The mafia King and his bride flower

Wendy

I reclined on my bed, with my hands resting behind my head, gazing up at the ceiling. My mind drifted into deep thoughts. Subdued noises emanated from the lower floor, the familiar voices of my parents amid yet another heated disagreement.

Sounds of a bird chirping by my window pulled me out of my thoughts. I shifted slightly toward the window and spotted a familiar bird, the one that occasionally keeps me company during my lonely days. I got up from my bed and walked over to it, softly stroking its head. It shivered and fluttered away.

"It's your fault!" I heard my mother's shrill voice, more like a scream, followed by the crash of shattering glass. I swiftly turned and dashed out of my room, racing down the stairs.

I had always anticipated this day, the day when my father would return home drunk, as he always did, and tear the entire house apart, beginning with us. Yet, I hadn't expected it to arrive so suddenly, to be today.

My eyes widened as I took in the living room's condition. The couch was shredded as though a lion's claw had devoured it, broken glass littered the floor, and the TV lay on the ground with a sizable crack on the screen.

My gaze shifted to my mom; her once-blonde hair had turned a disheveled, dirty blonde from stress, clinging to her skin due to sweat. Her eyes lacked emotion, burdened by the weight of stress, a clear sign of her exhaustion with everything, with my dad.

Her chest heaved rapidly, as if she had just completed a marathon, and she clutched a pair of scissors. Now I understood who had wreaked havoc on our couch. My gaze shifted to my dad, the one responsible for transforming my mom into a person who resembled a recently released psychopath.

He stood there, his black hair gleaming in the dimly lit living room, his eyes ablaze with anger. His fists were tightly clenched, knuckles white, ready to strike anyone who dared to impede his way.

"You can go to hell for all I care," he muttered, casting a spiteful stare at my mother. "And make sure you put a leash on her," he added, redirecting his attention to me.

His voice shattered the silence in the living room. I glanced at my mom and saw tears welling up in her eyes. She clenched the scissors tightly and moved swiftly towards Dad, shouting.

"Daniel, you freak! You're a monster. I regret ever walking down the aisle with you. You are..." I interrupted her tirade by rushing over and holding her waist to prevent her from reaching my dad.

"Mum, stop!" I whispered, but I was certain she didn't hear me. She was too fixated on getting to him even to notice my plea.

She suddenly halted, her chest heaving.

"If you leave this house, Daniel, don't ever return or step into our lives again. If you're leaving now, I want you gone. Forever," she ground out, breaking free from my grasp, causing me to stagger backwards.

Dad nodded. "I can't even wait to leave," he muttered before turning and exiting the house into the night, slamming the door with such force that the whole house quivered.

Mum glared up again, bolting towards the door. I quickly followed her and held her by the waist.

"He's leaving again, that son of a bitch is leaving us, Wendy," she yelled, trying to free herself from my grip and go after him.

"Mum, stop! He isn't worth it," I said, raising my voice for the first time today. I had remained quiet throughout the whole day, ever since I got back from school and saw her humming, something she always did when she was ready to confront Dad. I had stayed silent in my room, refusing to listen to her questioning him when he got back or when the sound of a slap resounded. I had just been focused on the ceiling of my room, quiet.

I spun her around to face me by her shoulders, my grip tight. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying.

"He's not worth all of this, Mum. Let him go," I said, my eyes scanning her tear-stained face.

Her lips trembled as she gazed up at the ceiling, struggling to hold back the tears.

"You don't understand, Wendy. We're in debt, large amounts of money. How do we solve that? It's his fault," her cracked voice quivered as she turned her tearful eyes back to my face.

"I'll take care of it. Trust me. I'll handle everything, Mum," my words rushed out before I could even process what I had just said to her. I spoke to ease her pain, her stress, and her guilt. I simply wanted to comfort her.

I was a 16-year-old girl trying to console her mother, not fully comprehending the weight of the responsibility that came with the words I had just uttered.

Her grey eyes bore into mine, sparkling with a glimmer of hope. She believed me, and I quickly pulled her into a tight hug.

She cried onto my shoulders that night, releasing all the emotions she had kept bottled up for years.

"I will handle it, Mum. I promise," I whispered as I held her close, her cold sweat touching my cheek.

I truly believed I could make a change in my family that night, that I had a way. I had always found a way, and I was sure it would work for us. However, it ended up being a complete failure, leading me down a path I had never dreamed of before.

Three Years Later

The long, straight lines of the curtains blocked my view as I stayed behind them. My heartbeat was surprisingly serene, like it had always been. My black, cropped hair was flawlessly curled, and my figure radiated in bright golden hues.

I was dressed in an alluring outfit, featuring a lacy, strappy bralette and a high-cut thong in a sultry shade. Fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, and sparkling body jewelry added the finishing touches.

My face was adorned with bold makeup, featuring dark lipstick that gave me the allure of a siren. My grey eyes gleamed more than I intended, piercing through the neon lights beyond the curtain. My usual scowl graced my face, giving me a fiercer appearance, earning me the nickname, "witch."

Sounds of eager and passionate moans reached my ears. I turned to see Lizzy, my colleague, naked on the couch, positioned upside down, with her two hands gripping a nearby table for support as a man thrust into her persistently, causing her breasts to sway on the couch. His veins bulged as he clutched her hips firmly, pouring all his vigor into the act. Beads of sweat glistened on their bodies as they moved in perfect harmony.

"Is it time? I thought we had 20 minutes remaining?" Her voice quivered as she glanced at me.

The sight of them on the couch, the way he was thrusting into her, the sounds of claps and muffled sounds, resembling slippery water, made the scene resemble a porn scene.

"Take your time," I murmured, stepping out and drawing the curtains aside. It was, in fact, time, but I didn't bother to inform her. She was someone who never adhered to schedules. She never did. Not when she was regularly fucked on the couch every night, disregarding anyone else in the room. Not even Dragon, our boss and the owner of this strip club.

I've been a stripper for two and a half years now. It was challenging in the beginning, but I managed to adapt, even though I didn't want to. I had to. As for sex, that word used to disturb me, but not anymore. There was a time it unnerved me, but now, it's just a casual activity I occasionally engage in for enjoyment. However, I don't do it all the time, not because I don't want to, but because I'm swamped with assignments, project work, practicals, and numerous school-related tasks.

By day, I'm your typical intelligent high school girl, always ready to respond to questions from my teachers and classmates. But at night, I transform into someone entirely different - a stripper, clad in all-black attire, perpetually prepared to captivate you with my spins and moves.

During the night, I'm on a whole other level, free to do as I please and become whomever I wish. It's a facade, separating me from the outside world, my family, friends, and even from myself.

Right now, I'm simply going with the flow, unsure of who the real me truly is - whether it's the cute high school girl with a perpetual frown during the day or the seductive stripper with captivating eyes at night.

I walked confidently toward the dimly lit door leading to the main arena, the sound of my heels clinking against the floor.

"Ready to show them what you've got?" a deep, gravelly voice, reminiscent of a smoker, inquired.

I spun around and found myself face to face with Dragon. He was attired in a glossy red suit, his ebony hair gleaming in the night. A cigarette dangled from one hand, and he puffed on it leisurely. He approached me, coming to a halt right in front of me, the long scar on his face prominently on display.

"Ready to earn some mad cash tonight?" He asked once more, the smoke from his cigarette wafting toward my face and nostrils.

I nodded, gazing into his black eyes.

"That's my girl," a grin spread across his face, revealing his stained brown teeth that would surely turn black soon. He gripped my left shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I released a sigh, turned, opened the door, and stepped inside. Neon colours enveloped me, accompanied by blasting music from the speakers. People were dancing and drinking, some scantily clad, others fully dressed.

I hurried to the stage and spotted the pole awaiting my presence. There were four of us on the stage to perform, but it felt like all eyes were fixed on me. Just the way I wanted it - they didn't realize their stares were my source of income.

I gripped the pole tightly, took a spin around it, curling my long legs around its length, and a loud cheer from the men in the crowd followed.

♡♡♡