His mistress ?

Dahlia

Her voice was like velvet dipped in poison, sliding into the quiet corridor with a heavy, deliberate elegance.

She moved with the slow, effortless grace. Her scarlet dress rustled softly against the mahogany floorboards, the deep red silk gleaming under the dim wall sconces like fresh arterial blood.

"I asked a question, darling," she murmured, stopping three feet away. Up close, she was drop-dead gorgeous—sharp cheekbones, striking hazel eyes, and a cruel, practiced tilt to her lips that oozed old money and untouchable privilege. "Or did Rafe forget to teach his little stray how to speak?"

I swallowed the sudden surge of adrenaline in my throat, forcing my spine straight, bringing my shoulders back. I knew an alpha territory display when I saw one. She was marking her ground.

"I speak just fine," I said, my voice dropping into a smooth, informal pitch that barely hid the cold edge underneath. "I just usually don't waste breath on uninvited guests wandering around private corridors, especially at 10:00 PM."

The woman let out a soft, melodious laugh... so warm and friendly on the surface that it made the hairs on my arms stand straight up. "Uninvited? Sweetheart, I’ve had my own key to this wing since before you knew how to walk in heels. I’m Julianna."

Julianna.

The name hung in the damp air between us. It wasn't in any of the brief profile summaries Rafe’s team had handed me, but the casual, effortless authority she carried inside the Hollis estate said everything. She wasn't just an acquaintance. She was someone who had belonged here.

"Dahlia," I replied flatly.

"I know who you are, Dahlia," Julianna said smoothly, stepping even closer until I could smell her perfume—heavy jasmine and expensive tobacco. She reached out, her long, manicured fingers lightly catching a lock of my hair, pretending to inspect it with a sweet, affectionate smile. "The fake girlfriend. The temporary entertainment Rafe dragged out of the gutter to throw in his family's face."

She tugged the lock of hair just hard enough to make my scalp sting, her hazel eyes glittering with dark, romantic malice.

"He used to bring me flowers like the ones in the conservatory when he was twenty-five," she whispered softly, her tone dipping into a dark, intimate confessional. "He used to press me against that very wall behind you and tell me I was the only person in this city who didn't bore him. Do you know what he tells you, Dahlia?"

My heart gave a sickening, violent thud against my ribs. Shock and a sharp, irrational spike of pain sliced right through my chest. I hated it. I hated the sudden, ugly lump in my throat. I had no right to feel jealous—this was a job, an acting contract, a strategic Trojan horse to gain access to the Hollis family secrets, and figure out what Orin did to my father.

Yet hearing her speak about Rafe with such raw, casual intimacy felt like a physical blow to my sternum. It felt like someone had shoved a cold hand into my ribcage and squeezed.

"I don't care what he tells you, Julianna," I said, my voice cracking slightly before I forced it back into a firm line. I reached up and slapped her hand away from my hair. "And I don't care about your ancient history."

Julianna didn't look angry. She looked delighted. Her smile widened, revealing perfect, white teeth.

"Oh, look at that," she purred, tilting her head with sweet, murderous pity. "You actually care. You poor, foolish girl. You’re actually falling for him, aren't you?"

"I don't fall for anyone," I shot back, step-for-step, refusing to give her an inch.

"Good," a deep, heavy voice rasped behind us.

I turned sharply. Rafe was standing at the top of the grand staircase, his white dress shirt still unbuttoned at the neck, his hands shoved casually into his trouser pockets. He looked exhausted, dangerous, and impossibly handsome under the dim lights.

Julianna’s face transformed instantly. The cruel, predatory sneer vanished, replaced by a radiant, warm, wildly romantic smile that looked so genuine it sickened me.

"Rafe, darling," Julianna cooed, gliding past me as if I were a piece of cheap furniture. She reached him in three long strides, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek against his jaw. "You didn't tell me you were bringing guests to the estate tonight. I would have had the kitchen prepare something better than duck."

My blood ran cold as I watched them. I waited for Rafe to pull away. I waited for him to enforce his cold, rigid boundaries—the same boundaries he used to pin my wrists and threaten my firm.

He didn't pull away.

He kept one hand in his pocket, but his other hand rose slowly, his long fingers casually resting against Julianna’s waist. He didn't embrace her tightly, but he didn't push her off either.

"Julianna," Rafe murmured, his pitch low, smooth, almost affectionate. "I thought you were in New York until the weekend."

"I came back early," she whispered against his ear, her eyes sliding over his shoulder to lock onto mine with absolute, triumphant victory. "For you. The house feels so empty without us."

Rafe’s dark eyes shifted over Julianna’s head, pinning me where I stood.

He saw the tension in my jaw. He saw the tight, rigid posture of my shoulders, the way my hands were clenched into fists at my sides. He saw every single drop of the bitter, ugly jealousy burning through my blood.

And instead of explaining, instead of stepping away from her... Rafe smiled.

It was a slow, deliberate, ruthless smile. He enjoyed it. He liked seeing me wrecked. He liked knowing that his little hired actress, the woman who claimed she was only in this for the money and the access, was currently drowning in a sea of raw, unadulterated possessiveness.

"Dahlia was just heading to her room," Rafe said softly, his gaze never leaving my face. "She’s had a very long day."

"Have a good night, Dahlia," Julianna added, her voice dripping with sweet, friendly mockery as she leaned closer into Rafe’s side.

I stood there for three torturous seconds, my lungs burning, my pride bleeding out on the dark wood floor. The shock of his cold betrayal—if you could even call it betrayal when everything between us was built on lies—made my eyes burn with unshed tears.

I didn't give them the satisfaction of a scene.

I turned on my heel and walked down the corridor toward my room, my heart hammering like a trapped beast against my ribs. The pain was real. The humiliation was real.

As I reached my door and grabbed the handle, I heard Julianna’s soft, low laughter echoing down the hallway, followed by the quiet, rumbling murmur of Rafe’s voice.

I slipped inside my room, shut the door, and locked it.

I leaned my forehead against the cold wood, gasping for air as if I had just been dragged out of a deep lake.

"You idiot," I whispered to myself, my voice cracking in the dark. "You absolute idiot."

I pulled my clutch open and reached for Orin’s old badge, needing the cold plastic to ground me, to remind me why I was really here.

My fingers brushed against something else inside the bag.

Something crisp. Something folded.

I pulled it out. It wasn't my notepad or my lip gloss.

It was a small, heavy piece of cream cardstock that hadn't been there when I went down to dinner. Someone had slipped it into my bag while it was sitting on the dining chair behind me.

I unfolded it under the pale moonlight filtering through the window, and my body went numb.

What the actual f**k!