Billionaire's Hidden Mistress

From the story: "The Billionaire's Hidden Mistress"

The rain poured like it had something to prove, slamming against the cracked pavement of Brooklyn as if it were trying to wash away the city's sins. Zara Monroe held her oversized tote bag over her head, her boots sloshing through ankle-deep puddles as she darted across the street.

She was late-again.

The diner on 5th and Maddox was already packed. Through the fogged glass, she could see customers waving menus impatiently. Ms. Annie, her no-nonsense boss, was at the counter, arms folded, lips pursed in that familiar expression that made Zara's stomach tighten.

Pushing through the door, soaked and breathless, Zara offered the same excuse she'd used all week. "Train delay."

Ms. Annie didn't say a word. Just pointed at the tables with a cold stare.

Zara tied her apron and got to work.

By midnight, her body ached, her feet were numb, and the tips were barely enough for the bus ride home. She checked her phone. A missed call from the hospital. Her sister again.

She stepped outside and leaned against the wet brick wall, trying not to cry. Raindrops fell onto her already soaked hoodie, and thunder cracked above her like a warning.

She didn't see the black car pull up until it stopped directly in front of her.

The window rolled down.

"Get in."

A man's voice. Deep. Calm. Dangerous.

Zara blinked at the stranger in the back seat. His face was only partially lit by the car's interior glow, but she could see his sharp jawline, intense eyes, and a scar running along his temple.

"I-I don't know you," she said.

"You don't," he replied coolly. "But I know you, Miss Monroe."

Her heart flipped. "Are you from the hospital? Did something happen to my sister?"

"No," he said. "But I have a job for you."

Inside the luxury car, the silence was suffocating. Everything smelled like expensive leather and secrets.

The man sat with one leg crossed over the other, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Zara couldn't stop glancing at his watch-it looked like it cost more than her yearly income.

He finally spoke. "You're a waitress, but you used to write. Fiction. Romance. Under the pen name Lila Storm."

Zara's spine stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything about you. Your job. Your overdue bills. Your sister's condition." He leaned forward. "You're on the edge, Zara. One more bad night, and you fall."

She stared at him, voice barely above a whisper. "Who are you?"

"Damien Blackwood."

The name hit her like a cold slap. Everyone in New York knew who Damien Blackwood was. Tech billionaire. CEO of Blackwood Industries. Ruthless. Unreachable.

"You're joking," she said. "This is a prank or some reality show thing."

"No. This is an opportunity." He leaned back, eyes fixed on her like he was studying prey. "Come work for me. One month. You'll be paid enough to clear your debts and secure your sister's treatment."

Zara laughed bitterly. "What kind of job pays that much for one month?"

He didn't smile. "Be my mistress."

She gaped at him, blood draining from her face.

"I don't sleep with strangers for money," she spat.

"I'm not asking for sex," he said smoothly. "I need a woman to live with me. Publicly. Appear as my companion. Someone who can keep the press distracted while I finalize a private deal."

"And what happens when people ask who I am?" she asked.

"You'll be my hidden mistress. The kind the tabloids suspect but never confirm."

She shook her head. "No. This is insane."

He slid a manila envelope toward her on the seat.

"Inside is a signed agreement. One month. Fifty thousand dollars. A non-disclosure clause. A cover story for your past. A private driver. And access to any hospital your sister needs."

She didn't touch it.

"I don't trust you," she said quietly.

"You shouldn't," he replied.

Their eyes locked in the shadows of the car. Something in his gaze made her stomach twist-not attraction, not fear, but something in between.

Zara opened the door and stepped back into the rain, envelope in hand.

She didn't say yes.

But she didn't throw it away, either.