His Forbidden Mistress: Veil of Deception

I looked at him, my eyes narrowing with skepticism.

I had spent my entire life being lied to, and David had just finished delivering the ultimate betrayal.

Why should I believe that his brother was any different?

"I don't know you," I said, "And quite frankly, I don't trust anyone with the last name Kingsley."

"Especially not now that you're carrying a Kingsley heir," he said, his eyes dropping to my stomach.

I winced, closing my eyes tight as the reality of the pregnancy hit me, "I'll just get rid of it," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"This child... it's just a reminder of everything I've lost."

I looked him dead in the eye, trying to summon whatever scrap of dignity I had left.

"Thank you for the offer. But if you're just going to use me as a weapon against your brother, just like David used me for his own fun, it's a no. I'm not a tool."

I reached out and forcefully peeled his hand off my wrist.

He didn't fight me, but the look on his face told me he thought I was making a massive mistake.

I didn't look back.

I grabbed the handle of my broken suitcase and began to walk away.

The truth was, I had nowhere to go. I walked for what felt like hours, my feet blistering, until I found a waiting shed near a main road.

It was the only shelter I could find. I sat on the hard wooden bench, watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon.

I was practically a beggar now. I sat there with my hands tucked into my lap, watching people pass by.

They looked at me with varying degrees of disgust-mothers pulling their children away, men sneering at my torn dress and messy hair.

I felt invisible and hated all at once. I was starving, but I couldn't bring myself to ask for a single cent.

Suddenly, a black SUV screeched to a halt right in front of the shed.

The tires kicked up a cloud of dust that made me cough. Before I could even stand up, three men piled out of the vehicle. They were built like brick walls, wearing nondescript dark clothing and surgical masks that hid their faces.

They lunged for me.

"Wait! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!" I screamed, thrashing as two of them grabbed my arms, lifting me clean off the bench.

The sidewalk was deserted now. The afternoon commute had ended, and the streetlights hadn't quite flickered on yet. The world was draped in a dim, eerie gray.

"Stop! Please!"

They ignored my pleas, dragging me toward the open door of the SUV.

I kicked and bit. They were going to shove me inside, and I knew with a terrifying certainty that if I got into that car, I was never coming out alive.

"Let go of her!" a voice roared, cutting through the sound of my struggling.

I looked up, tears blurring my vision.

It was him.

The man from earlier.

David's brother.

He was standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, looking remarkably calm for a man facing three hired thugs.

"You've got nothing to do with this," one of the men growled, stepping toward him.

"Keep walking if you want to keep your teeth."

He didn't flinch. He watched as they tried to shove me into the back seat.

"I said, let go of her."

In a blur of motion, he moved.

One of the men reached out to shove him back, but he caught the man's wrist in mid-air.

He applied a quick, brutal pinch to a pressure point, and the thug let out a strangled cry of pain, his grip on my arm loosening instantly. I scrambled back, falling against the wall of the waiting shed as I watched in stunned silence.

He dodged a wild swing from the second man, countering with a lightning-fast punch to the throat that sent the man reeling.

The third guy lunged with a knife, but he pivoted on his heel, caught the man's arm, and sent him flying into the side of the SUV with a sickening thud.

It was over in less than a minute.

The three men were groaning on the ground, and he was barely out of breath. He adjusted his jacket, his eyes turning back to me.

"I told you," he said, "Your life is in danger. My brother's wife might look like a saint in the tabloids, but she is ruthless underneath those fake smiles. She wants you dead, Sandra. She wants the threat you represent to be erased."

My breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I looked at the men on the floor, then back at him.

"H-How did you know they would come?"

"Because I know how that family operates. I know them well," he said, stretching out his hand toward me.

"My name is Harold. And I'm the only chance you and that baby have of seeing tomorrow."

This time, I didn't hesitate.

The pride was gone. I reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm and warm, pulling me up.

"Come with me," he said.

I climbed into his car. As he pulled away, the compartment was silent.

I stared out the window, my mind racing. If Harold hadn't arrived, I would be dead.

Did David know... about Cyndrel? I shook my head. It didn't matter.

He doesn't care about me.

When the car finally hummed to a stop, I stayed frozen in the leather seat for a moment, my eyes widening as I peered through the tinted glass.

I expected a safe house-maybe a secluded cabin or a high-security apartment.

Instead, I was staring at an estate that rivaled David's in every way.

It was a fortress of modern architecture, sharp lines of glass and dark stone that looked both beautiful and intimidating.

If David's home was a palace of old-money tradition, Harold's was a monument to cold, calculated power.

The guards appeared instantly. One of them opened my door, and I stepped out onto the gravel, feeling smaller than ever in my torn, mud-stained dress.

"Follow me," Harold said, not looking back.

I followed him through the massive front doors.

Inside, the foyer was breathtaking.

The ceilings were so high they seemed to disappear into the shadows, and the air was perfectly climate-controlled, smelling of expensive wax and fresh lilies.

Harold stopped in the center of the hall and gave a sharp, single snap of his fingers.

A team of maids appeared from the side corridors. They bowed their heads and moved toward me.

"Take her upstairs," he commanded.

"Clean her up. Get her whatever she needs."

The women guided me to a guest suite that was larger than my entire apartment building.

They led me into a bathroom that felt more like a spa, carved out of white quartz.

I watched, stunned, as they lit scented candles-lavender-filling the air with a soothing mist.

They ran a bath of steaming water, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let myself relax.

When I finally stepped out, feeling human again, a fresh dress was waiting for me on the bed.

It was a deep, midnight blue silk. As I zipped it up, I realized with a start that it fit me perfectly-every curve, every inch was accounted for.

How did he get this so fast? I wondered.

The thought of Harold had likely been watching me long before he rescued me sent a shiver down my spine.

I don't want to think about it.

I brushed my hair until it shone and descended the grand staircase.

At the bottom of the steps, Harold was waiting.

He was leaning against the bannister, his dark suit impeccable, a glass of dark liquid in his hand.

As I reached the final few steps, his gaze drifted up, and his eyes stayed on me for a long, heavy moment.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

"No wonder my brother was willing to risk a marriage for you," he said, his voice a low purr.

"You didn't just catch his eye; you swayed him with every look. You have a way of wearing beauty like a weapon, Sandra."

I reached the floor and stood my ground, refusing to let his charm disarm me.

"Beauty didn't save me from the gutter, Harold. It didn't stop your brother from throwing me away like trash."

"True," he conceded, taking a sip of his drink.

"Which is why I'm offering you something better than beauty. I'm offering you an escape. A one-time chance to burn the bridge behind you."

I crossed my arms.

"And what does that look like? You've already shown me you can fight. What else can you do?"

Harold stepped closer, his expression turning deadly serious.

"You are going to fake your death. Tonight, Sandra, you cease to exist. The girl who was David's mistake-she's going to die in a way that leaves no doubt. I will make sure David receives the news. He will feel the weight of what he did. He will live with the ghost of the woman he discarded."

My breath hitched.

"And then what?"

"And then you disappear," he continued.

"I will send you away, somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. You'll have the best care for that child. You'll be trained, refined, and remade. And years from now, when the time is right, you will return. But you won't return as a mistress or a victim."

He reached out, his fingers brushing the silk of my sleeve.

"You will return as my wife."

That made me pause.

"We will walk back into that mansion together, and we will take everything David thinks is his. His pride, his company, his sanity. What do you say, Sandra? Are you ready to die so you can finally learn how to live?"

I looked at him, seeing the same ruthless ambition in his eyes that I felt burning in my own heart.

I thought of David laughing at the party. I thought of Cyndrel's cold smile. I thought of the baby I was carrying.

"I say," I whispered, my voice hardening, "tell me how to start."