Chapter 2: Mistress

“Stop worrying about nonsense and start worrying about not getting caught!” my father snapped, his voice sharp with impatience.

Before I could even respond, the sound of steady, forceful footsteps echoed outside the door. My heart lurched. Damian.

The door swung open, and there he was—Damian Blackwood—in all his dark, commanding presence. His expression was thunderous, but his hand was tenderly holding a woman’s arm. She was draped in a white fur cloak, her delicate features framed by waves of glossy hair.

Isolde.

The moment her eyes landed on me, she trembled dramatically. “Damian, I’m… I’m scared,” she whispered, shrinking into his side.

Damian’s hand gave hers a reassuring pat before his gaze turned to me, sharp and cold enough to slice through flesh. “Alina,” he said, spitting my sister’s name like a curse, “do you dare speak of divorce? Are you prepared for the consequences—for yourself, and for your family?”

Every word was for her, not me. He stood there, protecting Isolde, while looking at me as if I were filth.

“Damian, please don’t take Alina’s words to heart,” my father rushed out, bowing slightly, his voice groveling. “She only said those things in a moment of anger.”

Isolde clung to Damian’s arm, tilting her tear-bright eyes toward me. “I’ve always treated Sister Alina like my own sister,” she said sweetly, though her words dripped with poison. “I just don’t understand why she hates me so much. Even after she had me kidnapped, after she tried to have me violated, even when she tried to kill me—I still don’t hate her.”

My stomach knotted. I had no idea what this supposed kidnapping story was about, but watching her perform this little act made me want to laugh.

“Damian, please,” she tugged gently on his sleeve, lowering her lashes as though pleading. “My sister cares deeply about her reputation. Please don’t embarrass her in public.”

Her words painted me as cruel and herself as merciful. She was a master at twisting the knife while looking innocent.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You know Damian and I are married, and yet you drape yourself over him like this. What are you after, Isolde? Hoping to earn yourself a chastity monument for your ‘virtue’?”

Her tears slipped faster. “I didn’t… Damian and I don’t have that kind of relationship,” she sniffled, pretending to be wounded.

“Then you should call me sister-in-law, since you call him ‘brother,’” I shot back, my voice laced with mockery.

Damian’s eyes cut into me, hard and merciless, before flicking to Isolde’s tear-streaked face. “Alina, apologize,” he commanded.

My fists clenched, my voice steady. “I don’t apologize for things I didn’t do.”

Because I wasn’t Alina. I was Aria. And I wouldn’t play her game.

“Alina, kneel down and apologize to Miss Isolde!” my father barked suddenly, glaring at me, desperate to appease Damian.

I turned to him, my anger rising. “Why should I kneel? I’m his wife. She’s nothing to this marriage!”

The crack of his palm against my cheek was so sharp it stunned me.

“Alina, kneel down and apologize to Miss Isolde!” he bellowed again, his fury masking his fear of Damian’s reaction.

My face burned, but I held my head high. “I will never kneel to his whore.”

That was when he reached for the bamboo whip. His knuckles whitened as he lifted it, but I noticed how his eyes flicked constantly toward Damian, gauging his every reaction. “Defy me, and you’ll face the consequences. This is the rule of our family. Kneel, or be punished!”

I met his eyes, my resolve like iron. “Never.”

The whip came down on my legs with a sickening crack. Again. And again. Each lash split the skin, painting my flesh with angry crimson welts. Pain tore through me, my body trembling, cold sweat soaking my forehead. My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto one knee, gasping.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Damian glance at me. His eyes lingered on my injuries, my trembling form, but he said nothing. He simply turned, gathered Isolde, and left without a word, cold as ice.

As soon as he was gone, Isolde’s entire demeanor shifted. She leaned close, her lips brushing my ear as her voice dripped venom. “You never learn, do you? No matter what you do, you’ll never change Damian’s heart. He loves me.”

Her eyes, once so doe-like, now gleamed with cruelty. “And let me tell you a little secret—I knew about your plan to kidnap me long before you even hired the men. But I didn’t stop it. I let it happen. I wanted Damian to see what kind of monster you are.”

I yanked her necklace sharply, dragging her closer until her eyes widened. “You’re wrong about one thing,” I hissed. “You didn’t just want to expose me. You want Damian’s ring on your finger. You want to be his wife.”

My grip tightened around her chin, my voice cutting like a blade. “But here’s the truth—despite everything, despite me ‘almost killing you,’ Damian still hasn’t divorced me. Which means, Isolde, in his eyes… I matter more than you.”

Her face flushed red with rage, her lips trembling as words failed her.

“Don’t fool yourself,” she finally spat, yanking free. “Damian only married you to make you pay for your sins.”

With that, she stormed off, her cloak flaring behind her.

My father turned on me the moment she was gone. His voice was a growl, laced with threats. “Are you insane? Did you forget what we just discussed? You are not important enough to provoke Damian—or his mistress. Step out of line again, Aria, and I’ll send you to hell myself. Drenched in gas.”

Hours later, back at Blackwood Manor, I sat on the sofa, tending to the angry red welts striping my legs. The luxury of the estate mocked me—it wasn’t a wife’s home, it was a gilded cage.

A servant approached quietly. “Madam, it’s time.”

I frowned. “Time for what?”

“To prepare the master’s bathwater, and his dinner,” she said softly.

I stared at her like she was insane. “Me? Am I supposed to fetch bathwater and cook for that man and his mistress? Am I crazy? Even if I am, I’m still Mrs. Blackwood. Why should I do such menial work?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Madam… you volunteered. You insisted on doing these things for the master.”

I rubbed my forehead, disgust rolling in my chest. “Alina, what the hell were you trying to prove, debasing yourself like this?”

Despite everything between us, the thought of my sister humiliating herself this way made my stomach turn.

“Well, I’m not her,” I said coldly. “Find someone else to prepare his bath and dinner. I’m done playing servant.”

The servant nodded quickly, clearly startled by my refusal after three days of “Alina’s” absence.

Not long after, Isolde herself appeared, wrapped in a white bathrobe, her smugness radiating off her in waves. “Alina, is the bathwater ready? I’m in the mood for a rose bath tonight.”

“Miss Isolde, I’ll prepare it immediately,” the servant offered quickly.

But I intercepted, a sharp smile tugging at my lips. “No, Isolde. I’ll prepare the bathwater myself. For you… and your man.”

The words “sugar daddy” burned on my tongue, but I swallowed them down. She wanted to provoke me parading around in that robe. Fine. Two could play at her little game. If she expected to humiliate me, I’d give her a surprise instead.