions overwhelmed her. 

"I just cut myself," she said impatiently.

"You should be more careful then," the mother-in-law spat.

Laura was a beautiful and vain lady. She didn't seem to be the 60 years old she was. Her hair was always dyed black, with no traces of gray. Her brown eyes were harsh, like dictators.

"You should cook your own food then," Elena retorted, without much thought.

Laura raised her eyebrows. "What did you say, girl?"

Elena's throat tightened. She lived with Damon and Laura, and she never dared to be rude. She knew that her family's business depended on that cursed marriage.

As Laura surged forward, her presence akin to an approaching storm, Elena braced herself for the onslaught of verbal barbs and potential physical blows. 

With a resigned gesture, Elena bowed her head, a silent acknowledgment of her subordinate position in this tumultuous household.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," Elena's voice barely rose above a whisper.

For a moment, the air crackled with tension as Laura scrutinized Elena with a mixture of disdain and superiority. Then, with a regal lift of her chin, Laura issued a reminder:

"Remember your place, Elena." 

**

It was late at night.

Elena pulled her coat hood even lower and stepped out of the taxi, leaving a generous tip for the driver without exchanging a word. She was terrified of being recognized.

Not wanting to be seen in that remote part of the city, Elena hurried into the establishment. It was a very secluded place, exclusive to high society.

"Is your name on the list?" the security guard asked, raising an eyebrow. The tall man highly doubted that a small, delicate woman like Elena would have a reservation in that place, especially looking as frightened and disguised as she was.

"Diana Flowers," she whispered, giving a false name she used to make the reservation. The security guard confirmed the name and allowed her to enter. She couldn't risk being seen in that part of town, so she quickly made her way into the establishment.

Elena breathed a sigh of relief. At least she had managed to get in.

The loud music and throng of people left Elena disoriented, but she had a plan: revenge.

For three years, her marriage contract with Damon had been everything to her. To maintain peace between the families, she had accepted being a submissive wife. But that was over now. She would do the only thing she could to get back at Damon: give someone else what she never gave him.

She navigated through the crowd. The lighting was dim, and she could barely make out the drunken bodies around her.

Elena knew she didn't have much courage, so she approached the bar and ordered a few shots. 

The bartender looked at her with curiosity, after all, the people who frequented that place weren't very shy. Elena seemed like a little mouse, huddled and looking around with wide eyes at everything.

"On the house, sweetheart," the bartender smiled kindly at her. 

Elena downed the liquid without caring about the burning sensation in her throat. She needed to be quick and get back home before Laura noticed her absence, after all, Elena had snuck out in the middle of the night.

When the music became tolerable, the shame faded, and her head felt lighter, she knew she was ready.

After the second drink, Elena's body grew warmer, and she took off her coat. Her attire consisted of only a thin blouse and jeans, unlike all the other women in the nightclub, who were practically naked.

The woman continued to look around, frightened, so the bartender leaned in over the counter. "Looking for someone?" he asked.

"N-no... not exactly," Elena stammered.

"Look, I've been working here for 2 years, and there's only one type of woman who frequents this brothel," he shouted over the music. 

"What type?" Elena became curious. Of course, she didn't want to be mistaken for a hooker.

"The type looking for sex," he smiled as Elena's cheeks turned red. "And there's no need to be ashamed of it. You're in the right place," he leaned in closer. "See, we have some male prostitutes here too."

Elena fell silent. She could hardly believe she was resorting to a brothel to lose her virginity. What had all her education and class amounted to?

"Thank you for the drink," Elena said, stepping away from the bar.

She had abandoned the revenge plan. She simply couldn't picture herself sleeping with a stranger just to level the playing field with Damon. Her heart was saddened, but her morals remained strong.

But before she could move away, a tall, strong figure brushed past Elena. She was already feeling a bit woozy and couldn't see the man's face, but his scent caught her attention. It was a strong aroma, overpowering all the other scents in the club.

She stood near the bar, staring at the man and trying to discern his features. But the drink had already taken its toll, and Elena's vision was blurry. The only things she could make out were the man's dark hair, black clothing, and strong build.

"I'm about to head out, Peter," the man informed the bartender, his voice barely audible over the din. The bartender nodded in acknowledgment.

The man took a step away from the bar. Elena's hand shot out and she grabbed the stranger's arm. She was somewhat tipsy, so she staggered, but she held on firmly. Elena never drank, and she wasn't accustomed to two shots of tequila in a row.

"You," she began, her words slurring slightly as she struggled to focus.

"Pardon?" The man turned to face her, his eyes catching the faint glimmer of the bar lights.

"Do you work here?" Elena inquired. It was a brothel. Most of the men and women there sold their bodies. This man had to be a prostitute.

"Something of the sort," he replied cryptically.

"I need your services," Elena blurted out. "I... I want you to spend the night with me."