His Virgin, His Concubine
Description
After nineteen years of being called fat, ugly, and worthless by her own family, Leyla Razavi thought her betrothal to Lord Kemal was proof she could be wanted-until her engagement celebration becomes her public execution. The dress her sister Yasmin secretly altered strains obscenely across her voluptuous body as three dozen noble guests watch it tear at the seams, their cruel laughter filling the hall. Before Leyla can even escape the humiliation, her father announces a change: the graceful Yasmin will marry Lord Kemal instead, while Leyla will be sent to the Sultan's harem as a political offering. As the man she loved extends his hand to her sister without a backward glance, and her mother's satisfied smirk confirms this was orchestrated all along, Leyla realizes the full scope of her family's betrayal-and that her fate as an unwanted decoration in the imperial harem is already sealed.
Chapter 1
Nov 13, 2025
[Leyla’s POV]
The silk screams against my body.
I stand frozen in the doorway of the celebration hall, and three dozen pairs of noble eyes turn toward me like wolves scenting blood.
The dress—the beautiful emerald silk that arrived this morning with Yasmin's note about how perfectly it would complement my curved complexion—strains obscenely across my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
Every breath threatens to split the seams. Every slight movement makes the fabric pull tighter, cutting into flesh my family has spent nineteen years laughing off.
The laughter starts as a ripple. Then it becomes a wave.
My father's face twists with disgust so profound I can taste it across the hall. My mother's lips curve into something that might be a smile if smiles could draw blood. And Yasmin—my beautiful, golden sister—gasps with perfectly practiced concern, one delicate hand flying to her mouth as if she's horrified rather than triumphant.
"Cover yourself," someone hisses.
I try. My hands move to my chest, but there's too much exposed. Too much straining silk and too much of me on display for people who've already decided I'm worthless. The dress rips at the shoulder seam.
The sound cracks through the hall like a whip, and my breast nearly spills free.
The laughter crescendos.
Lord Kemal stands at the dais where we were supposed to announce our engagement tonight. The man I fell in love with three years ago at the Sultan's garden party. The man who courted me for months, who told me I was clever and interesting, who made me believe I could be wanted.
His face contorts with barely concealed revulsion, as if looking at me causes him physical pain.
"Leyla." My maid Sera appears at my elbow, her voice urgent and low. "Come. Please. Let me help you."
She tries to guide me toward the corridor, to spare me this, but she's whispering something else—something about bruises hidden beneath the silk, about how the dress was deliberately altered. My mind can't process it. Can't process anything except the waves of humiliation crashing over me, drowning me, pulling me under.
"Wait."
My father's voice booms across the hall. Every whisper dies.
I freeze, still clutching the torn fabric to my chest, still feeling the weight of three dozen stares like stones pressing me into the marble floor.
"There has been a change to this evening's announcement." My father's words are crisp, businesslike, as if he's discussing a trade agreement rather than destroying his daughter. "After careful consideration, I've decided that my graceful younger daughter Yasmin will marry Lord Kemal."
The hall erupts in shocked whispers. I hear my own heartbeat, too loud, too fast.
"My eldest daughter Leyla will have the honor of joining the Sultan's harem. She departs in three days."
The whispers become a roar. What did she do? What scandal? How desperate must she be? How ugly, how useless, how unwanted. The words swirl around me, cutting deeper than any blade.
Lord Kemal doesn't even look at me. He's already extending his hand toward Yasmin, who glides forward in her perfect rose-colored gown that fits her perfect body exactly as it should.
She takes his hand with downcast eyes and a shy smile.
"I would be honored to accept Lord Kemal's suit," she says, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.
The proposal that was meant for me. Three days ago, Kemal told me he'd ask my father's permission tonight. Three days ago, I still believed I might have a future that didn't taste like ash.
I don't remember fleeing. Don't remember the corridor, the stairs, the door to my room slamming behind me. I only remember collapsing against it, finally letting the tears come, my hands shaking as I try to hold together the ruins of the dress and my dignity and my life.
The knock comes soft, concerned.
"Leyla? May I come in?" Yasmin's voice drips with false worry.
I should tell her to leave. Should scream at her, throw something, anything. Instead, I open the door because some poisonous part of me still hopes she'll explain, apologize, tell me this is a nightmare I'll wake from.
She closes the door behind her with a gentle click.
"Oh, Leyla." She sighs, settling onto my bed as if she belongs there. "I know tonight was difficult for you."
"Difficult." The word scrapes out of my throat.
"I wanted to tell you myself. Before you heard it from servants or Father." Yasmin's expression shifts, loses its mask of concern, reveals something cold and satisfied beneath. "I've been planning this for two years."
My breath stops.
"Kemal was never yours. Not really." She examines her perfect nails. "He came to me six months into your courtship. Said he couldn't bear the thought of touching you, but Father had already made promises. So I suggested an alternative arrangement."
"You—"
"I made it easy for him. Gave him excuses to see me, to fall in love with me instead." She reaches into her bodice and withdraws a folded packet of letters. "These helped too."
She spreads them across my bed. Letters in handwriting that looks like mine but isn't. Letters to stable boys and guards, describing desperate encounters, begging for attention, for touch, for anything to fill the void of being unwanted.
"Forgeries," I whisper.
"Father needed proof. He was beyond himself with rage and disappointment. Wanted to tear you apart!" Yasmin's smile is radiant. "I convinced him the harem was more merciful. Saved your life, really."
"Why?" The word tears out of me. "Why do you hate me this much?"
"Hate?" She laughs, light and pretty. "I don't hate you, Leyla. I just refuse to let you take what should have always been mine. You were born first. You stole two whole years of being the only daughter, the precious one. Everything after that was just... balance."
She stands, smoothing her perfect gown.
"You should thank me. The harem is better than you deserve." She pauses at the door. "Oh, and Kemal wanted me to tell you—he's grateful it worked out this way. He never could have bedded you without feeling ill."
The door closes with a soft click.
I stand in the wreckage of my room, surrounded by forged letters and the ruins of my life, and my fingernails dig into my palms until I feel the hot slip of blood. The pain grounds me. Focuses me on a single, crystalline truth:
My sister has orchestrated my destruction with the precision of a master tactician, and she did it because she could.
Because I've spent nineteen years being too weak to fight back.
Three days. I have three days before they lock me in a gilded cage forever.
Three days to decide who I'll be when everything I was gets stripped away.
His Virgin, His Concubine
30 Chapters
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