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Chapter fifty-four
Last Updated:
2025-07-13 17:08:55
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The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-eight
Sophie's pov The embossed cardstock smells like jasmine and betrayal. "Ms. Lucina Moretti requests the pleasure of your company at dinner..." I drag my fingernail across the gilded edge, watching the gold foil flake away like rotting skin. "We're not going." Damien doesn't look up from his security monitor's sixteen screens showing Lucina's movements across four time zones. "We have to." His knuckles whiten around the stem of his wine glass. "She booked the private dining room at Le Cœur Noir." The name hits like a slap. “The Black Heart” where Arthur celebrated after every corporate takeover. Where my father drank his last martini before the “Scheherazade.” I snap the invitation in half. The torn edge reveals a hidden layer, a molecular diagram of the toxin that killed our baby. Damien's glass shatters against the wall. "Exactly," he says softly. Lucina greets us in a backless gown the color of dried blood, the fabric slit to her hip. Her emerald choker pulse
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-seven
Sophie's pov The conference room smells of freshly printed contracts and barely contains rage. Twelve Blackstone lawyers line the mahogany table like a firing squad, their pens poised over the thickest prenuptial agreement I've ever seen. Damien leans back in his chair, fingers steepled the picture of calm, if you ignore the vein throbbing at his temple. "Standard revisions," he lies smoothly. I flick open the document to Clause 17(b): "In the event of spousal deception regarding matters materially affecting marital assets, all Blackstone Holdings intellectual property rights shall" The pen snaps in my hand, splattering ink across the page like blood. "Let me simplify this." My voice cuts through the air-conditioned chill. "Fifty percent of everything. Including the patents. Every time you lie to me." The youngest lawyer chokes on his mineral water. Damien's eyes darken to stormcloud green. "That would bankrupt me in a week." I smile sweetly. "Then stop lying." **FI
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-six
Sophie's pov The package arrives at dawn, wrapped in Florentine paper so exquisite it feels like a betrayal to tear it. "Open it," Lillian urges, her wheelchair squeaking impatiently against the studio's concrete floor. The box unfolds like a poisonous flower inside, nestled in black velvet: “Tubes of Rembrandt's lost pigments” (thought destroyed in WWII) “A 19th-century sable brush”(allegedly used by Degas) “A palette knife with an ivory handle”(carved with... are those Blackstone roses?)The card reads simply: "For the woman who paints truth in blood. -L.M." My fingers hover over the cadmium red, the exact shade from my nightmares when Damien's shadow swallows the sunlight. "Get rid of it now." His voice is colder than the Arctic shipment Elena intercepted last week. I tilt my head, deliberately stroking the sable bristles. "I didn't know you cared." His jaw ticks. Then the wall behind us explodes with a large“BOOM!”Smoke bombs aren't usually part of my
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-four
Sophie's pov ** Midnight** The smell of turpentine hangs thick in the converted nursery, mixing with the scent of Sophie's sweat as she attacks the canvas in frenzied strokes. Crimson and cobalt swirl into Rorschach blots that aren't quiteThere…. Again…. My paintbrush freezes mid-arc. The shape emerging isn't abstract at all. It's the distinct curve of an incubator pod, identical to the ones from Damien's childhood nightmares. Behind me, the baby monitor crackles with static or is that whispering? Lillian's wheelchair squeaks through the abandoned clinic's records room, her laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. The glow of the screen casts eerie shadows as she hacks into Blackstone's "Maternal Wellness Initiative" database. "Jesus Christ." Her voice echoes off filing cabinets. Three missing patient files blink on the screen: “Isabella Moreno” - 28 weeks pregnant - Vanished after sonogram (2021) “Nadia Petrov” - 19 weeks - Discharged against med
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-four
Sophie's pov ** Midnight** The smell of turpentine hangs thick in the converted nursery, mixing with the scent of Sophie's sweat as she attacks the canvas in frenzied strokes. Crimson and cobalt swirl into Rorschach blots that aren't quiteThere…. Again…. My paintbrush freezes mid-arc. The shape emerging isn't abstract at all. It's the distinct curve of an incubator pod, identical to the ones from Damien's childhood nightmares. Behind me, the baby monitor crackles with static or is that whispering? Lillian's wheelchair squeaks through the abandoned clinic's records room, her laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. The glow of the screen casts eerie shadows as she hacks into Blackstone's "Maternal Wellness Initiative" database. "Jesus Christ." Her voice echoes off filing cabinets. Three missing patient files blink on the screen: “Isabella Moreno” - 28 weeks pregnant - Vanished after sonogram (2021) “Nadia Petrov” - 19 weeks - Discharged against med
The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress Chapter fifty-three
Sophie's pov ** The Visitor's Room** The vial of blood glows ruby-red under prison fluorescents, rolling between Damien's fingers as he waits. The scent of industrial cleaner can't mask the underlying stench of sweat and hopelessness that permeates Blackstone Maximum Security's visitation block. A steel door clangs open. Arthur Blackstone enters with the causal grace of a man still accustomed to boardrooms rather than prison jumpsuits. The orange fabric hangs loose on his frame he's lost weight but his eyes remain sharp as scalpels. "Son." Arthur settles across from the bulletproof glass, amusement curling his lips. "Come to gloat?" Damien says nothing. Simply presses the vial against the divider, watching his father's pupils dilate at the label: **D.B. - GENERATION 18 - CONTAMINATED** Arthur throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing off cinder block walls. "Took you long enough." His fingernails still manicured, somehow tap the glass. "Your mother begge
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