THE MISTRESS CONTRACT

CHAPTER 12: OLD RIVAL

She walked into the gallery in heels and sequins, but danger was knocking from inside her purse.

Jason got home that night. He freshened up and lay on his back across the bed. A convincing smile played on his lips. It’s only a matter of time. Ivy will definitely dance to my tune. I will sleek my way back into her life. He turned and dozed off.

By dawn, the penthouse was quiet except for the ticking sound of the pendulum clock in the hallway.

Morning rays of sunlight streamed through the transparent curtains.

Gracie, the head maid, walked with graceful poise, her hands folded smoothly over her apron.

She paused outside the master’s bedroom door, hesitating just for a moment before raising her hand to knock on the strong mahogany door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

No response.

She bit her lip, summoned courage, and knocked louder this time.

Still no response.

She exhaled, followed by a whisper, "This leaves me no choice."

She opened the door slowly. The room was dark, scented faintly of male cologne. She walked up to the window and pulled apart the curtains, giving way for sunlight to illuminate the room.

Jason lay sprawled out across his massive bed, one arm over his eyes, his jaw rough with morning stubble.

"Sir," Gracie said in a very low tone, gently tapping Jason’s arm.

He turned sluggishly.

"Good morning, sir. I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but you have a visitor downstairs."

He groaned, eyes still closed. "Who could that be?"

Gracie swallowed. "It’s your private investigator, sir."

At that moment, he opened his eyes. Sharp and instantly alarmed. "Tell him I’ll be downstairs in a jiffy."

"Okay, sir," Gracie responded and walked quietly out of the room.

Jason swung his legs off the bed, cracking his neck and stretching out his body like a man ready for battle.

He threw on a robe and strolled downstairs. He locked eyes with Charles, his private investigator, signaling him to keep up the pace as he walked into his private room. Jason sat down and gestured to a seat. "Sit."

Charles positioned himself into a nearby chair.

"I got your message," Jason said, squinting. "What is cooking underground?"

Charles cleared his throat, his voice low but tight with caution. "You need to be on the lookout for Gerald Tyler. He is planning something really big. It’s more than just circling your assets."

Jason’s jaw clenched, and he replied coldly, "I will tighten my end."

Charles nodded. "If anything comes up, I will let you know."

Jason nodded. Charles stood up and left.

Jason rubbed his chin like he was trying to solve the last missing piece of a puzzle.

Gerald Tyler, an age-long rival of Jason. A greedy bastard with an interest in his wealth and empire. Gerald would do anything just to have his life. His ambition is fueled by jealousy.

Fists clenched, Jason lay his head on his headrest. Gerald was one of the reasons he went into hiding ten years ago, but history won’t repeat itself.

"This rivalry has lingered far too long," he muttered. "It’s time to lay its ghost to rest."

Inside the gallery, the atmosphere was scented with luxurious colognes. Guests whispered while sipping rare brands of champagne. Loud laughter reeled through the hall.

Ivy McDonald stood, looking gorgeous and radiantly beautiful in a gold sequin dress, in front of her latest piece—bold strokes of scarlet and dark, sooty pain.

Even with the brilliant smile on her face and the crowd she was in, she still felt it. That piercing, intense gaze. A gaze that bore right into her soul. Like the weight of the world about to break.

Her pulse hitched. She swiftly turned, scanning the hall for him. Jason. But he was out of sight. Invisible, yet so powerful. She felt that familiar force in the air as if someone were webbing an invisible thread around her wrist and gently pulling her.

She gave up searching for him, and then a voice spoke behind her.

"Miss McDonald."

Ivy turned. She was face to face with a man. Tall, elegant, but with the look of a wolf in sheep’s clothing and a rich foreign accent in the way he called her name.

He held a flute of champagne, eyes fixed on her without blinking, and a smile with a flicker of enthusiasm, like he had just won a prize.

"You must be the woman behind Dark Mind." He lowered his gaze, not to her painting, but to her neckline.

Ivy gave a friendly smile. "You must be the man that has an eye for great art?"

He chuckled warmly, as if she had just tickled his favorite spot. "Smart. Beautiful. Now I know why Mr. J is hiding you."

Her spine stiffened at the mention of Jason’s name, but her composure remained intact. Deflecting, she murmured, "You never did mention your name."

He stepped closer, voice like silk over steel. "Gerald Tyler."

Ivy nodded, forcing a smile. "Nice to meet you."

Immediately, she turned and walked away from him.

He dipped his gaze, but this time to her butt and a wicked, devastating smile curved out of his lips.

As Ivy walked away, she accidentally bumped into a man, who kept on walking without glancing at her or offering an apology.

She rolled her eyes in disgust and whispered under her breath, “Wanker.” But she noticed her clutch had shifted positions and felt odd. She creased her brows as she opened it.

A tiny black note card had been slipped inside. No indication. Just six words in a rushed scribble:

“Leave now. You’re in harm’s way.”