THE MISTAKEN MISTRESS

(Jane’s POV)I held the envelope tightly, like it was my only means of survival. Just a single delivery. One little task for Daniel: drop it off at the front desk, claim it was meant for the wrong floor, then leave. Nothing grand. Nothing worth remembering.That’s what I kept telling myself on the way up. I was mostly lying.The lobby was filled with the scent of countless choices,sophisticated perfumes, polished marble, and a whiff of wealth I could only dream of. My heels clicked against the floor way too loud. They always felt out of place in environments like this. I wished I could disappear into the floor, head back home, bury my takeout in the trash, and pretend everything was perfectly normal.Then the elevator doors sighed apart, and a man stepped out.He was tall and impeccably groomed, the sort of face they plaster on magazine covers with a label of “mysterious.” He scanned the lobby, and suddenly, the entire room shifted. He didn’t see me, but I certainly saw him. My timing

(Jane's POV)I should have walked away the moment I spotted the security guards. They were colossal. Arms crossed, faces blank like statues. But nope. Not today. Today… I was done. Done with tears. Done running. Done with my world crumbling over a man I didn’t even know. So I pressed on. “Ma’am, you can’t just….” “I can,” I retorted, brushing past the guard. “And I will.” The Martin Global lobby felt like a different realm ,glassy floors, ornate plants, and air conditioning that seemed to breathe wealth. Silently, people in suits gawked as I strode toward the elevator, fueled by an overwhelming determination. Someone murmured, “Isn’t that the mistress girl from…” I shut my eyes. Not here. Not showing weakness. By the time I hit the 40th floor, my hands quivered not from fear, but from rage. I loathed him. I hated him deeply for what he had done to my life. And I was ready to confront him. The receptionist shot up with a jolt. “Miss, you can’t,Mr. Martins is…he’s in a mee

(Jane's POV )I barely recognized the person staring back at me in the mirror.Those swollen eyes. The trembling lips. The girl whose whole world crumbled in less than a day.I looked like someone teetering on the edge of a breakdown.Which… let’s be honest, I was.William stood behind me, arms crossed, observing me like a mechanic inspecting a damaged luxury car.“Fix your hair,” he said softly. “We need to go.”I nearly hurled the hairbrush at him.Instead, I inhaled, shaky and uneven.“Go where?” I managed to ask.“The press conference.”My hand froze, hairbrush suspended in midair.“No.”“Yes.”“William,” I murmured, “I can barely breathe.”“You don’t need to breathe,” he replied. “You just need to look composed.”I whirled around to face him. “How can I? My fiancé just dumped me an hour ago. Everyone thinks I’m your mistress. Reporters are chasing me down. I don’t even have a place to call home anymore. And you…” I raised my voice. “You want me to stand in front of cameras an

(Jane’s POV)I awoke to utter silence.Not the comforting kind.The unsettling kind that made it painfully clear that I was in a place that wasn’t my home… or my life… or anything I recognized.For a brief moment, I lay still, gazing up at the lofty ceiling. The soft white drapes, the luxurious sheets, and the faint scent of cedar that lingered somewhere out of reach.Then the realization hit me all over again.I was in William Martins’s penthouse.A man who likely hadn’t smiled since he was a child.A man whose very presence had completely upended my world.I rubbed my face, flinching as the remnants of yesterday’s stress throbbed at my temples. I’d cried more in just one day than I had over the entire past year combined.My phone lay dead on the nightstand,perhaps a blessing in disguise. No messages from Daniel. No annoying paparazzi updates. No reminders of the chaos my life had spiraled into.I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the plush mattress feeling as if it were trying

(Jane's POV) I wasn’t prepared for this again As soon as I opened my eyes and spotted the silky, champagne-colored dress draped over the armchair, an extravagance that could cover my rent for the old place for quite a few months,I knew I was in over my head. A note rested on top. “Be ready by noon. — W.” No pleasantries. No context. Just classic William. I groaned into my pillow. Today marked my second public appearance as “the woman who is involved with William Martins” even though I had to pretend otherwise to help the scandal fade away more quickly. Fantastic. Dragging myself out of bed felt like an uphill battle; my body was leaden. I hadn’t slept well, consumed with thoughts about the leaked photo and how swiftly my world unraveled. I could still hear the hurt in Daniel's voice when he confronted me, asking, “Did you cheat on me?” And then he left. That memory stung like a fresh wound, constantly prodded. After a shower, I slipped into the dress and exami