Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress : Kabanata 111 - Kabanata 120

Sophie's POV **The Prison Visit** The stench of industrial bleach and human despair clung to every surface of Blackmoor Supermax's high-security visitation room. I counted seventeen security cameras tracking my movements as I approached the bulletproof divider - seventeen unblinking eyes that had watched countless criminals break beneath these flickering fluorescent lights. My LoiusVuitton's clicked against the concrete floor with military precision, each step measured to hide the tremor in my legs. Arthur Blackstone sat waiting behind three inches of reinforced glass, his massive frame swallowing the plastic chair. At 6'5", even seated he loomed like a king holding court in hell. The orange jumpsuit strained across shoulders that had once carried a young Damien out of burning buildings, now marked with fresh track marks along the veins. His silver hair, still thick despite sixty years of monstrous deeds - fell across the jagged scar running from forehead to jawline, a

The first sensation was pain—a dull, insistent throb behind his temples, as if someone had taken a hammer to his skull while he slept. Damien groaned, his fingers twitching against cool, high-thread-count sheets. His mouth tasted like ash and something bitter, chemical. What the hell happened last night?He forced his eyes open, blinking against the assault of golden light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Dubai skyline sprawled before him, the Burj Khalifa piercing the morning haze like a blade. The penthouse suite was immaculate—all sleek marble and gilded edges, the kind of place designed for billionaires who wanted to feel like kings. But something was wrong. Damien sat up too fast, the room tilting violently. He braced himself against the headboard, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His bare chest was exposed, the sheets pooling around his waist. He never slept shirtless. Never. And then he saw them. Two small, angry puncture marks on the inside of hi

Sophie's pov **The Walk to School** The autumn air carried a bitter chill as Lila Laurent trudged up the hill toward Crestwood Academy, her breath forming small clouds in front of her. The massive Gothic-style school building loomed ahead, its arched windows reflecting the pale morning light like judgmental eyes watching her approach. Lila adjusted the straps of her backpack, the weight of her textbooks nothing compared to the heaviness in her chest. Three weeks. Three weeks since the video had leaked. Three weeks since her life had shattered. A group of sophomore girls ahead of her suddenly burst into laughter, then immediately hushed as they noticed her. One of them—Amber Hastings, the captain of the debate team—whispered something behind her hand, and the others dissolved into giggles again, their eyes darting toward Lila before quickly looking away. "They're talking about Dad." "Just ignore them, they don't exist." Lila's stomach twisted. She ducked her head an

Sophie's pov **The Interception** The Greyhound bus shuddered as it lumbered onto the I-90, its diesel engine groaning under the weight of fifty-seven passengers and their collective exhaustion. Lila Blackstone sat curled against the window in seat 32C, her knees drawn to her chest, her fingers nervously picking at the frayed edges of her hoodie sleeves. The glass was cool against her forehead as she watched the city lights blur into streaks of gold against the gathering twilight. *Just a few more hours, she told herself. *Then Chicago. Then freedom.* She'd planned it perfectly,the fake ID purchased from a college student near campus, the cash withdrawn in small amounts over weeks to avoid suspicion, the bus ticket bought under the name "Lily Brennan." She'd even dyed her hair two shades darker, the chestnut brown making her look older than thirteen. A sudden jolt rocked the bus. Lila's head snapped up as the vehicle swerved violently. "Jesus Christ!" the driver sh

Sophie's pov **Prelude to War** The full moon hung heavy over Manhattan, its pale light glinting off the Metropolitan ballroom glass roof like a warning. Inside the transformed Temple of Dendur, the air thrummed with unspoken threats, every crystal flute and diamond bracelet a potential weapon in the right hands. I stood motionless near the 2nd century BC sandstone temple, my black Valentino gown absorbing the light while the emerald-cut diamond at my throat refracted it into dangerous green shards. The dress had been specially tailored—backless to allow freedom of movement, the thigh slit concealing not just one but two ceramic blades in custom thigh sheaths. "Stop counting," Damien murmured against my ear, his breath warm against the shell where my comms device was hidden. His hand at my back traced idle circles through the fabric, mapping security positions only they could see. "You've scanned the room seventeen times." I didn't blink. "Eighteen armed guards now.