Bought as the Billionaire's Mistress

Chapter 10 Delirious Distress

A violent tremor racked my entire body, fear and helplessness knotting in my throat until my voice came out thick with tears, shaky and barely coherent.

"I don't know any of those men! I've never picked a fight, never made a single enemy in my life—who else would come after me besides the Finch family?"

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air, steering the blame away from myself and back to the ruthless power plays of the Finch dynasty.

Beyond Victor and Desmond, the family held a wealthy, ambitious branch led by their paternal uncle, Ryan Finch.

When their grandfather had still been alive, full control of the Finch empire had been handed to Killian Finch, Desmond's biological father, and Ryan's entire branch had been sidelined and stripped of most authority.

Years later, after Killian's death, Ryan had re-emerged from the shadows, fighting to claw back power and divide the family's holdings for himself.

It had only been when Victor came of age and seized control with brutal, unforgiving force that Ryan was pushed back out of the inner circle, exiled from the family's core power once more.

But Ryan had never given up.

Every detail of this long-simmering feud had been passed to me by my secret informant inside the Finch household.

Victor's brows knitted tightly into a deep frown.

I could see the wheels turning, the suspicion settling in his chest that Ryan had finally made a bold, deadly move.

Playing the part of a frightened, wronged girl perfectly, I let out a soft, resentful mumble. "You kept saying no one could track your movements, that you were untouchable. Why would someone find us the second I step outside with you?"

A dark, dangerous glint hardened in Victor's eyes at the quiet jab.

Ryan had failed to get close to him for years, slipping past his elite security team countless times without success—there was no logical way the older man could have targeted me, a virtual stranger no one outside the mansion knew about.

The only plausible explanation was that a new weak spot had been created, one Ryan had exploited to get to Victor.

Ryan knew nothing of my existence.

That left only one person to blame: Desmond, who had deliberately spilled the explosive secret about Victor's bloodline and pushed me directly into Victor's path, setting the entire trap in motion.

A flash of unbridled fury crossed Victor's face, and I lowered my gaze to hide the triumphant glimmer in my eyes.

The seed of doubt had been planted; Victor now suspected Desmond.

My mind flashed to Desmond's cold, brooding face, and a chill crawled down my spine.

He had never been a helpless captive, not really.

Confined to a wheelchair though he was, he still maintained a secret network of loyal men on the outside, with ways to send messages and issue orders without leaving the mansion.

From the moment he'd told me Victor was not a true Finch, he'd been weaving a careful, deadly web.

The manipulation had started even earlier, the second I'd walked through the mansion doors. He'd planned to use me from the start, turning me into a weapon against Victor.

By spilling the secret and forcing me into Victor's orbit, Desmond had created a perfect snare: if I died at Victor's hands, I was a disposable pawn with no further use; if I survived, Desmond could track my every move with Victor, using my proximity to hunt down his brother's private whereabouts and stage the perfect assassination.

Desmond's mind was a labyrinth of cruelty and calculation, his methods so ruthless they sent a shiver of fear through me.

One wrong move, one misstep, and he would destroy me without a second thought.

There was no going back to the mansion now, not after this.

I never expected Victor to take a knife for me. His hand was injured, and now I have no choice but to stay here for the time being.

*****

The quiet of the night dragged on, and trouble stirred not long after midnight.

Victor's wound had grown infected, and a severe fever took hold quickly.

A soft touch to his forehead confirmed my fear.

I grabbed a clean, damp towel from the adjoining bathroom and laid it gently across his forehead, hoping to cool his raging fever.

Delirious with the heat, Victor stirred at the cool touch, his hand shooting out to yank me down toward him.

Caught completely off guard, I stumbled forward, landing hard on his chest as his arms wrapped around me in a vice-like hold, refusing to let go.

He nuzzled his face against my neck, his breathing ragged and uneven, full of unspoken pain. "I hate them. I hate them so much."

The fever had stripped away every layer of his tough exterior, leaving behind a broken, lost man clinging to the first shred of comfort he could find.

He pressed his entire face against my chest, his shoulders shaking slightly, showing a vulnerability I had never thought him capable of.

"I hate the Finch family. Killian took my mother from my father. He killed him... he killed my real father," he whispered hoarsely, the words pouring out in a delirious rush.

Killian—Desmond's biological father, the former head of the Finch empire.

Years earlier, Killian had laid eyes on Miranda Winslow, Victor's mother, and had become obsessed. He'd torn her away from her first love, forcing her into marriage and driving her true partner to his death.

What Killian had never known was that Miranda was already pregnant at the time, carrying Victor—her first love's child.

Desmond was Killian's only true heir, the sole blood heir to the Finch dynasty.

That was why Victor had been so desperate to find a girl to bear Desmond a child: a pure-blood Finch heir, one he could control from birth, using the child to legitimize his own hold over the family and cement his power permanently.

"The Finches owe me everything. They can never repay what they took from me!" Victor choked out, his voice cracking.

Before I could process the revelation, a single hot tear landed on my palm, burning against my skin.

It was the first time I had ever seen Victor cry.

I hesitated, then lifted a hand to brush his hair gently, trying to soothe his delirious distress.

The move was a mistake. In his fevered state, Victor moved with sudden, brutal strength, rolling us both over until I was pinned beneath him.

"You claimed you loved Desmond. His father stole my mother. Now I'll take his woman, and make him feel the same agony my father did."

Before I could scream or beg him to stop, his hands tore apart the fabric of my clothes. He pressed his entire weight down on me, his mouth crashing down on mine to silence any protests, rough and desperate.

His large hands roamed my body without mercy, sliding up to cup my chest, then drifting lower to trace my stomach, before moving further still to my v****a.

The invasion was harsh and unrelenting, a storm of rage and grief with no softness, no restraint.

Humiliation should have burned through me, hot and sharp, at the rough touch.

Instead, a shameful, conflicting heat coiled in my core, a twisted mix of despair and unwanted arousal building rapidly, a damp warmth spreading between my thighs against my will.

Victor's fingers didn't stop their relentless movement, his breath hot and ragged against my ear as he leaned in, his voice low and cruel. "Lillian, your first time will be mine..."