The Wife' s Secret Mission

New York. A city that Andrea Donovan, or now better known as Andrea Isabelle Van Houten, swore she would never return to.

Yet fate has a cruel sense of humor. Here she stands once more, gazing up at the city's gray, deafening sky, every skyscraper seeming to mock her, tearing apart the promises she made to herself.

Her feet tread on ground haunted by the ghosts of her past, ghosts she had buried deep, but now they rise and dance before her. A promise uttered on her lips seven years ago, when she left this hell, must now be swallowed raw.

A promise now consumed by the most urgent need: his daughter.

A shiny black Maybach glided smoothly through the bustling city, as if eager to end Andrea's suffering. Maria Mendez, his efficient and unwavering personal assistant, sat beside him, reciting the agenda.

"The meeting with Mr. Michael Smith will take place in fifteen minutes, Miss Van Houten. He is already waiting in our hotel room. We will discuss the jewelry design for his wedding with Miss Jessica."

Every word Maria spoke felt like an icy needle piercing Andrea's skin. Michael Smith. Jessica. Those names were the most discordant melody in her ears, a bitter symphony churning her stomach.

The wedding between Michael and Jessica, scheduled for the end of the year, the jewelry design she had created for that cunning woman.

What a disgusting irony. Andrea took a deep breath, holding back the wave of nausea rising in her throat. She had to stay strong. For her daughter, Sonya.

Maria didn't need to know that every fiber of Andrea's being rejected the idea of meeting Michael Smith. To her, he was the embodiment of all the hypocrisy and destruction of her past.

Andrea learned to swallow her saliva, put on the most perfect mask, and play the role she hated the most.

The elevator shot upward, bringing Andrea closer to the eye of the storm. Her heart was racing, not from nervousness, but from cold anger. Anger she had nurtured for years, fueling every step of her success.

The elevator doors opened slowly, revealing the ultra-luxurious room of the hotel suite she had rented. The spacious living room, dominated by elegant colors, offered an unobstructed view of New York City. But Andrea's gaze was fixed on one figure.

A man sat on a black leather sofa, his silhouette against the large window, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, shrouded in an aura of mystery. He was engrossed in his phone, his long fingers dancing across the screen, his expression flat, cold, yet captivating.

Like a Greek god brought to life, yet with an undeniable touch of the devil. The evil charm radiated strongly, filling the room. Michael Smith!!!

In an instant, Andrea's memories drifted back to that wet and suffocating night five years ago. The night when her fate was forcibly intertwined with the man in front of her.

A night she had tried to forget, but never truly could. An odd sensation crept through her body, not fear, but a mix of disgust and, strangely, an unworthy attraction.

That feeling was unsettling, making her skin prickle. Andrea quickly pushed it aside, focusing on her primary goal. She desperately needed this man for her daughter's survival.

With forced determination, Andrea stepped forward. Maria had announced their arrival, and Michael Smith looked up. His eyes, a pair of frozen oceans, met Andrea's. Instantly, an odd tingling ran down her spine. This man was truly extraordinary, as if he had stepped out of the most captivating dark fairy tale.

Handsome? That word was too simple to describe his strong jawline, sharp nose, and thin lips that looked so... tempting. His aura was so dominant, like a top predator who had just woken up from his sleep, ready to pounce.

"Good evening, Mr. Michael! It seems you've been waiting a long time in this room. I apologize, I encountered a slight delay on my way here." Andrea's voice was calm, trying to hide the storm inside her. She extended her hand, a mandatory formality.

Michael Smith stood up. Tall and well-proportioned, he was dressed in an expensive, well-tailored suit. Wherever he went, he would be the center of attention, a magnet without even trying.

Andrea swallowed hard, suddenly fully realizing where Sonya had gotten all her charm from-Michael's lips, his sharp eyes, even his cold, indifferent demeanor.

She had carried that little girl inside her for nine months, felt every kick, every heartbeat, yet Sonya seemed like a perfect copy of her father. Genes never lie.

Michael took Andrea's outstretched hand. Their touch was brief, but static electricity seemed to spark between their skin. "Good evening, Miss Van Houten. I understand, and I haven't been here long either," he replied, his voice deep and heavy, like distant thunder.

Andrea nodded slightly, emphasizing her mother's last name. The name Van Houten, the surname of a Dutch billionaire family, was both a shield and a bridge to her success in the business world.

No wonder Michael Smith, this arrogant man, was willing to use her services. Andrea smiled faintly, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. They were both master chess players, and the game had just begun.

Andrea gestured for Michael to sit down.

The initial conversation revolved around business details, types of gems, diamond cuts, and design concepts for a wedding that Andrea considered the most bitter joke.

Her mind worked quickly, analyzing every detail, every expression on Michael's face. She had to carry it out. The plan she had meticulously crafted, the one she had been planning for months, would begin tonight.

"I like this design." Michael wasn't a jewelry enthusiast, but he had to admit that the Van Houten name wasn't earned because of his good looks but because of his extraordinary skills and talent.

"For further details, Mr. Michael, I think we need a more... private setting," said Andrea, glancing at Maria who was preparing the contract between the two parties on her tablet.

"After signing the contract, I have some innovative ideas that I can only discuss directly with you to maintain the exclusivity of the design."

Michael raised his eyebrows slightly, a look of interest appearing in his cold eyes. "Please, Miss Van Houten." The assistants, with high understanding, tidied up the signed contract and left them alone.

Andrea and Michael were left alone in the spacious hotel room, amidst the darkening New York sky. Andrea felt adrenaline pumping through her veins. This was the moment. A special stimulant, undetectable by modern technology, had been dispersed through the air via the special perfume Andrea was wearing.

Her body moved closer to Michael, as she had to ensure he inhaled the scent deeply so he couldn't resist. Andrea's mission, which she felt was both a burden and her only hope, had to be completed tonight.

She must conceive Michael Smith's child. The sibling who would save Sonya. And for that, Michael must fall into her trap, intoxicated, powerless under the control of desire.

Andrea smiled, this time a wider smile, yet still cold. "Mr. Michael, I'm sure you'll like this idea. Let's talk more casually."

She stepped toward the mini bar, pouring two glasses of expensive whiskey. One for Michael, one for herself. The clear liquid shimmered under the lamp light, appearing innocent yet hiding a dark secret.

"To a business collaboration that will be remembered," Andrea said, raising her glass, gazing at Michael with a challenging look.

Michael Smith took the glass Andrea offered. His eyes stared intently, as if trying to pierce through the mask Andrea was wearing. Was he suspicious? Or just analyzing his potential business partner? Andrea didn't flinch.

Michael sipped his drink slowly. Every drop was a step closer to the fate Andrea had prepared.