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Chapter twenty seven

Author: Lily Grayson
last update Last Updated: 2025-07-05 08:40:20

Sophie's POV

The penthouse was quiet,too quiet.

I sat curled in the window seat, a sketchpad balanced on my knees, charcoal smudged across my fingertips. The city stretched below me, a glittering beast of steel and glass, indifferent to the storm brewing inside my chest.

Then all of a sudden “click, click, click.”

The sound sliced through the silence like a blade.

‘Expensive’ Louis Vuitton.

I knew that sound. I’d worn those shoes once. Back when I still played the part of Damien Blackstone’s perfect wife.

Mrs. Whitlock appeared in the doorway, her usual composure fractured at the edges. “Miss Blackstone is here to see you.”

Before I could respond, a whirlwind of Chanel No. 5 and effortless arrogance swept into the room.

Evelyn Blackstone.

Damien’s sister.

The woman the tabloids called ‘The Ice Princess of Wall Street.’

She was taller than I expected, all sharp angles and predatory grace, her ash-blonde hair swept into a flawless chignon. Her dress black, tailored, w
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  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter thirty-one

    Sophie's POVThe Blackstone archives smelled of old money and older sins a heady mix of decaying paper, leather bindings, and the faint metallic tang of the vault's climate control system. My fingertips left barely perceptible indentations on the cardboard banker's boxes as I worked through the 1990s financial records. The motion-activated lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows between the steel shelving units that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling. I was examining a particularly dense file of offshore transactions when the air pressure changed. The hairs on my nape rose before I heard the deliberate clearing of a throat. "Researching ancient history, Sophie?" Marcus's voice oozed across the space between us, smooth as aged whiskey over ice. I turned slowly, careful to keep my expression neutral as I took in his perfectly tailored Brioni suit charcoal gray with the faintest pinstripe, costing more than most people made in a month. "Provenance work for the Monet ac

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter thirty-one

    Sophie's POVThe Blackstone archives smelled of old money and older sins a heady mix of decaying paper, leather bindings, and the faint metallic tang of the vault's climate control system. My fingertips left barely perceptible indentations on the cardboard banker's boxes as I worked through the 1990s financial records. The motion-activated lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows between the steel shelving units that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling. I was examining a particularly dense file of offshore transactions when the air pressure changed. The hairs on my nape rose before I heard the deliberate clearing of a throat. "Researching ancient history, Sophie?" Marcus's voice oozed across the space between us, smooth as aged whiskey over ice. I turned slowly, careful to keep my expression neutral as I took in his perfectly tailored Brioni suit charcoal gray with the faintest pinstripe, costing more than most people made in a month. "Provenance work for the Monet ac

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter thirty

    Sophie's POV **The Study** The penthouse study smelled of Damien’s cologne bergamot and sandalwood with an undercurrent of something darker and the lingering smoke from last night’s whiskey. The scent wrapped around me like a second skin as I stood before his desk, my fingers trembling against the worn leather of the ledger. ‘His’ ledger. The one that laid bare every anonymous payment, every secret salvation for Lillian. The pages were heavy in my hands, the entries meticulous dates, amounts, hospitals, treatments all in that precise, unforgiving script that was so quintessentially Damien. **12/15 - NY Presbyterian - Lillian Laurent - $87,000 (Initial Dx)** **6/16 - Memorial Sloan Kettering - $240,000 (Stem Cell Harvest)** **9/17 - Mount Sinai - $650,000 (CAR-T Therapy)** Years of payments. Years of lies. I lifted my gaze. Damien sat behind his desk, the morning light cutting across his face, etching the sharp angles of his cheekbones in gold. He was watching

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter twenty nine

    Sophie's POV Rain lashed against the penthouse windows in diagonal slashes, turning Manhattan into a distorted watercolor nightmare. The glass vibrated with each gust of wind, the sound like a thousand whispered accusations. I barely noticed. The hospital report in my hands had stopped making sense after the third line. "Treatment Failure: Progression to Stage IV" The words blurred together, the medical jargon dissolving into one undeniable truth: “Lillian was running out of time.” I didn't hear him enter. One moment I was alone on the balcony, the cold iron railing biting into my palms as I tried to remember how to breathe. The next, the weight of Damien's suit jacket settled over my shoulders, still warm from his skin, carrying the faint scent of his cologne bergamot and something darker, something dangerous. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. If he saw my face now it would be…"Sophie." His voice was rougher than usual, the way it got after back-to-back board meetings, whe

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter twenty eight

    Sophie's povThe envelope arrived at breakfast, thick as an indictment. It sat innocently on the silver tray beside my untouched grapefruit, its crisp white edges stark against the polished mahogany. Mrs. Whitlock had placed it there with her usual quiet efficiency, her face betraying nothing but her hands had lingered a second too long. I knew before I opened it. Knew by the way my pulse stuttered. Knew by the way the morning light suddenly felt too bright, too harsh against my skin. **Mount Sinai Hospital – Final Notice** **Patient: Lillian Laurent** **Treatment: CAR-T Cell Therapy** **Balance Due: $487,000** The numbers blurred. The paper trembled in my hands. I’d sold my last remaining sketchbook to cover last month’s installment. The one my father had given me on my sixteenth birthday, its pages filled with half-finished dreams. The pawnshop owner had barely glanced at it before offering me a sum that wouldn’t even cover Lillian’s anti-nausea meds. Now thi

  • The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress    Chapter twenty seven

    Sophie's POVThe penthouse was quiet,too quiet. I sat curled in the window seat, a sketchpad balanced on my knees, charcoal smudged across my fingertips. The city stretched below me, a glittering beast of steel and glass, indifferent to the storm brewing inside my chest. Then all of a sudden “click, click, click.” The sound sliced through the silence like a blade. ‘Expensive’ Louis Vuitton. I knew that sound. I’d worn those shoes once. Back when I still played the part of Damien Blackstone’s perfect wife. Mrs. Whitlock appeared in the doorway, her usual composure fractured at the edges. “Miss Blackstone is here to see you.” Before I could respond, a whirlwind of Chanel No. 5 and effortless arrogance swept into the room. Evelyn Blackstone. Damien’s sister. The woman the tabloids called ‘The Ice Princess of Wall Street.’She was taller than I expected, all sharp angles and predatory grace, her ash-blonde hair swept into a flawless chignon. Her dress black, tailored, w

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