His Mistress,His Secret

The city never slept, but in my apartment, silence pressed down like a weight I couldn't shake off. I sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed from work, staring into the dark while Isabella's uneven breathing filled the room. Her cough had softened but hadn't gone. Each time her little chest rattled, a piece of me cracked.

I brushed her damp hair back and pressed my lips to her warm forehead. "Mama's here," I whispered, the same promise I'd whispered every night. "You'll be okay. I'll figure it out."

But even as the words left my lips, they felt thin. Promises didn't pay rent. Promises didn't stop fevers. Promises didn't keep the past from clawing its way back into my present.

I stood slowly and slipped into the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed louder than usual, the pipes groaned in the walls, and the radiator clanked before falling silent again. This place was old, worn-out, patched together by my will more than anything else. Still-it was ours. Mine and Isabella's. Our safe place.

Or at least, it had been.

I poured a glass of water and held it with both hands, trying to steady the tremor in my fingers. That's when I saw it-a faint glow through the curtain.

Headlights.

Still. Silent. Waiting.

The chill that ran through me had nothing to do with the draft sneaking under the window. My steps were soundless as I crept closer, peeling the curtain back just enough to look.

A black car sat across the street, sleek and polished in a neighborhood of rusted doors and cracked sidewalks. The windows were tinted. The engine was on, purring low like a beast too patient to strike yet.

My heart lodged in my throat. I didn't need to see who sat behind that glass. I knew.

Adrian.

I let the curtain fall back into place and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. My breath fogged the pane. He wasn't gone. He hadn't just saved me in an alley or cornered me at work. He was here now, circling, watching, testing the walls I had built around my life.

Why couldn't he just leave me alone? Why couldn't the past stay buried?

I had spent years learning how to breathe without him, how to scrape by without his money, his shadow, his love. Years convincing myself that I'd made the right choice when I walked away. But with one look, one touch, Adrian Moretti was already unraveling it all.

And the truth I was hiding-my truth-was far too fragile to survive him.

A cough pulled me back.

I hurried into the bedroom. Isabella stirred, eyes half-open, her lips dry.

"I'm here," I whispered, sitting beside her.

She blinked, then frowned. "Why are you scared?"

The words cut like glass. I froze, my heart pounding, before forcing a shaky smile. "I'm not scared, baby. Just tired."

She reached for me with a small hand and I gathered her close. She nestled into my chest, warm and trusting, her breathing softening again.

"I dreamed of a man in the dark," she murmured, drifting back toward sleep.

My body went rigid.

I rocked her gently until her breathing steadied, then eased her back under the covers. I lay beside her, my arm curled protectively around her, my eyes fixed on the window.

The glow from the car hadn't moved.

I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just Adrian. That maybe someone else was watching, too. The alley attack. The whispers at the bar. The way strangers lingered a little too long on my street.

Was it only him, or were his enemies circling as well?

Either way, one truth gnawed at me as I lay awake, staring into the dark.

Adrian Moretti wasn't going to let me go. Not this time.

And the longer he stayed in my shadows, the closer he came to the secret that could destroy us both.