THE SUBSTITUTE HUSBAND BECAME HIS WIFE'S BOSS

CHAPTER 5

The Bentley wound its way up the hillside road, passing through manicured gardens and towering gates before arriving at Ricardo Vega's sprawling villa. The estate was a testament to wealth and power, with marble columns and fountains that sparkled in the afternoon sun.

Diego stepped out of the car, his expression calm despite the gravity of the situation. Ricardo hurried beside him, his usual composure cracking under the weight of desperation.

"She's in the special chamber," Ricardo explained as they walked toward the main house. "We had it built specifically for her condition. It's the only way to manage her episodes."

They entered through a side entrance and descended a marble staircase. The temperature dropped noticeably as they went deeper into the villa's basement level. At the end of a long corridor stood a reinforced door, flanked by four imposing bodyguards in black suits.

"This is it," Ricardo whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "She's been inside for two days now. The episodes are getting more frequent, more severe."

As Ricardo approached the door, a younger man emerged from an adjacent room. He bore a strong resemblance to Ricardo—the same aristocratic features, but with harder edges and cold, suspicious eyes.

"Father, what are you doing here?" the man demanded, stepping directly into their path. "And who is this?"

Ricardo's jaw tightened. "Santiago, this is Mr. Herrera. He's here to help Esperanza."

Santiago Vega looked Diego up and down with undisguised contempt. "This is your miracle healer? He looks like he could be my younger brother."

"Santiago, please—"

"No, father! I won't stand by and watch you parade another charlatan in front of my sister!" Santiago's voice rose dangerously. "Do you have any idea what's happening in there? Esperanza is suffering beyond imagination, and you want to subject her to more false hope?"

Diego remained perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back. "Your father asked me to come. If you don't trust his judgment, I can leave."

"Don't you dare try to manipulate him!" Santiago snarled. "I know exactly what you're trying to do!"

"And what is that?" Diego's voice was maddeningly calm.

"You're taking advantage of a desperate father! You know Esperanza is in that chamber, completely vulnerable, and you're planning to—"

"Santiago!" Ricardo's hand cracked across his son's face with a sharp slap that echoed through the corridor. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"

Santiago staggered back, clutching his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Father… you struck me? For him?”

“For your insolence!” Ricardo barked.

But Santiago only laughed coldly, though bitterness twisted his tone. “You’ve truly lost your mind. You’re so desperate, you’ll clutch at any straw. How many doctors have you invited after them. None of them saved Esperanza. None of them! And now you expect me to believe already? The best specialists, men with decades of research, with awards, with clinics named this… this ordinary youth can do what they couldn’t?”

Ricardo’s chest heaved, his face dark with both rage and shame.

Diego’s gaze shifted lazily toward Santiago. He spoke with the air of someone commenting on the weather.

“You talk so much about doctors, yet you hide your own secret illness. Impotence—born of overindulgence in lust. Am I wrong?”

The words struck harder than any slap.

Santiago froze, his sneer vanishing, his face draining of blood.

Diego’s gaze, cool and assessing, finally settled fully on Santiago. He gave him a slow, dismissive once-over, from his polished shoes to his perfectly styled hair. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

“Your concern for your sister is… commendable,” Diego said, his tone flat. “Pity you don’t have the same concern for your own… predicament.”

Santiago’s bravado faltered. “What are you babbling about?”

“All that pointless, frantic energy,” Diego mused, as if to himself. “All that bluster. It’s a common compensation. A shield for a profound inadequacy.” His eyes flicked down to Santiago’s groin for a fraction of a second. “The frustration must be unbearable. All that desire, and… nothing. A dry well. How many doctors have you seen in secret? How many promises broken, how many whispered consultations that led to nothing?”

Santiago’s face drained of all color. The angry red slap mark on his cheek stood out in stark contrast to his sudden pallor. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. It was a secret buried deeper than any family jewel, a shame he thought he’d concealed behind a facade of virile arrogance. No one knew. Not his father, not his lovers—the few he’d tried and failed with.

Ricardo stared, his anger morphing into confused shock. “Santiago? What is he talking about?”

“He’s lying!” Santiago finally choked out, but the panic in his eyes was a damning confession.

Diego continued, his voice still that infuriatingly calm monotone. “The body has its limits. You simply reached yours far too early. All that… overindulgence. A lifetime of pleasure, spent in a few reckless years. ”

Santiago’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a raw, exposed vulnerability. He looked at his father, and the truth was written in the sheer terror on his face. He gave a barely perceptible, shame-filled nod.

Ricardo staggered back a step, his hand going to his chest. His son. His heir. “My God, Santiago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?” Santiago’s laugh was a broken, hollow sound. “That your son is less than a man? That the Vega line ends with this… this impotent failure?”

Diego watched the scene unfold, a spectator to a tragedy he had just laid bare. The silence that followed was heavier than any accusation.

It was Santiago who broke it, his voice a desperate whisper, all former arrogance gone. “You… you saw it. You know. Can you…?” He couldn’t finish the question, the hope in his eyes warring with a lifetime of shame.

Ricardo, his own personal grief suddenly compounded, looked at Diego with a new, profound desperation. “Mr. Herrera, I beg of you. My daughter… and now my son… our family…”

Diego’s expression didn’t change. He gave Santiago one last, lingering look, then flicked his fingers in a casual, almost dismissive gesture. It was so fast, so subtle, that neither Ricardo nor his trembling son saw anything more than a blur of motion.

Santiago gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath as a sudden, unexpected sting shot through his groin, a sensation so foreign and intense it made his knees buckle slightly. It was gone as quickly as it came.

Before either man could process what had happened, Diego was already turning toward the frosted chamber door. He placed a hand on the icy handle.

“He is cured,” Diego stated, without looking back.