Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire's Temporary Mistress : Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Sophie's POV **10:17 AM at the BLACKSTONE TOWER** The conference table stretched like a frozen lake beneath the penthouse's harsh recessed lighting, its polished ebony surface reflecting twelve pairs of judgmental eyes. I sat perfectly still in my custom Carolina Herrera sheath dress.Damien's choice felt less like a wife and more like a particularly well-dressed hostage. Marcus Kane's cufflinks glinted as he slid the proposal across the table. "Page fourteen outlines the Laurent Gallery rebranding," he said with the smug satisfaction of a man kicking a puppy. "We'll replace these failing exhibits with more commercially viable installations." The attached photos showed my father's life work being dismantled on the same oak floors where I'd taken my first steps between his easels, the same skylights that had dappled my childhood drawings with golden light. Reduced to bullet points in a hostile takeover. Across the table, Damien's Montblanc pen made an almost imperceptible “c

Sophie's POVThe Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel glittered like a gilded cage, every surface polished to a mirror shine to reflect the elite of Manhattan. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the vaulted ceiling, scattering light across emerald silk drapes and the diamond-crusted throats of women who'd never known hunger. I stood at the edge of the dance floor, my emerald Gucci gown whispering against my thighs with every breath, the custom bias-cut silk clinging to curves I knew Damien had noted the moment I descended the staircase. Across the room, my husband held court, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure in the Tom Ford tuxedo I'd personally selected, his sharp jaw shadowed in the candlelight. Even among the city's most powerful men, he stood apart a blade among butter knives. "Enjoying the view?" Evelyn Blackstone materialized at my elbow, her champagne flute dangling from blood-red nails that matched the slash of her Valentino gown. At twenty-eight, Damien's yo

Sophie's POVBlackstone Tower's lobby was a cathedral of shadows when I stumbled inside, the automatic doors hissing shut behind me like a gasp. Rainwater streamed from my hair, my ruined Louboutins leaving wet footprints on the marble that would cost more to replace than my entire childhood home. The stolen files pressed against my chest had gone damp at the edges, the ink of Damien's damning signature bleeding through my blouse to stain my skin. He was waiting. Of course he was waiting. Damien stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the storm outside painting his profile in flashes of silver and blue. His tie was loose, his collar unbuttoned, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he'd been standing there for hours. Watching. Waiting. "You," he snarled, advancing like a panther scenting blood, "have exactly ten seconds to explain why my security team found you elbow-deep in our servers." Lightning flashed, illuminating the dangerous glint in his eyes, the

Sophie's POV **3:17 AM at the central park** The cherry blossoms rained pink petals like a deranged fairy tale as Damien and I faced off near the Bethesda Fountain. Tourists snapped photos of the angel's outstretched wings, oblivious to the angel of death standing before me in a Tom Ford suit. His grip on my wrist was vise-like, his platinum AmEx glinting between my fingers where I'd plucked it from his wallet during our "romantic stroll" for the paparazzi. "Give it back, Sophie." His voice was low enough that only I could hear the lethal edge beneath the polished tone. I dangled the card in the sunlight, letting it catch the rays like the blade it essentially was. "Not until you explain why you froze my sister's medical trust this morning." A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only outward sign of his anger. "I didn't." "Bulls**t." I stepped closer, the bergamot and sandalwood scent of his cologne making my pulse betray me. "Mount Sinai called at 7 AM. Payment declined. Care t

Sophie's POVThe study smelled of my Chanel No. 5 jasmine and rebellion mingling with the scent of aged leather and Damien's abandoned Scotch. Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the Persian rug as I bent over his desk, the glow of his laptop screen painting my face in ghostly blue light. My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up file after encrypted file. The Blackstone-Cayman merger documents. The offshore account trails. The truth I'd been hunting since the day I said "I do." The door clicked shut behind me. I froze mid-keystroke. For a suspended heartbeat, the only sound was the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway counting down the seconds until my deception was exposed. Then I turned, slow as a cornered cat, to face Damien leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette carved from shadow and sharp edges. The thief and the man who'd taught her how to steal. I straightened, smoothing my silk robe with a delibe