Mistress

Elena underestimated the extent that Mikhail would go to humiliate her.

"...The test results will be sent to Mr. Volkov in three days' time, so for now, I suggest using protection for your sexual intercourse."

Now, the doctor who had been sent over to poke around her vagina until she cried Bloody Mary was as good as a robot.

It was as though she had been seeing the pink flesh all her life and had no discretion anymore.

"Oh...I see." Elena resisted the urge to clench her fists, her skin reddened in embarrassment as she watched the female doctor rise to her feet, carrying a sample of her fluids.

It was the same way that a masseuse had strode into the Master bedroom and started cleaning her up, waxing her hair and taking care of her nails, right after massaging her.

And the worst?

The woman commented about everything!

"Your hip muscles are tight, you need to relax them for you know...The boss is a big man. You should do some yoga before tonight..."

Then a fashion designer had come in next, carrying clothes worth thousands of dollars,

And of course, he was a shameless talker too.

"Oh darling, I've got clothes that are just gonna make your skin pop and those curves, wow! Wait till I show you the lingeries I have for you. The Monsieur will go crazy tonight."

Tonight?

It was as though there was some kind of ritual fixed for that night that Elena wasn't aware of, and she was going to be the damn sacrifice!

By evening, when the dietician left with another blood sample and a tablet in hand, Elena Taylor slumped into the couch.

Her phone started to ring, just as a knock sounded against the door.

For fuck's sake, she was going to lose her damn mind.

And she couldn't even take out her frustration on her hair since it looked the most luscious and silky, so beautiful she could barely recognize it as hers.

She picked up the call first, exhaustion seeping into her bones.

"Hello, who is..." She started to say, but her sister's high-pitched voice cut her off.

"Hey Elena! Thank you so much, I can't believe you convinced brother-in-law to upgrade my dorm and change my phone and every other stuff! And by the way, when did you get back with Mikhail?"

Elena froze, the excitement in her voice hanging in the air.

Her heart stopped, skipped, and began to race at a raging speed.

With difficulty, she forced herself to mutter, "Brother-in-law? He...Mikhail upgraded your dorm?"

Each word was bit out through clenched teeth, but the voice at the other end only got more excited.

"Oh yeah! And check this out, I'm staying in the upper side with a view of the park, just like I always wanted! He even sent expensive gifts for Lara, and changed my wheelchair..."

The fucking bastard.

By the end of the call, Elena was fuming.

Murderously.

The dick was playing some shitty game with her, and sending a message by tracking down her sister.

By the time the doorbell rang again, the woman who had decided to suck it up for six months was dead,

And in her place was a bitch ready to play her own cards.

"Ms. Elena, the boss picked out this dress for you, and asked me to keep your makeup minimum, for the press..."

This time, Elena didn't bottle up her fury as she did when those vampires sucked her blood and told her what the almighty boss wanted.

She lifted a brow, and turning to the eager makeup artist, she lifted a finger,

"You like your job, right? Then you and I are gonna have a little talk."

***

For a rebellious spirit like Mikhail, he sure kept to time.

It was one of the first traits that Elena had noticed about him when they first started dating publicly.

Well, right about she had discovered what a devil he was in the sheets,

And how fucking kinky he could get with that thick delicious dick...

By seven o'clock prompt, he slid out of his black Rolls Royce, unbothered by the paparazzi who followed him around, camera lights flashing on his charcoal suit and pristine hair.

He was going to be right on time, and Elena was aware of that.

Which was why she switched off her phone and arrived by 7:45.

Mikhail Volkov was driven to the brink by rage.

All the calls he made to her phone didn't go through, and when he called the driver, he was simply told that she was running late.

To make things worse, the reporters were starting to throw questions through the window,

"Have you been stood up?"

"Is Ms. Elena breaking off your relationship?"

That little witch, he would throttle her neck and...

It wasn't his black limousine that came to a halt in front of the restaurant, which was probably the reason he was caught off guard.

A sleek red Porsche drove in at a speed used by car racers at the field, parking right in front of the reporters.

Mikhail Volkov was ready to make one call to have it towed away, when his eyes caught sight of the dare devil that stepped out of it.

Red stilettos with fuck me heels, a short leather skirt and a blouse that could only be described as a lingerie,

A hot sexy one at that, with a net material that flirted with her round mounds of cleavage and a skin that glowed under the flashes of the cameras.

A powerful jacket was slung over those slender shoulders, her hips swinging as she walked with those endless long legs...

Yikes.

It was clear that Elena Taylor had one mission tonight,

His death, the same way his father had gone,

With a hell of a hard-on.