Chapter Two

Naila

I watched Toby leave, a dull ache settling deeper in my chest and for a brief moment, I considered postponing the conversation until another night. But I couldn't tell him about the baby before I knew how he truly felt about me and about us. About whether we even had a future together and it had to happen tonight.

As the minutes dragged by, my anxiety only worsened. Not wanting to face him completely naked, I climbed out of bed and slipped back into my jeans and shirt.

So much for looking calm and beautiful.

I let out a quiet, humorless laugh and shook my head.

A few moments later, I heard his footsteps outside the bedroom and the door opened.

Toby walked in wearing a distracted frown. His gaze swept over me before the corners of his lips lifted slightly.

"I much prefer you naked, my love."

A shaky smile crossed my face.

"Is everything okay at work?" I asked.

He dismissed the question with a careless wave.

"Nothing that should have already been handled, just a missing signature."

His eyes darkened with unmistakable hunger as he walked toward the bed. Stopping just a foot away from me, he reached for the buttons of his shirt.

"Toby" I swallowed hard.

"We need to talk."

Annoyance flashed across his face before he released a resigned sigh and he sat beside me on the bed.

"Then talk, Naila," he said quietly. "What's bothering you?"

Being this close to him made it difficult to think. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

Instinctively, I shifted farther down the bed, putting a little distance between us.

"I want to know how you feel about me," I began nervously. "About us."

I drew in a slow breath, "And whether we have a future together, me and you."

I searched his face for some hint of reassurance and instead, his mouth flattened into a hard line.

"So it's come to this," he said grimly.

He stood abruptly, turning his back to me before slowly facing me again.

"Come to what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just need to know how you feel about me, about whether we have a future and you never talk about us beyond today."

He crossed the space between us and gently cupped my chin.

"We don't have a relationship," he said evenly.

"I don't do relationships, and you know that."

His eyes held mine without wavering, 

"You are my mistress."

The word hit me like a slap, mistress. 

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

Mistress? Not girlfriend. Not the woman he loved. Not even the woman he was seeing.

Mistress.

A woman he kept.

A woman he slept with.

A woman whose place in his life ended at his bedroom door.

My stomach lurched and I shoved his hand away and stumbled backward until my legs bumped against the edge of the dresser.

Confusion flickered across Toby's face.

"Is that really all I am to you?" I managed to choke out.

"your mistress?"

He rubbed a hand over his face with obvious impatience.

"You are upset," he said. "Sit down, let me get you something to drink."

His voice softened only slightly.

"I have had an exhausting week, and you are clearly not feeling well. Neither of us will gain anything by having this discussion right now."

Before I could protest, he gently guided me back toward the bed.

Then he turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The moment he disappeared, the room felt unbearably empty.

I heard movement in the kitchen as Toby poured himself a drink.

He'd had a long week trying to uncover the person leaking confidential company information to one of his competitors.

The last thing he wanted was an emotional confrontation with me.

A few moments later, I heard a cupboard close and he was probably pouring my favorite juice.

That tiny gesture would have made me smile only minutes ago. Now it meant nothing.

Silence settled between us again then there was nothing, no footsteps, no sound of him returning and I frowned.

What was taking him so long?

Out in the living room, Toby's gaze had fallen on the trail I'd unknowingly left behind, my shoes, my handbag tossed carelessly onto the couch.

He had always teased me about leaving little pieces of myself everywhere.

I wasn't fussy.

I had never cared much about appearances when I was home with him.

I had simply been comfortable and his expression softened for a brief moment.

I had never been demanding but never really clingy, maybe that was why we had lasted this long.

My jaw tightened, what was I talking about he had just told me we didn't have a relationship I was a mistress to him. I looked up at him and I regret flickered across his features. 

I had always been there for him whenever he returned exhausted from endless business trips and stressful meetings.

Perhaps I deserved more than just his desire.

With that thought in my mind I poked at him and he picked up our drinks and turned toward the bedroom before something caught his attention, a single sheet of paper sticking out of my handbag and he suddenly stopped.

Slowly, he placed the glasses on the coffee table and an uneasy feeling settled in my chest as I watched his face lose color. 

He reached into my bag and pulled out the folded documents and the moment he unfolded them, all the color drained from his face and anger exploded through him.