His Forbidden Mistress: Veil of Deception

Harold ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Then he walked toward me. I watched him carefully. "Was that David?" I asked. He gave a small, almost amused smile. "Who else?" Before I could react, he stepped closer. His hand reached up and gently touched my cheek, his fingers brushing against my skin as if it belonged to him. I froze. He studied my face, his eyes sharp and calculating. Then he smiled again-this time wider, more satisfied. Like he had already won. "As the events are going on right now," he said slowly, "I've already told my men to plan out your fake death." My heart skipped. "And I'll make sure your medical records are something David can find... if he tries to investigate." For a moment, I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. Medical records? How did he even get those? I stared at him, searching his face for answers, but all I saw was confidence. Controlling. "And I will help you, Sandra," he added softly. "You're beautiful. You don't deserve any of this." His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek. A shiver ran down my spine. There was something about the way he looked at me-it wasn't kindness. It wasn't concern. It felt like he was already ten steps ahead, like he had plans layered under plans-things I couldn't even begin to see. I pulled my gaze away from him, my thoughts spinning. "There's no backing out now," I muttered. "No," he said immediately. Before I could say anything else, he straightened up and reached for my arm, gently pulling me to stand. "Come on," he said. "You need to rest. You're pregnant." "And if you want to know what's happening with David right now," he continued, glancing at me, "I can give you updates. I already have someone following him." I nodded. We stayed in separate rooms. There was no way I could sleep beside someone like him-not with the way he looked at me, not with everything he was planning. The night felt long and heavy. Every small sound made me alert. Every shadow made me uneasy. And then the updates started coming in. Days passed. Harold didn't need to tell me much-sometimes he would just casually mention it, like it was nothing. "David's investigating the scene," he said one morning, sipping his coffee. "The place where you supposedly... died." Later that day, he told me to come with him. We got into his car. The windows were heavily tinted-dark enough that no one could see inside. "Where are we going?" I asked. "You'll see." The drive felt longer than it probably was. My hands rested on my lap, fingers tightly intertwined. Then the car slowed down. "Look," Harold said. I turned toward the window. And that's when I saw him. David. Even from a distance, I recognized him immediately. I suddenly remembered what he did to me. Memories came rushing through my head. I shook my head and focused on the scene. He was surrounded by officers near the river at the outskirts of the district. His posture was tense, his movements sharp and restless. He was shouting. "I want to know!" he yelled, his voice carrying even from where we were. My breath caught. "Tell me! Now!" The officers looked nervous-some avoided his gaze, while others scrambled to respond. No one dared to argue with him. I stared at him, unable to look away. He looked furious. But more than that-he looked desperate. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth like he didn't know what to do with himself. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke again, but he didn't seem to notice. "Please! It's all my fault!" I felt something twist inside my chest. We stayed inside the car, hidden behind the tinted windows. The river flowed steadily nearby, its current strong-the sound faint but constant. I followed it with my eyes for a moment, imagining how convincing everything must look. "I don't understand..." I whispered to myself. Why now? Why does he look like that... now that I'm gone? A part of me felt something I didn't expect. Pity. And I hated it. I tightened my grip on my hands. "Why does he regret it now?" I murmured under my breath. I turned to Harold, still trying to make sense of everything I had just seen. "Why does he still need to find my body? Didn't your man already tell him? You paid to give him false information, right? That my body was already found...examined..." Harold let out a quiet breath and adjusted himself in his seat. He was wearing glasses now. And for a brief, almost ridiculous moment, I found myself distracted. I couldn't deny it-he looked good. Too good. The kind of calm, polished appearance that made it easy to forget what he was capable of. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road. "Because he hasn't seen your body," he said simply. I frowned. "He doesn't believe you're dead," Harold continued. "He doesn't believe any of the bullshit I fed to the investigator. Even though the investigator had confirmed your death, David couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't add up..." Then he laughed. But it wasn't the kind of laugh that came from humor. It was cold and mocking. Like he was enjoying this. "That serves him right," he added. "For what he did." Before I could respond, he stepped on the gas, and the car moved forward, pulling us away from the scene... away from David. Silence filled the car. But my mind wouldn't stop. After a few minutes, I spoke again. "What did he actually do to you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. Harold's grip on the steering wheel tightened instantly. His knuckles turned white, and for a second, I thought he might not answer at all. He stared straight ahead. Then he took a slow, controlled breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm-but there was something underneath it. "That's something we're not going to talk about, Sandra." "This situation..." he continued, "this plan...it's about us. About what we want to happen to David." He glanced at me briefly, his eyes sharp. "You don't need to involve yourself in what I went through. Understand?" I froze. There was something about the way he said it-not loud, not angry, but final. I didn't know what exactly he meant or what he was hiding. But I understood one thing clearly. He didn't want me digging into it. So I nodded slowly and looked away. "I understand," I said quietly. And just like that, the conversation ended. When we got back, I stepped out of the car first. The mansion stood in front of me-tall and quiet, like it always did. It still didn't feel like a place I belonged in. I started walking toward the entrance. But before I could take more than a few steps, Harold grabbed my hand. I stopped. Then suddenly, he pulled me back and spun me around. I gasped softly, caught off guard. We ended up face-to-face. We're too close again. "I will transform you into someone," he said, his voice low but steady. I blinked. "No more struggling." His grip on my hand tightened slightly-not painful, but firm. "Under my hand," he said, looking straight into my eyes, "you'll become the most confident woman you can be." For a second, I couldn't breathe. The way he was looking at me... It wasn't simple. It wasn't easy to read. Harold was giving me mixed signals, and I hated that part of me was reacting to it. I mean-he was handsome. There was no denying that. He even reminded me of David in some ways. But this felt different. Unpredictable. My heart started beating faster, and I hated that he might notice. So I forced myself to stay calm, to keep my expression steady. "I'm ready," I said. He studied me for a moment. Then he nodded once. "Good." And just like that, he let go. Time passed. Sometimes, I couldn't even tell how fast it all went. Everything changed. I changed. I gave birth. That alone felt like a lifetime compressed into a single moment-pain, fear, and something else I couldn't fully explain. And now... I stood in front of a mirror. Staring at myself. I barely recognized the woman looking back. The dress fit perfectly. My hair was styled, my makeup carefully done. Every detail was in place. A bride. I let out a slow breath. I always thought... if I ever got to this moment... It would be with David. I closed my eyes briefly. There was a time when I believed in that so much it felt real. I even convinced myself-deluded myself-that he would leave everything behind for me. That he would choose me. But that never happened. And now... Now I was here. About to marry Harold. "Ma'am?" I opened my eyes and looked at the reflection of the staff behind me. "The limousine is ready," she said politely. "Sir Harold is waiting for you at the church." I nodded slowly. "I'll be there in a minute." As she left the room, I turned back to the mirror. For a long moment, I just stared at myself again. Then I forced a confident smile. Years had passed, and this time, I was done crying, done questioning myself. I am Sandra Wong-beautiful, unstoppable, and untouchable. All of this... because of a goddamn love. I smirked, the corner of my lips curling with a mixture of triumph and warning. "See you soon, David."