The late morning sun filtered through the frosted windows of Lila's Luxe Spa, casting soft patterns across the marble floor of the reception area. Nothing about its exterior suggested the secrets that lurked behind its lavender-scented walls.
Lila herself stood in her private office, reviewing the appointment book with practiced efficiency. At 38, she had maintained the kind of body that turned heads—curvy hips that filled out her pencil skirts, breasts that strained against silk blouses, and a face that combined sharp intelligence with soft feminine features. Her dark hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and diamond studs glinted at her ears, a gift from Mark on their tenth anniversary.
Mark. Her husband of fifteen years. The kind-hearted architect who believed she ran a simple yoga and wellness studio. He came home each evening to find her tired but satisfied, never questioning the source of her income. She provided him comfort, cooked his dinners, and fucked him dutifully twice a week, all while building an empire of illicit pleasure behind his back.