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Chapter Forty-three
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2025-07-09 21:41:13
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The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter forty-six
Sophie's pov **The ICU** The cardiac monitor beeps a jagged rhythm forty-seven beats per minute, too slow, too weak, too Damien. Each mechanical breath from the ventilator sounds like the “Scheherazade” groaning against its moorings. The scent of antiseptic can't quite mask the lingering copper of blood. His blood still crusted under my fingernails in rust-colored half-moons. I press my forehead against the cool glass partition, watching the medical team swarm around his motionless body like worker ants tending their dying queen. Their voices slice through the sterile air: "Massive blood loss we're looking at seven units transfused..." "Nicked hepatic artery miraculously it didn't fully rupture..." "If he makes it through the night..." Lillian's wheelchair squeaks beside me, the sound jarring against the ICU's mechanical hum. Her fingers still too thin from months in her own hospital bed, the skin stretched translucent over her knuckles as she dug into my bicep with sur
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter forty-five
Sophie's pov **The Wreck** The “Scheherazade” groans beneath my feet like a dying animal, its rotting timbers protesting every step. Saltwater sprays through the rusted hull, the brume mixing with the copper stench of blood old blood from the deck where my father died, new blood from the man I came to save. The storage container's padlock resists my picks Damien taught me this, his hands guiding mine in the penthouse safe room, whispering "Just listen to the pins, Sophie" against my temple until the final tumbler clicks. The door creaks open to reveal: Damien slumped against the far wall, his once-pristine white shirt now a macabre tapestry of sweat, seawater, and blooming bruises. The silver cuffs I gave him for our anniversary bite into his wrists, the skin beneath raw and weeping. His head jerks up at the sound, dark eyes widening not with relief, but horror. "You shouldn't be here," he rasps, his voice ruined. I drop to my knees, fingers flying over his re
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter forty-four
Sophie's pov The Blackstone Tower blueprints glow on my tablet, every air duct and service corridor highlighted in neon pink the exact shade I once used to mark champagne stations for charity galas, back when my biggest concern was whether the Veuve Clicquot would be chilled properly. The irony tastes like gunpowder on my tongue. "Guard rotation every 47 minutes," Claire whispers, her manicured nail tapping a staff staircase on the screen. The Chanel polish is chipped the first time I've ever seen her imperfect. "But Marcus added a new security measure after the docks." I zoom in until the pixels blur. "The fire suppression system." My finger traces the isolated piping. "It's not tied to the main alarms. He'll have manual override in the sub-basement." Elena leans over my shoulder, her signature jasmine perfume undercut by the acrid scent of adrenaline. "You want to burn him out?" I tap the emergency exit routes the ones I personally designed last year when planning the Chil
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter Forty-three
Sophie's pov ** The Harbor** Rain slashes my face like shards of broken glass as I crouch behind the rusted shipping container. The abandoned Lobster Harbor warehouse looms ahead, its broken windows glowing like predator's eyes in the storm-darkened afternoon. The scent of rotting fish and diesel fuel clings to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of my fear. Claire's voice crackles in my earpiece, barely audible over the howling wind: "Heat signatures confirm two hostiles on the upper level. Damien's in the basement. And Sophie" A pause that makes my stomach drop. "Marcus just sent six men to Lillian's hospital."My fingers tighten around the Glock until the grip bites into my palm. "Right on schedule," I whisper, though the words taste like ash. The FBI surveillance van parked three blocks away doesn't know I've slipped their protective custody. The tactical team prepping their raid doesn't know I spent last night disabling the warehouse's motion sensors. And Marcus
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter forty-two
Sophie's pov ** The Chase Begins** Marble floors reflect my distorted silhouette as I sprint through Blackstone Tower's lobby. My Louis Vuitton's, the red-soled ones Damien bought me in Paris,slip on the polished surface, but I don't slow down. The security guards tense but don't intervene; not when they see the feral glint in my eyes, not when they spot the Glock 26 strapped to my thigh in a holster Damien himself taught me to use. Claire materializes from behind a pillar like a specter. Her manicured fingers are always perfect, always professional dig into my wrist with surprising strength as she yanks me into a service elevator. The doors close just as two Blackstone security officers round the corner. "Marcus took him," she breathes against my ear. The elevator cameras blink red still recording so she presses closer, her Chanel No. 19 mixing with the acrid scent of fear. "Forty minutes ago. Black SUV with diplomatic plates." The numbers climb “52...67...78” but my pulse
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter forty-one
Sophie's pov The scent hits me first—Chanel No. 5 and dust. *Mom's perfume.* I'd forgotten about this relic, buried in the back of my old closet. The buttery calfskin is worn smooth in places from years of carrying canvases to art classes, legal documents to meetings, and later when everything fell apart a change of clothes for nights spent waiting outside Lillian's hospital room. My fingers catch on the hidden compartment, the one Damien had custom-made after that mugging in Paris. "For emergencies," he'd murmured against my temple while showing me the trick clasp. "Only us." The mechanism still works. **Marcus Blackstone's Personal Stationery** **Dated: The Night Before Dad Died** The paper crackles like dried blood as I unfold it. The words blur behind sudden tears which I couldn't hold in anymore: "Arthur's orders the Laurent embezzlement story sticks to you, not us. Sign the confession, or we'll make Sophie watch what happens to Lillian next." Beneath Marcus'
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