The Mistress

The night stretched wide above the city like a predator waiting to pounce black, endless, and absolute. Far below, the lights of skyscrapers blinked, too distant to warm the shadows. Up here, on the rooftop of a penthouse that scraped the clouds, the world belonged to one man.

Leonardo Kain.

Thirty-two years old. Multi-billionaire. CEO of RP Holdings. Known across continents not just for his staggering wealth, but for the ruthless precision with which he dismantled his competition. Cold-hearted was not an insult to Leonardo; it was a badge of honor. People did not simply respect him—they feared him. Those who failed to show proper deference rarely lasted long in his sphere.

He stood at the edge of the roof, the sharp night wind tugging at his black dress shirt. A cigarette hung loose from his lips. He was not addicted to nicotine; he was addicted to control, to the silence that came with elevation.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on the starless horizon. Tonight had been another battlefield. Meetings, high-stakes negotiations, veiled threats, and enemies masquerading as allies. Now, he needed a release.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed from memory. The line connected on the first ring.

"I need someone for the night," he said, his voice low and uncompromising. "Send her to the penthouse. Make sure she has some fire in her. I don’t have time for a glass doll."

He ended the call mid-reply. It was not a request; it was an order.

Leonardo flicked the glowing cigarette over the ledge, watching the ember plummet into the dark—discarded, like everything else he had no use for.

Behind him, a voice cut through the stillness like a blade across bare skin.

"Hi, Leon."

He froze. That syrupy-sweet tone sent a sudden spike of irritation down his spine. Slowly, he turned, his jaw tightening.

Maryjane.

She stood near the rooftop access door, framed by the dim glow of the interior lights. Her dark brown eyes were wide, calculating, and maddeningly confident. She wore a skin-tight red dress that clung to every curve a outfit crafted for seduction, not survival.

Leonardo exhaled sharply through his nose. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You always sound so hostile," she purred, taking a slow step forward, her hips swaying with practiced elegance. "Can’t a girl miss her man?"

"I am not your man. I wasneveryour man," he growled, stepping into her path. His sheer physical presence instantly dominated the space between them. "And I sure as hell didn't invite you."

"You didn't have to," she said, offering a soft, tragic smile. "I always find a way to get what I want."

Leonardo let out a short, humorless laugh. "Then your luck just ran out. You aren't getting a d*mn thing tonight."

Maryjane’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second before she smoothed it over. "Leonardo, I’m not one of your employees. You don’t get to bark orders at me like I'm on your board."

"Then don't trespass on my property," he snapped, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This building, this roof, this entire block it belongs to me. You walked into my world, which means you follow my rules."

"I loved you, Leon," she whispered, her voice trembling with sudden emotional intensity. "All I’ve ever done is love you."

"That was your first mistake."

She took another step toward him, closing the distance. "You’re so used to being untouchable that you've forgotten what it feels like to be wanted. But I see through the steel walls, Leon. I know the real you."

"You see what you want to see," he said coldly. "Don't confuse obsession with insight. What happened between us was a temporary lapse in judgment, a meaningless night I should have wiped from my memory."

"You didn't wipe me out..."

"You forced your way back in," he interrupted, his voice cutting like a whip. "Because deep down, you know the truth. I don't love you. I don't want you. And I certainly don't need you."

Maryjane gasped, tears glistening in her eyes under the harsh floodlights.

"Let me be perfectly clear," Leonardo added, leaning down slightly so his eyes locked directly onto hers. "I pay security a fortune to keep trash off my floor. If they fail again, they're fired. But you? You should be grateful I don't have you thrown off this roof myself."

"Why do you hate me so much?" she choked out.

"Because you think persistence is love," he snarled. "It isn't. It's desperation. And I don't entertain desperation."

He brushed past her without another word, leaving her perfume hanging in the cold air like a lingering ghost.

"Leon... please..." she whispered to the empty air.

The steel door slammed shut behind him.

Downstairs, Leonardo stormed into his private quarters, tearing off his shirt and throwing it across the marble floor. Tension coiled tight in his shoulders, his breath coming in controlled forced exhalations.

He snatched his phone off the nightstand and hit speed dial.

"Where is she?" he demanded as soon as his assistant answered.

"She’s... she’s en route right now, sir," the assistant stammered. "I selected someone I thought—"

"Cancel it," Leonardo cut in. "I changed my mind."

"Sir, the car is already close to the gate—"

"Then let her keepyoucompany," he growled. "I don't give a d*mn. Just keep her away from my door."

He disconnected the call and threw the phone onto the mattress.

Silence collapsed over the room. Leonardo sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing his knuckles against his temples. He could command empires, buy absolute silence, and control every room he walked into.

The morning air was crisp, still heavy with the last whispers of night. Golden light spilled through the blinds, painting the walls in sharp, linear shadows. For a rare moment, Leonardo Cain had found a sliver of peace—his body stretched across high-thread cotton, his breathing deep and even, undisturbed by the demands of his empire.

Then came the crash.

A loud, shattering sound echoed down the corridor, ripping through the silence like glass against marble.

Leonardo’s eyes snapped open. His peace, as always, had a short expiration date.

With a sharp exhale, he threw the sheets aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Bare feet hit the cold floor as he reached instinctively underneath the frame, his fingers closing around the sleek steel bar he kept hidden—a habit left over from lean, dangerous years before he could afford private security, armored gates, and biometric locks.

He moved silently down the dim hallway toward the guest wing, tracki