The Mistress의 모든 챕터: 챕터 11 - 챕터 20

“I’m doing this for your own good, Hon. You need to understand that the world out there is too loud for you right now.” Dan’s voice was like velvet-wrapped steel as he stood by the foyer, his hand extended, waiting. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t even frowning. He had that look of profound, heroic concern that had kept me captive for five years—the gaze of a man who wanted the world to see him as a saint burdened by a broken wife. I looked at the heavy brass key ring in my palm, then back at his face. “Dan, I have to pick up more supplies for the series. The Amalfi pieces aren’t finished. I have deadlines, regardless of what the gallery says.” “The studio is being renovated, Hon. I already told you. The ventilation is bad for your lungs, and the fumes… well, they might trigger another one of your episodes,” he said, his smile never reaching his eyes. He stepped closer, his fingers gently but firmly closing over mine, prying the keys from my grip with a strength that felt like a threat

“I need to try on the Vera Wang gown in the window. And no, Dan’s instructions were for me to have privacy while I dress. You can stand outside the fitting room door if it makes you feel like you’re doing your job.” My voice was cold, regal, and laced with just enough “unstable” edge to make the two guards hesitate. We were at the flagship department store in the heart of Makati, a sprawling labyrinth of glass, silk, and excessive wealth. Daniel had allowed this outing only because I had played the submissive wife for three days straight, and because he wanted me to look “adequate” for the upcoming banquet. The guards exchanged a look. They were new, handpicked by Daniel’s head of security, but they weren’t prepared for the calculated chaos of a woman with nothing left to lose. “Five minutes, Ma’am,” one of them said, stepping back to let me enter the sprawling VIP suite. The moment the heavy velvet curtain fell shut, the air shifted. I wasn’t alone. Sophie was already there, hidde

The morning after the assault didn’t bring the mercy of numbness. Instead, the sun crawled through the heavy velvet curtains of the master suite like a witness arriving too late to a crime scene. I stood before the tall vanity mirror, my hands trembling as I fastened the buttons of a high-collared silk blouse. Every movement was an agony of memory, a reminder of the weight that had crushed the breath out of me just hours before. “You look tired, Hon,” Daniel’s voice drifted from the doorway. I didn’t turn. I watched his reflection. He was perfectly groomed, his tie knotted with surgical precision, looking every bit the prince of the Sy-Blackwood empire. He walked toward me, his reflection growing larger, more suffocating, until he stood directly behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders—the same shoulders he had pinned to the mattress—and leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, his eyes meeting mine in the glass. “Since you’re so p

The silence of the estate was shattered at three in the morning by a sound that bypassed my “madwoman” act and struck directly at my soul. It wasn’t the sound of a locking door or Daniel’s heavy tread; it was a thin, labored whimper coming from the room next door. I threw off the covers, my heart lunging into a sprint. I didn’t care about the cameras in the hallway or the “lethargy” I was supposed to be displaying. I burst into Ethan’s room and found him tangled in his sheets, his skin a terrifying, waxy grey, radiating a heat that felt like a furnace. “Ethan? Baby, look at Mommy,” I whispered, lifting his small, limp body. He didn’t open his eyes. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. I touched his forehead and pulled back; he was burning. This wasn’t a common cold. This was a crisis. I didn’t call the house staff. I didn’t call Rita. And I certainly didn’t call Dr. Aris—the man Daniel paid to keep me sedated. I knew if I alerted the house, Aris would arrive with more “vit

“You’re finally learning your place, Victoria. I actually felt proud to have you on my arm tonight.” Daniel leaned against the mahogany doorframe of our bedroom, loosened his silk tie, and watched me with a look of terrifying satisfaction. The gala had gone exactly how he wanted, and now he was riding a high of ego and control. He walked toward me, his steps heavy on the plush carpet, and draped his arms around my shoulders. His touch made my stomach turn. It was the “doting husband” act, a performance he usually reserved for the cameras, but tonight he was bringing it behind closed doors. He pressed a dry, possessive kiss to my temple, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from recoiling. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on you lately,” he murmured, his voice thick with a fake tenderness that felt like oil on my skin. “If you keep this up—this quiet, obedient version of yourself—maybe we can talk about getting you back into the studio. Without the ‘supervision’.” I didn’t answer. I j