THE MISTRESS CONTRACT

CHAPTER 2: THE ENTICING PROPOSAL

Even in a world of glamour, her shoes still didn't fit.

Ivy's heels walked into a well-lit and exquisite hall. The shining chandelier hung high like a goddess; the hall smelt of sweet perfumes and exotic wines.

Beautiful faces exchanging pleasantries, unique champagnes filled the clinking glasses of guests without a shred of doubt;

Wealth does live here.

The lavish hall was occupied by the city's elite, who moved with effortless grace. They included billionaires, art collectors, politicians, and top investors.

She had been given an invitation as a favor, a hesitant guest in a world she didn't fit in.

Feeling out of place, Ivy adjusted her dress, straightened her back, tilted her chin, and walked head-high to a table with a glass of champagne.

The gala was just getting started. "I came right on time," she mumbled as she sipped her wine. Immediately, her eyes fell on an enigma. She gasped.

A magnificent face-masked figure popped into the hallway like a force of nature.

Tall, impeccably dressed, with a dominating aura that commanded silence. Guests started giving way to him, but no one came close enough. Someone close to Ivy murmured his name as Mr. J. He kept walking like a king in charge of his kingdom. Everyone seemed to know him except for Ivy.

Mr. J walked up to the table that was specially reserved for him.

"He was indeed a sight to behold," Ivy remarked.

The exhibition and auction of guests' creations began. Ivy donated three of her artworks at the gala organizers' request, but she wasn't expecting anything in return.

In less than an hour, she stifled a yawn. Her eyes closed in slowly when a bid of five million dollars rang across the hall, jotting her back to reality, and silencing the entire hall.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"SOLD," the auctioneer hammered.

Ivy widened her eyes. "Whose creation could that be?" she whispered to herself as she tilted her head up to see.

She gasped as her hand flung over her mouth, not believing her own eyes. All her artwork sold out in just one night.

Mr. J, the enigmatic billionaire, bought them all. The art world had ignored her for so many years until now. She had no idea what his full name was. She was only aware that he was an enigma in the industry—a man who hardly makes appearances but whose influence is undeniably absolute. Every painting piece, every brush stroke, was bought in a single, effortless purchase.

Her face gleamed excitedly. "This was truly the best night of her life," she smiled sheepishly.

Ivy had just started enjoying the gala, sipping slowly at her new glass of champagne. When a server approached her, and handed her an enclosed envelope.

She opened it, and there lies a note:

'You tickle my fancy, I have a special proposal for you.'

Her eyes wandered about it. She turned the note over for a name, but none was found. She turned to look around to see if anyone would indicate he had sent the note. No one stated he had.

She concluded that the note wasn't for her; nevertheless, her art won the admiration of everyone at the gala. But before she could show appreciation to him, Mr. J had vanished just the same way he appeared.

Ivy stood outside, waiting for the ride; she ordered, but it took time to arrive. So she had to wait a little longer.

The night breeze blew whispered secrets thick in the air, and, from a safe distance, a shadowy figure perched in the dark glow with an unreadable expression watched a particular guest waiting for the arrival of her ride back home.

He was intrigued by her features—sleek, dark, and long hair gallivanted over her shoulders. She had a beautiful heart-shaped face, and her body was enclosed in an hourglass figure with a tiny waist. She had the perfect height to complement her beauty. "Everything about her thrilled him, and that aroused something dark and dangerous inside of him," he mused.

Her name was Ivy McDonald, a name perfectly suited for a damsel. "She had a graceful look and an elegant figure, just how he liked his women," he gave a rich chuckle.

She stood like a model waiting her turn to be called out on stage for a pageant. The long dinner gown she wore glued perfectly well on her banging body, in the shade of midnight blue, and it had a high slit, which revealed her beautiful slender long legs.

Her pretty lips had bold red lipstick on, giving sexy.

He let out a groan, looking at his hard-on as his body responded to her thought in his head.

"Damn!"

She had such a beautiful smile, his eyes were fixed firmly on her every move.

Every part of her triggered him. The longer he stared at her, the more his lust for her increased. She was indeed delicate.

"Exploring every part of her body wouldn't be a bad idea at all," he smiled as he licked his lower lip. She had unlocked his perversion.

"What a perfect choice for a pet project," he winked as a seductive smile curved out of the corner of his lips.

As her ride arrived, he whistled into the dark, and they drove off.

That night, Ivy kept grinning from cheek to cheek as she lay on her bed in her apartment, relaying the whole moment in her head.

Who was he? And why would a man of his status and caliber spend a fortune on her paintings?

"Maybe it was her lucky day," she smiled.

Tonight, she realized she had never lost touch with the art world. She only needed a reality check to help her feel noticed and alive again. Mr. J did that for her. She snuggled her pillow and slowly drifted away.

With heavy eyelids and a full body stretch, Ivy woke up to the buzzing ringtone of her phone. Who could be called by this time? She rubbed and fixed her eyes on the wall clock, it was barely eight am.

She looked at her phone screen; it was an unknown number.

"Good morning," she mumbled in between a yawn.

"Good morning, Miss Ivy McDonald; I presume you got my boss's note."

Her eyes widened in alert. "Was the note from you?"

"No, Miss Ivy, it was from my boss. You caught his admiration last night, and he's got special..."

"Who's your boss?" she interjected.

"Mr. J," he responded.

Her eyes popped out of their sockets, and her jaw dropped. The same face-masked man who bought all her paintings last night that she didn't get to thank.

"Miss Ivy, I will email you the details about the special offer, and we await your response. Choose wisely, bye."

An email pops up on her phone screen, and she opens it:

One year as my private mistress.

No questions asked.

No facial meetings.

No strings attached.

In return, you get financial security beyond your expectations, unlimited entry into the elite art world, and a life of luxury.

The contract is attached below. Should you break its terms, there will be a penalty.

Ivy sat at her reading table, looking at her laptop screen. She exhaled. "This wasn't just an ordinary proposal but a contract with well-detailed terms, and secrecy was necessary."

Their meetings will be firmly secretive. Mr. J would provide for and protect her in ways above financial comfort. A vast sum will be deposited in her account once she accepts the proposal - monthly payment, a new wardrobe, and art collectors at her disposal.

She would get an expensive home, she would go on lavish vacations to any country of her choice. She would live a luxurious lifestyle, and her business would also thrive, but on the conditions that:

She would be Mr. J's private mistress for a whole year.

She would submit totally to him for all kinds of pleasure.

She would never challenge his authority or s****l methods.

If, at any time, she wishes to leave, she can't until the contract is ended or face severe punishment.

It's the boldness and audacity for me; this was pure madness. She pushed back her chair and stood up, furiously pacing the room.

Her face reddened. "This is bullshit, what nonsense!"

"A deal with the daredevil himself." Her pulse pounded as she paced slowly, thinking out loud.

Was she willing to throw away her morals and dignity out the window because of money?

Is there something more dangerous at play here?

Could this be a game? The real problem was not whether she would say yes.

It was why he wanted her at all?