Chapter 3-The mistress
875 Words
"An hour has already passed." "What on earth is she doing up there?" I murmur, holding the leather of the steering wheel so firmly that my knuckles become pale. "Sasha, hurry up and come down here!" "We're already behind by an hour!" My voice cuts through the silence of the house, sharp with irritation.
A gradual, measured tapping of heels on the marble surface takes my breath away. My head snaps up. And there she stands.
Sasha is positioned at the staircase's summit, a grin flickering on her shiny lips. The soft lighting embraces her completely, accentuating the graceful curves of her toned legs under a dangerously short skirt. The fitted blazer hugs her, accentuating curves that no rational man could overlook. Her blonde locks flow down her shoulders, the aroma of her costly fragrance tainting the atmosphere around us.
An absolutely incredible work of art.
I gulp tightly, my throat unexpectedly parched. She approaches with the elegance of a hunter, each step intentional, every action exuding authority. She understands her actions—knows precisely the influence she has over me. And God assist me, I permitted her to use it.
She halts before me, her lips twisting mischievously. “How do I look, Liam?”
Like sin. Like temptation wrapped in designer fabric. Like trouble.
“Stunning,” I say, my voice hoarse, thick with something I refuse to name.
Her fingers brush my wrist as she pulls me toward the door, and I let her. I always let her. I don't fight the way my body hums under her touch. It’s dangerous, playing this game with her, but I can’t stop myself.
We slide into the car. I'm about to start the ignition when I remember—I left my phone upstairs.
“s**t. I forgot my phone.”
I reach for the door handle, but before I can move, Sasha’s hand snakes around my wrist. A gentle touch. Firm. Intentional.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs, producing the device with a smile too sweet. “I already grabbed it for you.”
I take it from her, my brow furrowing. How did she…?
Something about her expression is off. Something dark lurking behind those honey-colored eyes. I shake the feeling off. Sasha would never… would she?
I press my lips together and pull out of the driveway. But my gut churns when I see the name flashing on my screen.
Rosy.
She never calls without a reason. And it’s never a good one.
---
Sasha's POV:
Liam frowns at his phone. He doesn’t check the message. Good.
Because if he did, he’d know. He’d know about Rosy’s text, the one she sent right before I wiped the notification away.
Liam, I’m pregnant. Seven weeks.
Seven weeks. And Liam swore to me—swore—he didn’t love her anymore. That he was done with her. But she was happy, so damn happy, sending him that message.
Well, I wasn’t happy. And in this world, only one of us gets to be happy.
Liam is mine. Mine. Rosy’s baby is nothing but an inconvenience. And I’ve made my decision.
Liam pulls up at the hospital, oblivious to the war raging inside me. He’s too busy frowning at his phone.
“Come on, my lady,” he says, offering his hand.
I take it, plastering on my sweetest smile. He doesn’t suspect a thing.
Inside, the receptionist greets us with a knowing look. “Mr. Liam, your room is ready. Fifth floor.”
I loop my arm through his as we head toward the elevator. The hospital is stifling, suffocating, but I keep my face composed. The room is old, its door paint peeling, but that doesn’t matter. What happens inside does.
Liam reaches for the doorknob, but before he can turn it, the door swings open on its own.
A woman stands inside.
“Liam,” she breathes, her voice trembling.
The nurse’s voice drifts from behind us. “So good of you to bring your wife for her check-up today.”
The word wife makes Liam tense beside me. I squeeze his arm. He must be planning an engagement.
The air is thick with something I don’t understand yet. The hospital feels smaller, pressing in on me. And then, a sound shatters the silence.
A muffled, choked ugh.
Liam stiffens. My pulse skitters. My eyes dart to the side of the room, to the partitioned-off area behind a privacy screen.
Someone is there.
Liam steps forward, grabs the screen, and yanks it aside.
The sound of the metal frame crashing against the floor is deafening.
Then, silence. A dead, hollow silence.
Liam doesn’t move.
His face turns ghostly pale. He’s frozen in place, his jaw slack, his breathing shallow.
I follow his gaze, my own breath catching in my throat.
The world stops.
My heart stops.
Because lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, her stomach swollen ever so slightly, is Rosy.
And the beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room as realization crashes over us both.
I can feel Liam’s grip on my hand loosening.
I can feel everything I built, everything I killed for, slipping away.
And I will not let that happen.
- Writer
