His Hired Lover

SOFIA's POV

Since the restaurant opened this morning, I hadn't had a second to breathe. I moved like an acrobat-pacing the room with both hands and balancing trays, my mind constantly reminding my feet to avoid slipping on the tiled floor.

By the time the clock crept toward a quarter to twelve, the place had erupted into a war zone. Orders flew in, and customers endlessly waved for attention. Their hunger was seemingly commanding their brains to be impatient. My skin itched just by looking at their sulky lips and bored faces. Normally, every staff in Lorenzo's Restaurant would be happy to receive so many costumers, but when you're waiting tables to rude patrons, it would only make you wish for your shift to end already.

The kitchen's aromas had found their way onto my uniform. I scrunched my face upon realizing that. I spent an hour doing my hair, only to expose it to the greasy scent of garlic butter and grilled meat.

But a 24-year-old woman like me, with no prospects, had to endure this kind of lowly life so I could provide for my family in the province. And while Manila was considered a city of opportunity, no one could deny that living here would mean you need determination and bravery to avoid getting swallowed by the intensity of the lifestyle.

I was dropping off an order when a sharp shriek cut through the restaurant. People turned toward the sound, but no one moved to check. My gaze flicked to the counter, hoping my coworker Danilo would go see what was happening. But he only shrugged, silently dumping the responsibility onto me.

Despite the restaurant drawing in plenty of customers, the management hadn't bothered to increase staff. Working with me today were Danilo, the cashier and overall runner, and Mike, who was in the back grilling meat. My name's Sofia, the curvy waitress. Not a nickname I gave myself-our customers did.

I shot Danilo a glare before heading toward the commotion near the entrance. A little girl in an elementary school uniform was struggling to pull away from a towering, six-foot-tall, foreign-looking man. He was wearing a polo shirt and ragged jeans. I couldn't picture his face well because I was nearsighted. But he wasn't saying anything, and the little girl seemed determined to break free. Before I could think, I was already moving.

"Sweetheart!" I called, forcing a bright, familiar smile. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

The girl stared up at me, her doe eyes wide with confusion. I silently urged her to play along. Finally, she caught on and launched herself at me, clinging to my torso like a tiny monkey.

"Is this man bothering you?" I asked, turning to face him.

A beat passed, and I almost choked on my saliva upon seeing his face up close. '

Holy... shit... The man was beautiful-the kind of beautiful that should be illegal. His mixed foreign and Filipino features were striking. That sharp jawline. Those high cheekbones. Those bluish eyes seemed to see straight through me. His gaze flicked between me and the little girl, his head tilting slightly.

"W-what are you doing to my niece?" I stammered, trying to ignore both his allure and the expensive cologne that now surrounded me. I planted a hand on my hip as if I were a Filipina mother scolding an unruly son. "What are you thinking? Kidnapping a kid in broad daylight? And of all places, in a restaurant?"

My confidence grew as I leaned into the lie, determined to save this girl from whatever revulsion this ridiculously handsome man was planning. To my absolute horror, he only smirked!

But that smirk should come with a warning sign. It only sent the butterflies in my stomach into a whirlpool of emotions.

"Do you really believe I'm kidnapping that child?"

Dear God, even his voice was soft and low. The kind you hear in steamy audio recordings that make you imagine things. I forced myself to stay composed despite the erratic beating of my heart. "You're holding a child against her will! What else am I supposed to think?"

As if on cue, the little girl tugged at my uniform, signaling for me to bend down. "What is it?" I asked gently.

"He wants me to go to the arcade several blocks from here," she whispered, the fabric conditioner in her clothes lightly brushing my nose. "But I want to eat spaghetti first."

I clenched my jaw. Are you kidding me?

"See?" Turning to the man and feeling the heat on my cheeks. "You're forcing a little girl to do things! I say, get out of this restaurant before I call security."

But instead of looking rattled, he laughed. Laughed! Like this was all some joke to him.

"Is there something funny about what I said?" I asked loudly, trying to drown the twisting motion happening in my gut as I heard that laugh.

I'd been around wealthy men because of my other job as an escort, and I could always tell their status by the way they laughed at people. This man-with his expensive air, controlled amusement, and dangerously rich chuckle-was indeed trouble.

His eyes glinted. "Sofia."

I sucked in a breath. I could never deny how his gaze affected my sense of self. I felt myself drowning as I tried to mask my emotions. Also, how the hell did he know my name?

"Don't you know who I am?" He asked as if that information was too important.

"Do I need to?" I huffed.

He nodded toward the girl. "Why don't you ask her?" And with his smirk that hinted arrogance, coupled with that irritating, expensive chuckle of his, he added. "I am the uncle."

Frowning, I gently cupped the child's cheeks, smoothing down her baby bangs. "Do you actually know this man?"

The girl sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes like I was the dumbest person alive. "Yes, I know him. But he's sooo annoying."

Oh. Oh, no...

I could feel myself sinking into utter humiliation as I stared at the kid, her wide-eyed gaze reflecting mine. I had just accused this ridiculously handsome man of kidnapping a child when, in fact, he was actually her uncle!

I slowly stood up and then turned back to him. His gaze remained steady as I swallowed my pride and tried to salvage my dignity. "I... I see," I stammered.

One dark eyebrow lifted. "I think it's time for you to apologize, Miss Sofia."

My brows furrowed. Apologize? If anyone was to blame, it was his niece for not clarifying things sooner!

"Well, you looked suspicious. I just did what I had to do to help a struggling child."

His smirk widened. "Did you?"

"Yes! Besides, you were just... standing there." I gestured vaguely at him. "All serious and intimidating... gripping the child and ..."

Making me say stupid things.

"Can we eat now, Uncle? I still want spaghetti. I don't want to go to another restaurant. I want to eat here at Lorenzo's."

The man sighed. "All right. When you do that, you sound exactly like your mother."

I took their uncle-niece conversation as my cue to escape. "Very well," I said, plastering a forced smile. "I-I'll leave you to it... s-sir," I added, turning on my heel. My knees wobbled as I swallowed my embarrassment.

"Wait."

His voice stopped me cold. I turned back slowly, meeting his eyes once more.

"I'll be seeing you again, Miss Sofia."

Hearing that, a slow, creeping shiver ran down my spine. The question that had been haunting me instantly leaped from my mouth. "H-how did you know my name?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow, looking amused-like I was missing something obvious. Then I saw it. My nameplate. Right! Way to go. I was getting stupider by the second.

But the way he said my name sent a prickling unease within me. It didn't feel like a simple statement. It was more like a promise to see each other again.

I forced myself to turn away, walking stiffly and pretending I wasn't rattled-even though I was. Because deep down, I felt that this man, whoever the hell he was, was going to be the cause of my distress.

SOFIA's POV

Ever since I started working for Mr. Lee as his escort, he had always made sure to book me as his favorite girl. The job was simple; he'd dress me up, pay me cash, then I would provide him company at social events and give his ego a little boost whenever I clung to his arm like some kind of trophy wife.

Tonight, the company event we attended turned out to be one of the many splendid parties so far. And as we pulled up near my apartment, the gentle hum of Mr. Lee's luxurious SUV faded into the background, his kind eyes lingered on me as we sat comfortably in the buttery-soft leather seats in the back of his car.

"You... very beautiful tonight, Miss Sofia," he said in his broken English, his Chinese accent curling around the words. He reached for my hand, planting a soft kiss on it before flashing his signature toothy smile.

This 71-year-old Chinese man may have been short in stature, but his gentlemanly charm reached the rooftops.

"Good company. I feel good... good..." he added, nodding after each word. His warmth almost childlike despite his old age.

"It's always a pleasure, Mr. Lee," I replied with well-rehearsed demureness. "You know you're my favorite client."

"Ah, good to know. I just wanted you to have a good time... Did you have a good time?"

"I did," I chirped.

"I'm glad." He gestured to his driver, who handed him a white envelope. "This is for your service, my dear."

"Oh! Thank you, Mr. Lee," I replied, accepting the envelope with practiced grace.

"You sleep, okay? You have a job... uh, tomorrow... being waitress."

My chuckles rang through the car. I was rather amused by his sentences.

Just a few months ago, we had started discussing more intellectual topics whenever we were together. Sometimes, he booked my services just so I could talk to him in English. Since English is the Philippines' second language, his business associates spoke to him in that language, and he admitted he couldn't always keep up. Other times, I taught him my mother tongue, Bisaya, while he attempted to teach me Mandarin.

After one last polite exchange, the driver opened the door, and I stepped out into the cool night air. "Take care, my old man. Wǎn'ān." Which meant good night. He chortled, kissed me on the cheek, and the car sped off, leaving me standing there. My smile faded the second the vehicle disappeared.

In an instant, the makeup on my face felt unbearable and suffocating. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything else.

Even though I felt proud wearing this beautiful dress that perfectly hugged my curves, I still couldn't shake the thought that this shimmering gold body-con dress, along with the sleek stilettos on my feet, had been bought with my escort earnings. For some, it wasn't the kind of job a decent woman would choose. But poverty didn't exactly come with an instruction manual on dignity. There were only two options: survive or sink. And I chose to survive.

At first, I had no illusions about the world I had stepped into. Escort agencies existed in Manila, but they thrived in the shadows. They operated quietly through private websites, exclusive word-of-mouth, or discreet social media networks. Some catered strictly to high-end companionship, offering arm candy for businessmen and politicians who needed an elegant date for an event. Still, others blurred the lines even though prostitution was illegal in the country under Republic Act No. 9208.

Luckily, the agency I worked for, Velvet Luxe, was one of the few that gave its women a choice. No-sex contracts were strictly enforced for those who wanted them, providing companionship and social allure without the expectations that came with the darker side of the industry. I only worked for five hours per contract. If my time with a client went beyond that, he would have to pay additional fees and a tip.

It wasn't a perfect system, but in a city where opportunities were scarce for someone without a degree, it was one of the few ways I could make enough to support my family. Still, the stigma lingered. No matter how high-class the agency was or how much I told myself I was just playing a role, society wouldn't see it that way. To most, I was nothing more than a woman selling herself for money.

But they didn't know the first thing about survival. And tonight, survival came wrapped in gold silk and six-inch heels. Heaving a sigh, I crouched and slipped off my shoes, the cool pavement a welcome relief against my sore feet.

Heels dangling from my hand, I climbed the cement stairs to my third-floor apartment. There were no elevators, of course. This is Manila, and I lived in a cheap apartment. Even at this hour, distant laughter, honking cars, and muffled karaoke drifted from neighboring streets, indicating that the city was alive. But inside the apartment building, all was quiet. Most of my neighbors were call center workers, spending their nights in offices far from here. Their absence made the space feel empty, but I welcomed the isolation.

Just as I reached my door, my phone buzzed. I answered without checking the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"You whore, how did it go with Mr. Lee?" came Mina's teasing voice.

I only giggled, too tired to protest the nickname. "It went fine, as always. I just got home."

"Girl, you sound dead tired. Did the old Chinese mogul finally ask you to twerk?"

"Mina! What are you even saying?" I laughed, despite myself. "You know that's not how I run things."

"Oh, I wish my agency had the same policies as yours."

"I told you to quit your agency and work at Velvet Luxe."

She groaned. "Easy for you to say! You're conventionally pretty. Besides, I need the extra cash, you know!"

We talked for a few more minutes, our pep talk helping in the smallest of ways before she hung up.

Left alone, I collapsed onto my bed. Maybe I should shoot another Get Ready With Me TikTok, especially since I just reached 500,000 subscribers last week.

It got me contemplating how things drastically changed in the post-pandemic era. Nobody had anticipated the explosion of social media. Back in 2020, when the world was stuck indoors because of the pandemic, people craved entertainment, distractions, and any kind of human connection. This app, called TikTok, wasn't just some app for dance challenges, it became a stage where ordinary people could become stars overnight. Suddenly, Tiktok influencers weren't just influencers anymore, brands started to reach out to them, offering collaborations and compensations. What started as random beauty tutorials, daily vlogs, and comedic skits soon turned into full-blown careers. Even A-list celebrities who were once exclusive to television and film began flocking to the platform. The line between celebrity and content creator had blurred, making it easier for unknowns like me to carve a space in the digital world. And I had done just that. A few viral videos later, my follower count skyrocketed. People seemed to like my Get Ready With Me videos.

I could attest that TikTok had given me an audience, but still, it wasn't enough. I would still want to be on TV.

I exhaled sharply as I stared at the ring light sitting on my tiny desk. Maybe I should indeed film something. The algorithm didn't care if I was tired. If I wanted to keep growing, I had to stay consistent. Fame, after all, didn't wait for anyone.

My daydreaming was interrupted by a knock at the door. I glanced at my phone. It's 1:05 AM. Who could it be?

Heart pounding, I grabbed the nearest possible weapon, but I couldn't find anything useful except my hairdryer.

"Sofia, it's me," said a familiar, raspy voice.

I rolled my eyes. Him again. Anxiety quickly turned to irritation.

"Mr. Donato, it's late. What do you want?"

Knowing about his indiscretions, there was absolutely no reason to let him in.

"I waited for you all day, but you're just getting home now," he grumbled. "I came for the rent."

Shit. My hand flew to the envelope from Mr. Lee. Enough to cover rent, but barely. Nothing left to send home. "I-I'll pay tomorrow, Mr. Donato," I stammered. "I need to... budget everything first."

"If you're short," he said, his voice slick with suggestion, "we can work something out. You know what I want-"

"Not tonight, Mr. Donato," I cut him off sharply. "I'm exhausted. We'll talk tomorrow."

He did not respond for a long while, but it was enough for my heart to drum even more wildly in my chest.

"Tomorrow, then."

My skin crawled as I listened to his fading footsteps. Escorting might pay the bills, but it didn't mean I was for sale.

Feeling a little discouraged, I got up to start my night routine, dismissing this as another weird proposal from my landlord.

Scattered across my night table were various skincare products and gifts from small brands that had reached out months ago. Out of habit, I then turned to my email, skimming the inbox. Suddenly, one subject line caught my eye.

"Miss Morales, we've already met before at the restaurant. Meet me tomorrow at the location I provided. Wear something nice."

My blood boiled. Suddenly, the embarrassing encounter at the restaurant crossed my mind. That guy... Even with his so-called invitation, he still sounded like the same arrogant but irresistible jerk I met last week!

Running an empire that straddled both the legal and illegal required precision, accountability, and a solid foundation to play the dangerous game. But Rios Estrada Alcaraz was a man of duality.

To the public, he was a refined businessman. With his thriving media network called Star Channel Studios, he had been named the ultimate Kingpin of his generation. A media mogul whose name graced charity events, luxury hotels, and high-stakes investment portfolios. He moved in elite circles while shaking hands with politicians and rubbing shoulders with CEOs and dignitaries, all while keeping his true empire hidden beneath the surface.

Behind closed doors, he was a chess master. His only goal was to win the long game of deception. He laundered his wealth through legitimate businesses, making it nearly impossible for authorities to pin anything on him. His hands, which were always impeccably clean in the eyes of the law, were stained with the blood of those who had dared to cross him. His reach extended to politicians, high-profile deals, and underground networks that could shift economies. To those in the underworld, he smiled like a saint and punished like the devil.

Years of experience had taught Rios the virtue of patience. And he believed failure was not an option. If he faltered, the legacy his grandfather had built over generations would crumble. Don Felix Alcaraz had solidified their family as one of the toughest Mafia clans in the Philippines. Under Rios's leadership, there was no way he would let such great achievement collapse. He had to be sharp. Focused. In control. Yet ever since that little incident at the restaurant, he found himself unexpectedly distracted.

"Sofia Cruz Morales."

His cousin, Sasha Alcaraz, said the name with thinly veiled disdain. She sat across from him in an upscale restaurant with her long legs crossed and a pristine white blazer draped over her shoulders. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows glowed on her sharp features. The European genes they both inherited from their grandparents blended seamlessly with their Filipino roots, giving them an aristocratic edge-something their family had long used to their advantage.

Rios swirled the whiskey in his glass, amused by the distaste radiating from Sasha as she flicked through the file in front of her. She had always been one of his best advisors and most trusted family members as their bond was built on childhood trauma, practicality, and precision. But today, Sasha wasn't exactly supportive of his plan. "Are you sure about this girl, Ri?" she asked, arching a sculpted brow.

Sofia Morales. The fiery waitress who had dared to look him dead in the eye and accuse him of kidnapping his own niece. The woman who, despite his intimidating presence, hadn't cowered and backed down when they had a little confrontation at the restaurant last week. She had no idea who he was, or what he was capable of, yet still, she had challenged him. That intrigued him enough to hire a private investigator to dig deeper into her life.

"Well," Rios said, setting his glass down. "She's different. She stood her ground, even when she shouldn't have. That kind of boldness... it's rare." His lips twitched slightly. "She actually reminds me of you."

Sasha scoffed. "And that amused the hell out of you?"

"Yeah. You know I'm someone who isn't impressed so easily."

He leaned back in his chair, resting an elbow on the armrest. "Besides, you have to admit, she's interesting. Aspiring actress. Rising content creator. A waitress-"

"You forgot to mention she also works as an escort," Sasha cut in, flipping a page in the file. "And look, she's a regular of Mr. Xi Lee. Wasn't he the Chinese business tycoon who invested in your casino two years ago?"

"Which makes her even more ideal," he countered. "She's used to wealthy men and knows how to play the part. If your kid wasn't indeed my niece, I would've believed she wasn't acting at all. She's got potential; hence, I won't have to waste time training her." He tapped a finger against the mahogany table, his gaze flicking to the Manila skyline behind him. "More importantly, she's ambitious and persistent. That kind of drive is valuable."

And she was young and gorgeous.

He didn't say that aloud, but he indeed found her beauty... mesmerizing. No wonder a man like Xi Lee would pay for her time.

That wasn't a problem, though. If anything, her position in life made her even more useful. He owned one of the largest media networks in the country, and an aspiring actress like Sofia might find his offer difficult to refuse.

Sasha sighed, shaking her head. "She clearly needs the money. I doubt she'll turn this offer down."

Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts about Rios's plan. Just then, Sasha set the file on the table, folding her arms. "You know, Beatrice Sandoval would be a perfect match for you," she said casually. "Why not just give her and her family another chance? You wouldn't have to make a poor girl like Sofia Morales do something she shouldn't be doing in the first place. If she ever found out you're the Mafia Boss of the Alcaraz clan, it wouldn't end well for her."

Sasha had a point. Nevertheless, Rios's expression darkened as his jaw tensed. "I told you, cousin. I don't want to hear another damn thing about that arranged marriage."

"I know, but-"

"Just shut up and help me set up a meeting with that woman," he cut in sharply.

Sasha exhaled a sigh but didn't argue. With a flick of her wrist, she grabbed her phone. "Fine. I'll make the appointment now. But Rios," she said, pausing only to level her gaze with him. "Don't ever say I didn't warn you."

Rios smirked. "I will take full accountability, dear cousin."

Sasha rolled her eyes before exiting the restaurant.

Once alone, Rios was left with his thoughts. To him, marriage to Beatrice was out of the picture. His family could scheme all they wanted, but he wouldn't let them force him into tying himself to Beatrice Sandoval-not now, not ever again. If they wanted him to settle down, fine. But he'd do it on his own terms, even if that meant hiring someone to play the part.