Mated to the Valdiri Brothers

Holly “Who poured—what is this? MILK? Who poured f*****g milk on my table?” Mia’s voice screeched across the dressing room. My head throbbed. I grabbed the bottle of iced water and took a long swig, then stared at my reflection. Bags under my eyes despite eight hours of sleep. Pale skin. I looked like complete s**t. Christmas Eve. My biggest night. The one night I was supposed to shine, and I looked like a corpse. Great. f*****g perfect. One mistake tonight and you’re done. They’ll remember. They always remember. “It’s the Holly Jolly show tonight!” Jenna bounced up beside me in white lingerie, glitter everywhere, ponytails swinging. “Are you okay?” I glanced at her sideways. “Yeah, why?” “You just look… tired?” I managed a faint smile, amused by her attempt at politeness. “I’m fine, Jen.” She meant well. Jenna always meant well. But I didn’t have time for well-meaning concern right now. I found an aspirin and opened my vanity drawer. Empty except for a few Tic Tacs, old lip gloss, and my treasure—a mint green Chanel flap I’d bought at nineteen. I brushed my hands over the gold hardware, feeling the cool metal. My first designer piece. Proof I could make it, that I could be somebody. Every time I looked at it, I remembered why I did this s**t. Why I smiled when I wanted to scream. Why I performed perfection even when I was falling apart. Because one day, I’d have a closet full of these. One day, I wouldn’t have to choose between my Chanel and groceries. My phone lit up. Phe: Could you pick up some bread on your way back? I felt my jaw tighten. Not tonight. Me: Can’t. You go out and get some now. Phe: But Hol’s, I caaaaan’t. I have band practice tonight and neeeeed to get in my zonnneee. Band practice. Her zone. Meanwhile, I was about to shake my ass for drunk strangers to keep a roof over our heads. Me: f*****g get the bread, Phe. I regretted it immediately. She was a kid. She didn’t understand. But I couldn’t deal with her whining right now. You’re being a b***h. You know you’re being a b***h. Fix it later. Phe: Okay. Phe: Grandpa says goodnight. My chest squeezed. f**k. Grandpa. I could picture him in his recliner, Phe holding up her phone, him smiling that tired smile. Don’t think about it. You’ll break. You can’t break. Not tonight. Suddenly, high-pitched squealing erupted from the other side of the dressing room. “Oh my GOD!” Crystal’s voice hit a pitch that could shatter glass. “Is that—” “No f*****g way!” Amber practically screamed. “It’s really them!” Mia clutched at Crystal’s arm. “No way!” someone else gasped. The noise level rose to chaos. Girls rushing to peek through the curtain, pulling each other back, fighting for position. What are they talking about? I glanced around the dressing room, taking in the scene. Whoever was out there couldn’t be anything spectacular. These women were just easily impressed. Their standards were impeccably low. I looked around the back room. Filthy. Like the dirty f*****g whores who occupied it. Makeup scattered everywhere, costumes thrown on the floor, half-empty drinks leaving rings on every surface. I let out a sigh before pushing myself from my seat and walking to the only locker so white it could be mistaken for a stairway to heaven. Mine. The only clean thing in this entire shithole. “What I need is a f*****g Valdiri,” Mia was saying, her voice dripping with desperation. “Like they’d ever show up here.” I froze, my hand on my locker. Valdiri? “Oh my god, it IS them!” Jenna burst through the curtain, eyes wide as saucers. “The Valdiri brothers are here! At table seven!” The room exploded. Girls screamed, pushing and shoving to get to mirrors, frantically fixing their makeup and adjusting their t**s. “Which one is hotter?” Crystal demanded. “All of them!” Amber squealed. “Oh my god, do you think they’ll want a dance?” “I’m going out there,” Mia announced, checking her lipstick. “I’m totally going to get one of them.” “You?” Crystal scoffed. “Please. The blonde one was looking at me.” “The dark-haired one smiled when I walked by earlier,” Amber insisted. I watched them preen like desperate birds, touching up makeup with shaking hands, adjusting their cheap lingerie. These girls actually thought they had a chance. Like werewolf royalty would look twice at their basic, trashy asses. “Holly!” Jenna grabbed my arm, breathless. “They asked for you!” The room went silent. Every head turned to look at me. “What?” Crystal’s voice went sharp. “Why would they ask for her?” “Travis said they came in, sat down, and specifically asked when Holly was performing,” Jenna explained, squeezing my arm excitedly. “That’s such bullshit,” Amber crossed her arms. “I’ve been here longer.” “And you’re still mediocre,” I said flatly, opening my locker. “Maybe that’s why.” “f**k you, Holly,” Mia snapped. “No thanks.” I pulled out my candy cane costume. “You’re not my type.” “You think you’re so much better than us?” Crystal moved closer, trying to intimidate me. I looked her up and down slowly. “I don’t think. I know. Even at my worst, I outrank all of you.” “Conceited b***h,” Amber muttered. “Competent b***h,” I corrected. “There’s a difference. You should learn it.” Jenna tugged my arm. “Holly, come on. You need to get ready. They’re waiting.” I grabbed my Chanel bag—because if I was performing for the Valdiri brothers, they needed to see I had standards—and turned to face the room full of jealous, bitter women. “Watch and learn, ladies,” I said. “This is how you handle royalty.” I walked toward the stage entrance, leaving behind the sound of their hateful whispers. Don’t f**k this up. Don’t you dare f**k this up. The stage lights hit me like fire—hot, bright, familiar. The crowd roared, but I could feel table seven’s attention like a physical weight pressing against my skin. I didn’t look at them yet. The music started—a bass-heavy remix of “Santa Baby”—and I let my body take over. Years of ballet training, years of pole work, years of practice made the movements automatic. Spin. Grip. Arch. My thighs locked around the pole as I extended horizontal, back arched, t**s thrust forward in the candy cane bra. Bills rained down immediately. I glanced at table seven. Three men who didn’t belong in a strip club. They belonged on magazine covers, in boardrooms, in fantasies women didn’t admit to having. The one in the middle was massive—easily six-four, broad shoulders that could carry the weight of the world, dark hair styled perfectly despite the club’s chaos. He wore a suit that probably cost more than my rent. Everything about him screamed control, power, money. His green eyes tracked every movement like he was analyzing, memorizing. To his right sat a leaner man with dark blonde hair that looked artfully messy, hazel eyes that seemed amused by everything. He sprawled in his seat like gravity worked differently for him, smirking, but there was something hungry underneath it. The third was younger, buzz-cut hair, kind eyes that didn’t match his military posture. He looked nervous, which was almost endearing on someone that built. All three were watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Not the drunk, glazed stares of regular customers. This was focused. Predatory. Like I was prey they’d been hunting. They won’t be impressed. Look at you—you’re exhausted, you feel like s**t, and you’re about to perform for werewolf royalty. But then I remembered the girls backstage. Their desperation. Their mediocrity. No. Even sick, even exhausted, I’m better than all of them. Show these men what real talent looks like. I transitioned into floor work—dropped to my knees and rolled my hips in slow waves that mimicked s*x. Hands trailing up my thighs, over my stomach, between my breasts. Teasing everything, giving nothing. More bills. More applause. The massive one—his jaw was clenched tight. The blonde leaned so far forward he might fall off his seat. The youngest gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. Good. That’s good. Make them want you. I spun around the pole again, used momentum to lift myself, then dropped into a split that made the crowd go wild. My thong rode up, barely covering anything, and I saw the blonde’s smirk grow into something darker. I stood, walked to the edge of the stage on heels that made my legs look endless, and dropped to my knees directly in front of table seven. Back arched, chest out, head thrown back—offering everything while giving nothing. My finale pose. The crowd exploded. But I was only looking at table seven. All three stared back like I was the only person in the room. The song ended. I held the pose one more beat, then stood and walked off, hips swaying deliberately. My hands were shaking. You did it. You didn’t f**k up. They watched the whole time. Backstage, I was gulping water when Jenna appeared, practically vibrating. “They want a private dance!” I nearly choked. “What?” “The Valdiri brothers! VIP room three!” Jenna grabbed my shoulders. “Holly, they pre-paid five thousand dollars just to get you in the room.” The water bottle slipped from my hand. Five thousand. Just for entry. That’s not real. That can’t be real. “That’s just the entry fee,” Jenna continued, her voice rising with excitement. “They want to negotiate the actual price with you. For the dance itself.” My brain started calculating. If they paid five grand just to talk to me, the actual dance could be—ten? Fifteen? Twenty? That was Grandpa’s hospital bills. That was Phe’s tuition. That was breathing room I hadn’t had in years. Don’t f**k this up. This is your shot. Don’t you dare f**k this up. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “Okay.” Behind me, I could hear the other girls whispering, their jealousy thick in the air. Let them watch. Let them see what happens when you’re actually good at this. I checked my reflection one last time. Fixed my lipstick. Made sure everything was perfect. Grabbed my Chanel bag. I pushed open the door to VIP room three.