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Forty Seven

Author: Ariella's Pen
last update Last Updated: 2025-12-12 21:23:11

Teresa's POV

I held up the mug, feeling foolish. “I couldn’t sleep. I brought you tea.”

She looked at the mug, then back at my face. “You think tea fixes everything?”

“It… helps sometimes,” I said, stepping fully into the room. I placed the mug on the table next to the knife, my eyes darting to the blade before I could stop myself.

She followed my gaze. “It’s just a habit,” she said quietly.

“A habit?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She was silent for a long moment, her gaze distant, fixed on some memory I couldn’t see. “In Russia,” she began, her accent becoming slightly more pronounced, “my father sent me away to a… training camp. He believed the world was a jungle. He thought discipline and precision were the only things that could make you strong. That could keep you safe.”

I stood frozen, not daring to move or speak, afraid I would break the spell.

“The men there,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, “they believed discipline meant breaking things. Bones. Spirits. And
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  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty Five

    Teresa's POV.The sharp, electronic buzz of the hotel lobby phone seemed to scream directly into my ear. I jerked, sloshing lukewarm coffee onto my wrist. I hadn't even finished my first cup. The day was starting without my permission."The car is here for you, ma'am," a clipped voice informed me."Thank you. I'll be right down," I managed, my voice still rough with sleep and unspoken fears. I looked at the half-empty mug, a bitter symbol of the peace I wasn't allowed to have. With a sigh, I grabbed my bag, my fingers brushing against the crisp envelope inside. My resignation letter. It felt both like a shield and a sentence. Tucking it safely away, I squared my shoulders and stepped out into the morning.The cold air was a physical slap, sharp and bracing. I pulled my coat tighter, but the chill that settled in my bones had little to do with the weather. My mind was a thousand miles away, trapped in a tangled web of Mark, of my own cowardice, of the life I was fleeing and the one I w

  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty Four

    Teresa's POV.The cheap hotel room smelled of stale air and industrial cleaner. I sat on the edge of the stiff bed, the crisp, white envelope containing my resignation letter balanced on my knees. The pen hovered over the line, my hand trembling slightly before I finally signed my name with a decisive scratch. Teresa Smith. It was done. I had come to this city hoping for a change, for a fresh start away from my old life. Instead, I had found Mark, and every day since had been a storm I was no longer strong enough to weather. My time with Lena had held up a mirror, forcing me to see how I’d been avoiding my own choices, my own agency. I wanted out. I was finally ready to take it.I folded the letter carefully, its edges sharp and final, and slipped it into my bag. Standing, I took a deep, fortifying breath, the air catching in my tight chest. I left the room, my heels clicking a steady, purposeful rhythm against the pavement as I walked toward the office. The sun was barely up, casting

  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty Three

    Teresa's POV "No! Don't! Please!" I begged, my screams turning into sobs.They didn't listen. They wrapped the ropes around my wrists, pulling them tight until the fibers bit into my skin, then tied them to the chair's arms. They did the same to my ankles, tying them to the chair legs. I was trapped, completely helpless. The rough hemp chafed my skin with every frantic struggle.My aunt stood over me, her face a mask of rigid piety. "You will confess, Teresa. You will admit your sins and beg God for forgiveness.""I have nothing to confess!" I wept, my body shaking uncontrollably. "I'm innocent!"Father Thomas began to pray, his voice rising and falling in Latin. He sprinkled holy water on my face. It was cold. The two men stood guard, their arms crossed, watching me with expressions of disgust.For hours, they kept me there. They shouted prayers at me. They called me names—harlot, jezebel, temptress. They demanded I confess to things I hadn't even dreamed of. My wrists grew raw and

  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty Two

    Teresa's POV The city was quiet, the kind of deep hush that only comes in the hours just before dawn. My shoes scuffed against the wet pavement, the sound too loud in the stillness. I didn’t have a destination. My feet just moved, carrying me away from his apartment, away from the look on his face. My mind was a broken record, stuck on the moment his hand had closed around my wrist, the warmth of his skin, the raw plea in his eyes. It should have felt like a victory, that finally, he was holding on. But it didn’t. It felt like a final, crushing weight.I found myself at the iron gates of the park. They were always unlocked. I pushed through and walked to our bench—the one where we’d sometimes meet for coffee, where he’d told me about his father, where I’d first realized how deep my feelings for him ran. Now, the wood was cold and damp, seeping through my jeans. I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, trying to make myself small. My whole body was a tightly coiled

  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty One

    Mark's POV.Her raw honesty was a physical blow. It left me breathless. For a long moment, I just stared at her. At the way she refused to meet my gaze. At the slight shake in her fingers as she tried to zip her bag closed.“You’re acting like I’m some kind of burden,” I finally said, the words tasting bitter.She shook her head, more tears falling. “You’re not a burden. You’re just… you’re not mine to worry about.”That one cut deeper than anything else. It felt like a final goodbye.I stood up, the room swaying for a second before it settled. I walked toward her, and she took an instinctive step back, hitting the edge of the table.“Why are you saying all of this now?” I asked, stopping in front of her.“Because if I don’t say it now, I never will. And I’ll never stop coming back. I’ll never stop getting hurt.”Something inside me cracked open. I reached out before I could think better of it and grabbed her wrist. Not hard, but firmly enough so she would feel it, so she would look a

  • The Billionaire's Nympho Secretary    Sixty

    Mark's POV.My head was pounding. It wasn't the usual dizzy, spinning hangover. This was a loud one, where my own thoughts were shouting inside my skull, and every tiny sound—the hum of the fridge, a car door slamming outside—felt like a physical scrape against the surface of my brain.The room smelled sharply of antiseptic from the wipes on my nightstand and something else, something floral. Her shampoo. I blinked hard, the dry grit in my eyes confirming I was in my own apartment. My leather jacket was draped over the chair, and my boots were kicked off halfway under the bed. I didn’t remember taking them off.Then I heard her voice. Soft, familiar, and tired.“Drink this. It’ll help.”Teresa was standing by the small table, holding out a glass of water. Two white painkillers sat in her other palm. She looked exhausted. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, strands escaping around her face. Her eyes were pink-rimmed. I couldn’t tell if it was from crying or from a lack of sleep.I p

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