This Is Not A Brothel

Mirena strode into the Hills exactly one hour after leaving the Pierce Estate.

The restaurant was as pristine as she remembered—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline and the scent of aged wine mingling with faint citrus polish.

As she slid into one of the chairs, she glanced at her watch and scoffed silently.

She'd arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed time. George, however, was nowhere to be seen.

However, twenty minutes later, he finally walked into the restaurant. But he wasn't alone.

Hanging off his arm like some cheap handbag, was none other than the lady who'd turned her entire life upside down in less than a night.

Camille.

Of course, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the sight of them. She was his first love, of course he wouldn't hesitate to show her off to the world.

Unlike her.

Something about that thought left a dull sting that she immediately brushed off, crossing her legs elegantly as she watched them walk towards the table like some fairy-tale couple drunk on their own illusion.

As they drew closer, George finally looked away from Camille and for a second, something flickered in his eyes, before it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar look of disdain.

That look morphed into tenderness as he stopped to pull out a chair for Camille with that same gentlemanly precision he'd never used on her.

Seeing that, Mirena gave a bitter laugh dripping with mockery.

"What's this?" She asked calmly, dragging her eyes from George to Camille who still clung to his arm. "We're here to discuss something important and you brought along your mistress?" She arched one of her brows. "Did you mistake this restaurant for a brothel?"

That got the couples attention, pulling them out of their fairy-tale illusion at last.

When George turned to look at her, his eyes frosted over and his voice lacked the tenderness it had held just seconds before.

"You've always had a way with words, Mirena, never stopping to think before you speak. It's no wonder I could never fall for you."

"Georgy!" Camille chided beside him, her voice and composure embodying the very best  of demure innocence. "Don't say that to Mirena. It's not her fault if being an honest person makes her unattractive."

After saying that, she turned to look at Mirena, spotting a guiltless smile as she added. "Aren't I right, sister?"

The mockery in her tone pulled at the corners of Mirena's lips.

She chuckled lightly and leaned back in her chair. "Camille," she stared, mimicking Camille's sweet tone. "If I wanted someone who built her self-esteem between men's sheets to defend me, I would have asked you."

The smile on Camille's face faltered almost immediately. Suddenly, a loud sound echoed in the space around them.

"Enough Mirena," George warned, palm pressed flat against the table. "Don't cross the line."

She tilted her head and met the glare he was sending her way. In the past, she would have played the good wife, lowered her head and apologized immediately.

Gone were those days.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" she asked, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

Suddenly, she leaned forward, placing her chin against the back of her palm and examining Camille like she was something incredible.

The sight of her, all innocent and dulled up, hurt Mirena's eyes to stare at. But she had to admit…

"Mistress material indeed," she blurted out without hesitation.

George's expression hardened. A muscle in his jaw ticked and the hand laying flat on the table folded into a ball.

"You don't like that title, do you?" Mirena asked the moment she noticed his reaction. "Then sign the divorce papers as soon as possible and save her the embarrassment."

Surprise flashed in George's eyes.

Upon coming here after getting Mirena's call, he expected her to apologize for the scene she caused yesterday, for ignoring his calls all throughout the night; he expected her to beg, cry—cling like the woman who once waited for him every night, no matter how late he came home.

But this version of Mirena? Cold, composed, unrecognizable. It pinched something in his chest.

"Fine," he said, dragging a document from his briefcase and sliding it across the table. "Here. The divorce agreement. At Camille's insistence, I added a generous settlement for you."

Mirena picked up the document, eyes gliding over the figures after flipping it open.

After a second, her lips curved.

"You call this generous?" She tossed the agreement back on the table like it was a joke. "That's not even enough to buy a penthouse of my standard." She muttered.

Her words pulled an amused laugh from George. Someone who had never seen more money than groceries money, was rejecting five million dollars.

Was this her new way of trying to get his attention?

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Mirena slapped a file of her own on the table.

His eyes drifted down to it. "What's this?"

"Divorce Agreement," she announced, her voice cool, almost cordial. "Except on my terms."

"Your terms?" He parroted.

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, an air of arrogant confidence surrounding her as she spoke. "I waive all compensation. I don't want your chicken cent."

Both George and Camille blinked, taken aback.

"However," she continued, tone softening to something far more dangerous, "I am reserving my right to take legal action against you and the Sterlings for slandering me—accusing me of fraud, remember? Of impersonating…" she paused and glanced at Camille, addressing her with a nudge of her head. "That."

A smile kissed the corners of her lips when Camille's eyes twitched and the edges of her ears turned red with contained fury.

George however, scoffed. "Still putting on a show. You always loved the drama." His tone held s heavy note of dismissal.

"Go on, act out, put on a show and entertain me for once in your life. I'll clap for you once you've gotten tired of this act."

He rose after saying that, grabbing Camille's hand with one hand, and the divorce agreement with the other.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer. Millie, let's go, we don't want to be late."

With that, they both walked out of the restaurant. Mirena watched their backs, then her eyes dropped to their entwined hands and she scoffed.

How romantic, she sarcastically thought, reaching into the pocket of Alexander's coat and pulling out her phone.

Her fingers glided across her screen before hovering above one number for a few seconds.

Then, with a sigh, she clicked on the number and pressed the phone against her ear.

On the second ring, the phone was answered and surprise dripped from the voice that filtered through the other end.

"Mirena? Rena, is that really you?"

A smile crossed Mirena's lips at the familiar voice of Ada Campbell, her best friend.

"It is," she said softly. "How have you been, Ada?"

"Mirena!" Ada exclaimed, sounding every bit of the bundle of joy Mirena remembered her to be. "You finally called after all these years! You finally remembered us."

"Mhm," Mirena hummed, turning her gaze to the window. "I finally realized that it's time I stop giving my attention to the wrong set of people. I apologize for going incognito all these years. I'll make it up to you by catching you up on everything. Bills on me."

"If you insist then," there was a mischievous pause in her words and briefly, Mirena regretted saying those words. "I know just the place for us to meet up."