The CEO's Personal Mistress

Amelia Lane was surrounded by her closest friends, sipping champagne and laughing despite her nerves about her upcoming wedding. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. She forced a smile as her best friend, Claire, lifted her champagne glass. “To Amelia!” Claire announced dramatically. “Our beautiful bride-to-be, and to her final night of freedom before she becomes Mrs. Brad Hilton!” The table erupted in cheers. Amelia laughed, though her stomach twisted nervously. “Stop making it sound like I’m going to prison.” “Marriage is basically a beautiful prison,” Claire replied, earning another round of laughter. Amelia rolled her eyes. She loved Brad. She loved him so much and couldn't wait to be his wife. They had been together for three years. Their wedding was only days away, and everything was supposed to feel exciting. Instead, Amelia had spent the entire week feeling strangely unsettled. The flowers. The guest list. The dress. The endless phone calls. And somewhere beneath all of it was a tiny voice asking whether she was really ready. Claire noticed her silence and pushed a cocktail toward her. “Drink.” Amelia stared at it. “I've already had champagne.” “One cocktail isn't going to kill you.” “I don't know, Claire.” Claire leaned closer. “Amelia, you're getting married in a few days. Tonight, you are not allowed to think about seating arrangements, caterers, or your future husband.” She grinned. “Tonight, you have fun.” Amelia finally smiled. “Fine. One drink.” She picked up the glass. She didn't notice the quick glance Claire exchanged with the woman sitting beside her. She didn't notice the tiny smile that followed. And she certainly didn't notice anything unusual about the drink. At first. But twenty minutes later, Amelia's cheeks were warm. The music seemed louder. The lights, brighter. Her laughter came too easily. She blinked several times. Something wasn't right. “Claire…” Her best friend turned. “What?” “I feel… strange.” Claire laughed. “You're finally relaxing.” “No.” Amelia pressed her fingers against her temple. “I think I'm dizzy.” “You've barely had anything.” Amelia looked down at her empty glass. She couldn't remember finishing it. Then Claire suddenly grabbed her hand. “Come on.” “Where?” “One last dance.” “I can't dance right now.” “That's exactly why you should.” Before Amelia could protest, Claire pulled her toward the dance floor. “One last dance with a stranger before you say I do.” The music changed. The beat slowed. The lights dimmed. And then Amelia saw him. A man standing near the edge of the dance floor. Tall. Impossibly handsome. Dressed in a black suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him. He wasn't dancing. He wasn't talking. He was simply watching her. Their eyes met. Something inside Amelia went still. The stranger's mouth curved into a faint smile. Claire nudged her. “Go on.” “Claire…” “One dance.” Amelia swallowed. “One dance.” She stepped forward. The stranger met her halfway. He held out his hand. She stared at it for a moment before placing hers in his. The moment their fingers touched, a strange shiver ran through her. His gaze remained fixed on hers. “You look nervous,” he said. Amelia tried to laugh. “I am.” “It's only a dance.” She smiled, and joined him on the dance floor. As they danced, Amelia's inhibitions slipped away, the champagne and cocktail mixture coursing through her veins. The stranger's hand drifted to her waist, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body. Amelia moved with him. For a few moments, everything else disappeared. No wedding. No Brad. No doubts. Just the music and the stranger's hypnotic stare. “You're beautiful,” he murmured. Amelia's heart skipped. “You don't even know me.” “Maybe I don't need to.” His words sent another strange flutter through her. She looked away. The room suddenly tilted. She tightened her grip on his shoulder. “I think…” “What?” “I don't feel well.” His expression changed. “Let's get you somewhere quiet.” “I should find Claire.” “You can call her, later.” Amelia tried to look toward the table. She couldn't see clearly anymore. The faces around her had become blurry shapes. “Claire…” Her knees suddenly buckled. The stranger caught her. “Easy.” Amelia tried to push herself upright. “I can walk.” “You're barely standing.” His arm tightened around her. Before she knew it, the stranger was guiding her off the dance floor, the room spinning into a hazy blur. As Amelia stumbled out of the lounge, the cool night air hit her like a slap in the face. She blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision. The stranger's grip on her arm tightened, steadying her. "Where are we going?" Amelia asked, her voice slurred. "Someplace quieter," he replied, his deep voice soothing. Amelia's mind fogged, she couldn't think straight. Claire's laughter echoed in her mind, along with the feeling that something was off. But sadly, she didn't have the strength to argue. “I need my friends.” She managed to say. “They know where you are.” Amelia frowned. Did they? She couldn't remember telling anyone. The stranger guided her toward the hotel entrance. The elevator doors opened. Amelia hesitated. Something inside her screamed that she shouldn't go. But her thoughts were too slow. Her legs too weak. She stepped inside. The doors closed. The elevator began to rise. Amelia leaned against the wall. The stranger pressed a button. Two. Then two again. Her vision blurred. She felt herself sliding downward. Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor. “Easy.” Amelia tried to speak. Nothing came out. The last thing she remembered was the cold metal of the elevator wall against her back. Then darkness swallowed her. “Room 221.” The words drifted through the darkness. Amelia's eyes fluttered open. For a brief second, she saw a ceiling. Then a bed. Then the stranger's face. She tried to move. Her body wouldn't cooperate. He lowered her onto the mattress. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. Then she heard the sound of the door closing behind him, the click echoing in the quiet room. Silence followed. Amelia lay motionless. Her heart began to race. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She forced herself upright. The room tilted. She grabbed the sheets. “Get up…” Her voice trembled. “Get up, Amelia.” She tried to stand. Her knees immediately gave way. She fell back onto the bed. A wave of nausea rolled through her. Then, the door opened. Amelia froze. A man stepped inside. It was not the same stranger. He stopped when he saw her. His expression changed instantly. Confusion. Then irritation. “What the hell?” Amelia stared at him. He looked at the room number. Then back at her. “A drunk stripper?” Amelia's lips parted. “I… I'm not…” The man frowned. “This isn't what I paid for.” Fear finally cut through the fog in Amelia's mind. Her lips parted, but no words came out. His gaze moved over her before returning to her face. “You're pretty enough.” Amelia's stomach tightened. “Hope you can deliver what you've been paid for in this state.” He quickly added. He backed toward the door, his eyes scanning her one last time as if to make sense of the situation. “On second thought, I think I like that you're a bit drunk.” he said and locked the door shut. And everything went black.