The Prince's Mistress
To defend the stolen goods, Elena jumped off a tall building.
But it was surprisingly, he went into the other world and lost his loot stone.
Turns out there, the great thief must compete with the harem and try to recover the stone, to return to the world.
Will she be queen of the prince and find a ruby stone? Is it what Elena would choose, to defend her life now or return to her world?
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Chapter 3
"Disperse! Disperse! Disperse!" The loud voice of someone on the bass porch echoed in the room. The harem could be seen dispersing themselves. Frightened faces could be seen on some of the women. Elena was still staring at the harem women.
"Ayla!" Someone suddenly grabbed her arm roughly. Elena gasped, especially since she was called by a name she had never heard before. Although it had been called by the guard who brought her back to the harem.
"Don't you make any more noise in here!" It turned out that the person who grabbed her arm was a hooded woman with a cynical face.
"Commotion?" Elena frowned. "I didn't do anything!"
The woman led Elena to the corner of the room. Her cynical face seemed to stare at Elena without tenderness. But Elena wasn't afraid, she met the woman's gaze with her own.
"You're almost dead! Don't ever mess up again if you don't want to end up worse than yesterday!" the woman said threateningly.
Elena shook her head vigorously. As if her head was spinning, they were talking about something she didn't know. Elena was sure that there must be something wrong with her. Because the last thing she remembered was her body jumping from the fifth floor of the exhibition building.
The woman pushed Elena, causing her to flinch. Then, the woman stepped away leaving Elena in her reverie and trying to remember something. The woman's back disappeared further behind the door, while Elena continued to remain silent in the corner of the room.
"Ayla!" Someone's call broke her reverie. She saw a young woman with wavy golden brown hair making a small run towards her. She frowned, feeling unfamiliar with the woman.
"Ayla, you're finally alive." Elena's body froze as the young woman embraced her very tightly, while Elena's head was still spinning with the unfamiliar name calling.
"You?" Those were the only words Elena could utter. She couldn't ask questions that would raise suspicion.
The woman released her embrace from Elena's body. She looked intently at Elena's face. "You don't remember who I was after the impact?" The woman asked again, while Elena immediately shook her head slowly, an inducement to find out all the irregularities.
"Poor girl." The young woman immediately grabbed Elena's wrist and led her up to the right step.
Elena sat right next to the blanket and head mat that were lying there. Meanwhile, the woman with golden brown hair picked up a mirror that was next to her headboard. She handed it to Elena.
Elena accepted it hesitantly, but she was also eager to know what had happened to her. She froze when she saw that the face in the reflection was not her. She almost dropped the small mirror she was holding.
She gently stroked her yellowish cheeks. Some parts of the face of the woman in the mirror were almost similar to her, although there were some differences. Her large almond eyes with brown irises with lush lashes, oval face shape, high cheekbones with dimples that made the woman in the mirror so beautiful.
Elena tried to recall the past memories of the woman named Ayla. She didn't know much, only memories related to the torture and humiliation inflicted by some of the harems and guards here.
"Poor woman." Elena muttered softly. "I promise to avenge all your heartaches. Rest easy there. From now on I will be Ayla."
"Ayla, how? You've seen the wounds on your face, right?" The question from the golden-brown-haired woman jolted her. She instantly turned her head towards the woman.
"Yes," Ayla replied. She looked back into the mirror. The wounds in the form of scratches and bruises were blue. There were also traces of dried blood. "I will repay them for what they did to me. Just watch!"
"Ayla, don't do that. They'll beat you up again, you were almost dying that time." The woman insisted on preventing Ayla's intentions.
"Take it easy," Ayla said with a sly smile as she returned the mirror given to her by the tanned-haired woman with rosy cheeks. "I'll make them bend the knee to us, and they won't dare to do anything else."
"Ayla, why are you so different," the woman chided. She looked into Ayla's flashing eyes. It was as if there was a fire burning in her spirit.
"I'm still the same ...." Ayla stopped her speech, of course Elena inside Ayla's body didn't remember her.
"Patra," the woman replied. "How could you forget your best friend's name?"
"Sorry Patra, it's probably because of the impact on my head," Ayla replied.
Their conversation had to stop, as the door to the harem room opened. Someone was seen entering it hurriedly. Ayla glanced over, it was the man she had met at the gate. A middle-aged man in his fur vest.
"Come on! All of you line up and listen to the news I bring!" The sound of the middle-aged man clapping his hands made the women in the harem begin to line up. They were lined up neatly. Even Damaris, the arrogant harem seemed to have come down from the second floor and joined the others.
"What's the info?" Damaris with her haughty face began to descend the steps and stopped right in front of Ayla.
"Later tonight, the palace will hold a dinner banquet. The harems are expected to give an entertaining performance with dances," the man said.
"Popoh, do all the women in the harem have to participate without exception?" Damaris' question seemed ambiguous. "Will she whose face is covered in scars also do it?" Damaris gave a cynical look as if mocking Ayla.
Popoh looked at Ayla who was indeed looking a little pitiful, she still couldn't say anything except to sigh in despair.
"Of course I'll come," Ayla said. "I'll be sure to present a good dance for the princes." A sly grin spread across Ayla's thin, sensual lips.
Damaris gave her a displeased look. She moved back closer to Ayla and raised her right hand and extended it towards the young woman. The look in Ayla's eyes deeply humiliated Damaris. Quick as a flash, Ayla grabbed the hand and pushed it so roughly that Damaris almost fell over.
Ayla strangled Damaris' slender neck, all the harem of face-seekers trying to block Ayla's hands. Meanwhile, Damaris could only painfully hold Ayla's hands to release them.
"Stop you guys! Or I'll twist this neck!" The entire harem moved backwards in disbelief at what Ayla was doing. Very different, the look in her eyes was sharper and stronger, not like before. Like someone had taken over that body.
"A-Ayla, let go!" Popoh, the man in the fur vest stammered at the change in Ayla's attitude. "Don't do that, otherwise the second prince will kill you!"
"Shut up!" Ayla couldn't help the rumbling in her chest. "If the second prince kills me, then this woman must die with me!"
The harem shuddered in horror, Ayla looked more like a demoness than a weak slave. Even Patra covered her mouth with both hands, stifling the soft shriek that escaped from her mouth.
"Ay-Ayla, come to your senses, you better let her go," Patra said.
"I'll let her go! But don't ever mess with me again!" Ayla began to threaten.
"Got it!" Ayla jerked Damaris' body. The look in her blue irises was pleading. Ayla released her grip from Damaris' neck.
The beautiful woman with wavy and luminous blonde hair coughed while clutching her slender neck.
"Go away!" snapped Ayla. "I will not remain silent now! I'm going to get back at you for all you've done to me, remember that!"
"Ayla?" The man in the brown fur vest gaped at the young woman's name.
"Why! You can't take it!" Ayla's voice was in a raised tone.
"Oh no, of course it's fine that you're presenting the dance at the banquet tonight," Popoh said with a wry smile. "Of course, you have to dress up nicely."
After saying that, the middle-aged man called Popoh quickly glided away from the harem room. Ayla glanced at Damaris and her henchmen as they began to climb the steps to the second floor. Two women were seen carrying Damaris' body.
"Ayla, you are very brave, be careful." Patra grabbed Ayla's wrist, while the young woman with brown irises just smiled.
***
Dinner banquet.
In a spacious room, long dining tables were lined up on the right and left sides. Various kinds of menus were lined up on the dining table. Apparently, a banquet dinner was being held that night that was attended by nobles.
On the right side, there were four handsome men dressed in noble style. It looked like they were the crown prince and the princes. The way they were dressed and the seats were quite special.
"Where's third brother?" asked a young man with dark brown hair as he sipped wine from his cup.
"You don't know his behavior, he'd rather be on the battlefield than at a party," replied a more mature-looking young man with golden brown hair.
"Does the crown prince not know? The third prince has returned from the battlefield," the dark brown-haired man said.
"THE THIRD PRINCE IS ENTERING THE BANQUET HALL!" The loud voice of the palace guard echoed throughout the room. All the attention of the nobles in the room turned towards the man with his dark hair tied back, walking dashingly with his gaze focused forward.
Some of the female nobles there looked down, though mesmerized by the man's features. The sword with the ruby-mirror gemstone tip was never far from his waist.
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9.2
My world shattered twice. First, the ocean claimed my son. Then, the mountain road took another, a direct sacrifice to the man I loved and the woman he chose. In the hospital, beeps marked the emptiness where my second son used to be, echoing the first loss, both involving Holden and Giana.
During the car crash, I was pinned, bleeding, and trapped. Holden, my partner, looked me in the eyes, then chose to save Giana, abandoning me and our unborn child.
Soon, I overheard Holden praising Giana for turning our tragedy into a PR win. His hollow apologies and focus on Giana’s "miracle work" reignited the brutal memory of her push and his past denials.
A decade of sacrificing my life and two children for a man who saw me as a liability left a bitter taste. His choice was clear; only profound abandonment remained.
But this time, I was choosing me. From my profound loss, a dangerous spark ignited: I would not just survive; I would find freedom and make him pay.
7.2
He was my first love. My first everything.
Now he's my stepson.
One night changed everything. Ten years couldn't make us forget. But loving him now could destroy us all.
Ethan Cole was the boy who held my heart. My first kiss. My first time. My first real love. We planned a future together, whispered forever, believed nothing could tear us apart.
Then prom night happened.
I woke up alone in a hotel room with no memory of how I got there, and Ethan was gone. Vanished. The rumors said he got what he wanted and got tired of me. I spent a decade believing I wasn't enough.
So I moved on. I built walls. I found Harrison to be kind, stable, and safe, and I said yes when he asked me to marry him.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor.
Because Harrison's son? The one living in the guest house? The one I'll see at family dinners and weddings, and holidays for the rest of my life?
It's Ethan.
My Ethan.
The boy who broke me. The man I never stopped loving. And when I look into his whiskey-colored eyes, I see the same hunger, the same pain, the same unanswered questions burning in me.
He says he never left me. He says prom night was a setup. He says he's loved me every single day for the past ten years.
And God help me... I believe him.
But how do I choose between the man who gave me a future and the man who still owns my past?
How do I resist the only love that ever felt like home?
And how do I survive when my heart is tearing me in two?
9.0
To save her dying mother, Adaline walked into the Waldorf Astoria to deliver a shirt to her fiancé.
She didn't know her stepsister, June, had swapped her keycard. Adaline stumbled into a pitch-black suite and was brutally assaulted by a stranger in the dark.
The nightmare didn't end there. June paid off the only bone marrow donor for Adaline's mother to flee the city, and stole Adaline's fiancé. Bankrupt and desperate, Adaline was forced to sell herself into a loveless marriage with the ruthless billionaire Ferris Finch just to secure a medical team.
But when Ferris saw the dark, violent bruises covering her body, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
"You make me sick. Pack up your cheap tricks."
He mocked her, calling her a filthy woman who couldn't even wash her lover's marks off before crawling into his house.
Adaline swallowed her pride and endured his cruel humiliation. When June publicly taunted her about the hotel assault, Adaline finally snapped, ending up handcuffed in a freezing police cell.
She thought she was completely out of moves, waiting to rot in prison while her new husband despised her.
But back at the estate, Ferris had just pulled the hotel's security footage.
Staring at the screen, the arrogant billionaire's face turned completely ashen.
He finally realized that the innocent woman he had destroyed in the dark that night, and the wife he was currently torturing, were the exact same person.
8.9
Three years after I buried an empty casket for my husband, I found him alive in a grocery store parking lot.
He was rubbing a stranger's pregnant belly, smiling a soft smile I had never seen in our years of marriage.
My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, had become "Arthur," a gentle man with no memory of the empire he ruled or the wife he left behind.
To protect his happiness, I swallowed my agony and lied.
"I am his cousin," I told his pregnant fiancée, Mia.
I brought them home to his estate, enduring the torture of watching him give her the tenderness that used to belong to me.
But my mercy was rewarded with cruelty.
Dante looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes and slapped divorce papers onto the table.
"Sign them," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to marry Mia before the baby comes. I want a fresh start."
He didn't know I was dying of a heart defect caused by the stress of grieving him.
He didn't know I stalled for two weeks not for money, but because I wanted to be buried with his name.
I died the morning the deadline arrived, taking the secret of my love to the grave.
Ironically, that very night, a bullet grazed his temple during an ambush, unlocking the memories he had lost.
He remembered the peach orchard. He remembered our blood oath. He remembered that I was his soulmate.
He ran to my brother’s gates, screaming my name, blood pouring down his face, desperate to beg for forgiveness.
But my brother just stood there, blocking the entrance to the cemetery with a cruel smile.
"She waited for you every single day," he spat.
"And you killed her."
7.6
I pulled the perfectly baked Beef Wellington from the oven, its rich scent filling our Manhattan penthouse. For five years, I’d crafted this perfect life, but tonight, I’d discover my entire existence was a cruel, silent lie. The man I loved had built it all on betrayal.
Preparing our anniversary dinner, I reflected on five years of building a flawless home for Blake, a dream I’d never known.
Searching for a pen, I found a hidden compartment in Blake’s desk containing a cheap black USB drive—a significant secret for a man who despised anything less than perfect.
His MacBook unlocked with his birthday, not ours. The USB, after a near-data-wipe, revealed "The Archives": hundreds of photos of Blake with his college girlfriend, Isabelle, passionate love letters, and a wardrobe chosen to mirror hers. My name yielded "0 results found," while millions were wired to Isabelle.
I was a meticulously funded stand-in, a ghost he dressed up to play house. My non-existence in his world and his financial betrayal ignited a cold, burning rage.
Blake returned, dismissive, offering a delayed anniversary gift. I confronted him; he ripped the USB, snapped it, and stated, "Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." My obedience shattered: "I want a divorce," I declared, then destroyed dinner and packed my own bag.
8.9
I spent five years protecting Grafton Mcleod, the ruthless King of Chicago. Not because I loved him, but because I swore a blood oath to his dying brother to keep him alive.
On the day my contract ended, I placed my resignation on his desk.
Grafton didn't just refuse it; he laughed.
"You don't resign, Cayla. You belong to me."
He thought I was a jealous, obsessed assistant in love with him. He let his cruel fiancée, Cherrelle, torment me daily.
He forced me to drain my own blood to save her after she faked an accident.
He threw me into a freezing fountain when she lied about me pushing her.
But the final straw came when he dragged me to a syndicate gala. He didn't take me as a guest. He put me on stage, in a silk dress and a collar, and sold me to his enemy for five million dollars.
"This is what happens to property that misbehaves," he sneered as the gavel came down.
I escaped that night, but I didn't run away. I drove to the bridge where his brother died.
I left my phone on the railing and let the icy water take me, finally free of my debt.
It was only when Grafton stood on that bridge, holding my cracked phone, that he learned the truth.
He unlocked it and saw my wallpaper. It wasn't him. It was his dead brother.
And the diary inside revealed that the woman he was about to marry was the one who had ordered the hit that killed him.