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 4
In the Harem room.
"You're beautiful, Ayla," Patra complimented the woman with the dimples.
Ayla smiled, her oval face adorned with pink lip color and her shiny black hair.
"You're beautiful too, Patra," Ayla complimented back.
Patra looked down at Ayla's hair. Then, her hand corrected the position of the red rose petals clipped to Ayla's hair.
"It's prettier this way," Patra said.
Ayla got up from her sitting position. She almost tumbled over, the hem of her cream-colored dress stepping on her own foot as she was about to take a step.
"Ayla, are you okay?" Luckily Patra supported the young woman's arm.
"I'm fine, thank you Patra," said Ayla who then sighed in relief.
Elena's soul that entered Ayla's frail body was not used to wearing clothes that covered her ankles. The modern life she lived, did not make her necessarily like the party life.
Occasionally she would wear a ball gown to infiltrate and seek information. However, she decided to wear a dress with a knee-length mini cut. For her, long clothes are a pain in the ass.
Ayla and Patra began to prepare to leave the harem room. She felt she looked strange. Afraid that the hem of her long dress would be stepped on by her feet, both hands lifted the dress slightly.
BBBRRUUKK!!!
Ayla winced in pain, she almost fell forward. Propped up by her knees, she fell backwards.
"Ooppss, Ma'sorry. If you can't walk gracefully, you'd better not embarrass yourself in front of the princes." The sardonic smiles of Damaris and the other three women were evident in his brown eyes.
His chest rumbled at the sight of the luminous blonde's back.
"Are you okay?" Patra helped Ayla up from her current position.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," Ayla replied as she started to stand up.
"Come on, you guys hurry up and get out!" Popoh had already started ordering the harem members who would be performing tonight to enter the banquet hall immediately.
"Let's go," Patra called out.
The six slave women walked out of the harem room down the hall guided by Popoh.
The four who belonged to the princes' favorite harem had already prepared in advance near the banquet hall.
The banquet hall was located in the central palace. It was a few meters away from the harem. Ayla, Patra and the others had to walk out into the palace garden towards the central palace.
Along the way, Ayla, who was Elena, cast her gaze around. The palace garden was overgrown with various kinds of lush trees.
The neatly arranged gravel stones became the road to the palace. The harem was greeted by guards at the palace gate.
Strange to Ayla, she could only gape without blinking her eyes. This was the first time she had seen a real castle. A castle with all its living civilization.
"Ayla!" Patra elbowed Ayla's unfocused arm.
"Yes?" Ayla gasped. She stared at Patra as she knitted her eyebrows together.
"Is there one prince who's going to take a look at us?" An innocent question slipped out of Patra's mouth.
"I don't know, Patra. We shouldn't get our hopes up," Ayla replied lazily.
"Ayla, if we succeed in giving birth to a prince, then we will become concubines," Patra said.
Ayla just rolled her eyes lazily. She didn't expect much from becoming a concubine or queen for one of the princes. Elena who was inside Ayla's body just wanted to return to her world.
Moments later, Ayla heard the whispers of four women in front of the hall gate. They looked happy while laughing softly. She didn't know what they were talking about.
Even one of them, a young woman dressed in a purple silk dress with a beautiful hair ornament was twirling her body, perhaps she was practicing before performing in front of the princes and other nobles.
"Well, who's coming to perform with us?" Damaris was not deterred after her treatment was reciprocated by Ayla. She was still patronizing the harem that the prince had yet to see.
Those blue irises circled and stared at every inch of Ayla's appearance. Tonight, the woman with thin yet sensual lips was only wearing a simple dress typical of a low-level harem.
"May the princes take a look at you," Damaris said with a lopsided smile. "But, let alone princes, the nobles won't even look at you."
After saying that, at the same time the banquet hall gate opened. There was quite a lot of music inside. Sounds such as trumpets, flutes and sounds coming from cowbells.
The main harem entered first. Damaris and the other three favorite women of the prince formed a seductive movement formation. Twisting their slender bodies as they twirled.
It was the turn of the lower-class harem women to enter the hall. Elena in Ayla's body didn't know what to do. She couldn't remember what kind of dance exercises she had learned.
Ayla just tried to keep up with the rest of the harem. Her movements were strange, her body stiff. She even made many wrong moves. Her gaze wandered around. Elena gasped, she really wasn't dreaming.
"Ayla! Ayla your movements are wrong!" Patra half-whispered to remind her.
Ayla tried to turn her head toward Patra, but alas. She could not master her movements.
"Oouuwwggg!" shrieked Ayla, and at the same time there was a thumping sound on the floor. Because the movement was wrong and she could not control herself. Ayla fell down. Right across from where the princes were sitting.
Popoh could only pat his forehead while closing his eyes. He felt he had failed to educate the harem to present an exotic dance at this banquet.
Ayla's brown eyes looked at Damaris who was giggling softly. Mocking the lowly slave's innocent stupidity. Ayla looked at the direction right in front of her. She accidentally saw a glittering, translucent red object.
'Ruby miracle stone!' Ayla squealed inwardly. Then, her brown-eyed gaze crossed with a sharp caramel-colored one.
The princes laughed softly at the incident. But not that man. A man with a flat expression and a gaze as sharp as a hawk's.
Ayla's heart raced. That man, that dashing and handsome man with his dark hair, made Ayla feel as if she was going to go limp. However, she remembered the ruby miracle stone attached to the sword.
Ayla got up, but her gaze could not escape from looking at the man with the piercing gaze. The young woman vowed that she would seduce the man, perhaps one of the princes.
That woman, who was actually Elena, was the clever thief with all the skills. Ayla began to contort her body. However, everyone in the room looked confused.
Ayla's movements were not the usual harem dance moves. Ayla did a mix of flamenco and belly dance.
The twisting of the body, the stomping of the feet in harmony to create a beautiful sound. Occasionally, her hands twisted above her head and to the side.
Occasionally she looked mischievously at the prince with the cold expression on his face. Her delicate eyelashes and thin, sensual lips seemed to tease the prince.
The whole hall sounded boisterous. Their attention was focused solely on Ayla. Popoh widened his eyes, he couldn't believe that a harem girl who was labeled as stupid and weak could be the dance star of tonight's banquet.
Damaris gave him a disapproving look. Her hands were clenched tightly into fists. She was not willing to let Ayla be the star tonight. Yes, that's right, Ayla really was the star tonight.
The third prince, who was famous for being ruthless and sadistic in beheading his enemies, was almost unable to control himself.
As Ayla watched, the man's Adam's apple rose and fell. It was an excellent opportunity for her to play on the prince's emotions.
She continued to play her naughty glances, her thin sensual lips making anyone who saw them want to taste them.
The third prince gasped when someone elbowed his arm.
"She's so sensual, Deniz," whispered a man next to him. "Don't you want her to warm your bed?"
The third prince did not reply to the crown prince's words, only swallowing his saliva with difficulty. Tonight, a slave girl had made him hot and cold.
Deniz gasped as the boisterous sound of applause echoed throughout the hall. The dashing man briefly glanced at Ayla. Her thin, sensual lips teased him again.
Saying nothing, Deniz reached for the sword on the table in front of him. Without saying a word he got up and left his seat.
Ayla could only watch as the broad, solid back slowly moved away.
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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.