His Forbidden Mistress: Veil of Deception

The cold snap of the night air finally broke as I reached the mouth of the alley that led to my building.

Reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Gone were the mahogany desks and the scent of expensive scotch.

Here, the air smelled of rotting garbage, stale beer, and the metallic tang of rust.

"Sandra! Back from another 'business trip?'"

The voice was raspy, belonging to one of the neighborhood drunks huddled around a plastic table.

They were passing around a bottle of cheap gin, their eyes bloodshot and wandering.

"Looks like she caught a big fish today, boys! Look at that dress!" another one jeered, followed by a chorus of whistles and crude laughter.

"Where'd you get that, Sandra? Did you have to work overtime on your back? You're a natural-born pro, after all."

I didn't even look at them.

I kept my chin up, my heels clicking sharply against the cracked pavement.

I was used to the insults.

To them, I was just the local "slut," the girl who used her body to pay for a life they couldn't touch.

But as I reached my door, my stomach gave a painful, hollow flip.

"Fuck."

I don't know who my parents were. I don't have a family tree or a last name that means anything.

The people who "raised" me told me they found me in a literal trash heap, wrapped in a dirty blanket.

They kept me around until I was old enough to be a burden, and then they kicked me out onto the street with a pat on the back.

"You're a pretty girl, Sandra," they'd told me.

"You'll find a way to eat. Beauty is a currency."

And that's how I ended up at the bar. That's how I ended up on a pole, selling my skin.

The next night, I arrived at the club with a heavy heart and a pounding headache.

I had no choice since I need to survive this night. I tried calling David, but he's not answering.

He usually lets me eat at his place while we're having sex.

He doesn't know that I rarely eat because I don't have money, and he doesn't know that I don't earn enough because the bar management's deductions are so high.

He doesn't know about my hell.

I spent an hour in front of a cracked mirror, layering on foundation and cheap glitter.

"Look who finally showed up!" my manager barked the second I stepped into the dressing room.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, not looking at him.

"Sorry doesn't pay the electric bill, Sandra! You know the policy. You're late again, and you're back on the street. Get out there and earn your keep."

I walked onto the stage, but my mind wasn't on the music.

It was back in that study. It was back on the desk. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw David's face-the way his jaw tightened when he looked at me, the way his eyes betrayed his "perfect husband" act.

I needed a plan. I needed a way to make sure he couldn't just throw me away.

I thought about his wife, Cyndrel. She had everything I wanted. She had the house, the security, the name. She had the man who looked at me with such filthy, beautiful desire.

'I want you.'

The next day, I didn't go back to the club.

I put on my best outfit again, ignored the burning hunger in my gut, and headed straight back to his empire.

I showed up with my head held high, adjusting the strap of my bag as I walked past the front desk.

But when I reached his executive floor, the office was cold. The lights were dimmed, and the usual hum of activity around his desk was gone.

"Where is Sir David?" I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

One of the junior staff members looked up, frowning at me with a mix of confusion and judgment.

"You're his secretary, aren't you? Shouldn't you be the one keeping track of his schedule?"

I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck. I was a fraud, and for a split second, I felt like they could see right through my expensive-looking dress to the girl who lived in the slums.

"He didn't mention anything to me this morning," I lied, my voice steady.

"Well, we don't know either," the staffer replied, turning back to their computer.

"He didn't come in today. He took a personal day off probably."

A personal day. That meant he was home.

I turned on my heel and walked out. I hailed a ride and gave them the address. I needed to see him.

When I arrived, the sheer size of the mansion always took my breath away.

It was a palace of stone and glass, surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. I stayed back, hiding near the line of trees that bordered the driveway. I looked up at the second-floor balcony, and my breath hitched.

David was there. And so was Cyndrel.

They looked like something out of a movie. She was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, and David... he was looking at her with a softness I had never seen.

He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. He was smiling-a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.

It shouldn't have mattered. I knew he was married. I knew I was only using him for his money, for a way out of the dirt.

But seeing him look at her like that felt like a hot knife to my chest.

Did I mean absolutely nothing to him? Was I really just a body he used when he was bored or angry?

Did I finally... fall for him?

I watched as Cyndrel kissed him on the cheek and headed back inside, leaving him alone on the balcony.

This was my chance.

"David!" I called out.

He froze.

He looked down, and when his eyes landed on me, the warmth I had seen seconds ago vanished.

It was replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated dread. He rushed off the balcony and met me near the side entrance, his face contorted in a snarl.

"Sandra, what the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me further into the shadows of the garden.

"You shouldn't be here. I told you it's over!"

"You can't just throw me away, David," I whispered. "Why are you pushing me like this?!"

"Because my wife is starting to get suspicious!" he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper.

"She's asking questions about you. I can't have you hanging around the office or the house. You're fired! You need to get out of here and never come back!"

"No!" I said, digging my heels in.

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me properly. You can't just erase me!"

I tried to reach for him, tried to use the manipulation that had always worked before, but he shook his head, looking at me with a coldness that terrified me.

"Sandra, you don't want to see what I'm capable of," he warned.

"You should be grateful I'm even letting you walk away."

He turned to leave, his back as rigid as a stone wall.

He was really doing it.

He was cutting me off, sending me back to the trash heap without a second thought.

I felt the desperation rise up in my throat, choking me. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't!

"David, wait!" I cried out.

He stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"What now?"

"I'm pregnant," I said, my eyes welling with fake tears.

"And you're the father."

I knew there was no going back from this.

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched the color drain from David's face when he looked back at me, his professional mask finally shattering into a thousand pieces.

I had him.