The Mistress Survived

The wet thack of a meat cleaver slicing through bone is the only sound in the apartment.

Minutes ago, I was wrapped in Tristans arms, thinking I was the only woman in his world. Now, I am vibrating with terror behind a slat door, the metallic stench of fresh blood filling my lungs. Through the crack, I see his head roll to a stop on the expensive hardwood. His eyes are wide open, staring right at me.

His wife isn't just home earlyshe is dismantling him like cattle, and I know I'm next.

Chapter 1

I shoved Tristan away so hard he nearly fell off the bed. My skin still burned where his lips had been seconds ago. Now, a cold tremor seized my limbs.

"You lied to me." I pointed a shaking finger at his chest. "You're married?"

His expression faltered. A trace of unease crossed his face, but he quickly tried to coax me. "Bridget, baby, I can explain everything later. Just hide for a second, okay?"

No. Not okay.

I was going to march out there and tell his wife exactly who I was. That her husband had been playing single for three months.

Tristan was already moving, raising his voice to call out towards the door. "Gwendolyn! Just a minute, honey, I'm in the shower!"

I froze. Every muscle in my body locked up.

"What" My voice was barely a whisper. "What did you just call her?"

"Gwendolyn Ford."

My vision went black for a second. Without another word, I scrambled into the closet. The reason was simple. Gwendolyn Ford was the daughter of the Chairman of the conglomerate I worked for.

If it were anyone else, I would have stood my ground. Cleared my name. Walked away with my dignity. But the Chairman's daughter? That was a death sentence for my career. Maybe my life in this city.

Would she believe I didn't know?

I'd never met Miss Ford personally. I didn't know her temperament. I couldn't take that risk. So I cowered in the closet, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years that this would be over quickly.

I heard the front door open. Footsteps. Two pairs. Moving into the living room.

"I thought you were still in Paris," Tristan's voice. Gentle. Loving. The same tone he used with me. "Why are you back early?"

"I missed you." Her voice was sweet. Sugary.

They sat on the sofa and started whispering intimately. Gwendolyn was sitting right where I had been sitting just moments ago. And I was hiding in the closet, barely able to breathe.

Suddenly, the movement stopped.

Silence.

"What is that?" Gwendolyn asked.

I could picture it. Her gaze sliding over Tristan's shoulder. Landing on the dining table.

Tristan went rigid.

Two wine glasses. Used. Sitting right there in the open.

"Baby," Gwendolyn's voice had an edge to it now. "You said you were home alone tonight."

Tristan hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. Then, the lie came, smooth as silk. "Okay, you caught me."

"Mr. Vanderbilt from Zenith Tech was here. He wants me to co-found a startup with him. I know you hate the idea, so I didn't want to worry you."

"Vanderbilt is a joke," Gwendolyn scoffed, the edge gone from her voice. "If you really want to start a business, I'll talk to Daddy. He can introduce you to real investors."

"I'll do whatever you say," Tristan murmured, pulling her close. "I won't talk to him again."

More kissing. Then, the sound of Gwendolyn standing up.

"I'll make you some tea."

She really loved him. A billionaire heiress, willing to cook for him with her own hands. I heard the clink of glass. She was clearing the table.

A pause.

One of the glasses had my lipstick on the rim.

Gwendolyn's gaze began to sweep the room. For a split second, I felt her look right at me. But maybe it was just my imagination, because in the next instant, Gwendolyn looked away.

She walked to the kitchen. Tristan drank the tea. And then, silence. He had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Minutes ticked by. Agony. Tristan had promised to find a way to get her out. To let me escape. But he was asleep. The closet was a coffin. I was suffocating.

Then, a sound. Rustling. Plastic.

Gwendolyn was spreading plastic sheeting on the floor.

Snap. The sound of rubber gloves being pulled on. Then, a metallic slide. She picked up a knife.

And with a single, clean motion, she chopped into Tristan's neck.

Chapter 2

My brain stalled.

It took a full five seconds for the reality to process. I clamped both hands over my mouth, strangling the scream that clawed at my throat.

Tristan's head rolled. It stopped, facing the closet. His eyes were open. Glassy. Vacant. Staring right at me.

Gwendolyn began to work. She was efficient. Terrifyingly so. Like a butcher in a slaughterhouse. Limbs first. Then smaller sections.

She moved to the kitchen. The same kitchen where Tristan had poured me wine an hour ago. She set up a large pot. I didn't need to see it to know what was happening.

The first batch of meat went into the water.

Bile rose in my throat. The stench of blood and boiling meat began to fill the apartment. Panic and nausea warred for dominance. I couldn't think.

What do I do?

Police. I need the police.

I fumbled for my phone. Dead. Black screen.

I peered through the slats of the closet door. Tristan's phone. It had fallen into the crevice of the sofa. I could use his phone.

I tried to stand. My legs were jelly. I stumbled. My head hit the closet door with a dull thud.

The chopping in the kitchen stopped instantly.

The text message flashed in my mind.

The mistress dies tonight.

I had thought it was a prank. Now I knew. It was a promise.

Regret was useless now. Gwendolyn walked out of the bedroom. In her hand was a heavy cleaver. She walked toward the closet. Step. By. Step.

My teeth were chattering so hard I thought they would shatter. I bit down on my tongue until I tasted copper.

The closet door was yanked open.

Empty.

Gwendolyn stood there, the cleaver dripping onto the floor. A drop of blood landed on my cheek.

I was under the bed, right next to the closet. If she crouched down. If she just lowered her head six inches. She would see me.

One second. Two seconds. An eternity.

She turned around. She walked away. The chopping resumed.

I scrambled out from under the bed. I crawled to the sofa. Tristan's phone. Passcode. What was his passcode?

Think, Bridget. Think.

I typed in a sequence. Incorrect. Another one. Incorrect.

Third try. Click. Unlocked.

I almost sobbed with relief. I opened the messaging app. I couldn't call. She would hear me. I had to text 911. My fingers were shaking so violently I could barely hit the keys.

I fumbled. My thumb hit the lock button. The screen went black.

I cursed silently, a scream of frustration trapped in my chest. I raised the phone to unlock it again.

And froze.

The black screen acted as a mirror. It reflected two faces. Mine. Pale, terrified.

And behind me. Gwendolyn.

The chopping sound was still coming from the kitchen. A recording? But Gwendolyn was standing right behind me. Her eyes were huge. Black holes. Staring at me through the reflection.

"Didn't you get my text?" she whispered.

Silence.

Then, I screamed.

I lunged for the door. Something hard and heavy slammed into the back of my skull. The world spun and went dark.

I drifted in and out. Being dragged.

Gwendolyn. She was incredibly strong. She dragged me like I was a bag of laundry. She dumped me into the bathtub.

"Do you love him?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.

My hands and feet were bound. I couldn't stop shaking. Gwendolyn stood up. She walked toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the bite of the blade.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Chapter 3

Gwendolyn set the cleaver down. Clink.

She grabbed a hand towel, shoving it between my teeth before I could scream. Then, she smoothed her hair and opened the door.

A man walked in. He froze when he saw her, his voice tight with panic. "Gwen? You're back?"

I knew that voice. Cody. Tristan's friend. The creep from downstairs.

Id met him in the elevator earlier today. His eyes had crawled up my legs, lingering on my skirt like a physical touch. It made my skin crawl. When I told Tristan, he just laughed. "Cody's just a dog, babe. But don't worry. He knows you're mine. He wouldn't dare."

I hated Cody. But right now, he was my only hope.

I lashed out with my foot. My heel connected hard with the vanity cabinet.

Thud.

A heavy bottle of body wash crashed onto the tiled floor. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Silence in the living room.

"Gwen?" Codys voice wavered. "Is Tristan in the bathroom?"

I struggled against the ropes. Come here. Please. Fate seemed to be listening. Footsteps. Heavy. Coming closer.

But he stopped.

"Cody," Gwendolyns voice was soft. "I know about the affair."

The footsteps halted.

"I" Cody stammered, looking for a lie.

But Gwendolyn didn't scream. She didn't cry. She moved. I heard the rustle of fabric. She was hugging him from behind.

"If Tristan can cheat," she purred, her voice low and dangerous, "then so can I."

"Cody haven't you always wanted a taste?"

I lay in the bathtub, tears leaking from my eyes, listening to the sick play unfolding in the living room. Heavy breathing. The wet sound of a mouth opening. Cody grabbed her. His hands tangled in her hair.

And then

He squeezed.

"You lying bitch!" Cody roared. "Tristan warned me! You're all the same! Can't trust a single one of you!"

Gurgling sounds. She was choking. Then, a heavy thump.

Silence.

Cody had thrown her onto the sofa. Footsteps pounded toward the bathroom.

"Tristan! Bro!"

He kicked the door open. His eyes were wild, expecting to find his friend. Instead, he found me. Bound. Gagged. Terrified.

"Where is he?!" he screamed, spit flying.

I couldn't speak. I widened my eyes, frantically darting my gaze over his shoulder.

Cody rushed forward. He ripped the towel from my mouth.

"Behind you!" I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper.

Behind? Confusion clouded his face. Tristan is behind me?

Then, the realization hit him.

He saw the reflection in my wide, terrified eyes. Not Tristan.

Gwendolyn.

Cody tried to turn. Too late.

The blade erupted from his chest.

A sharp, red point punched through his sternum, glistening with blood. Cody collapsed. Heavy. Dead weight.

I screamed. A raw, animalistic sound that tore at my vocal cords.

Gwendolyn glanced at me. Her expression was bored. She picked up the towel and stuffed it back into my mouth. Then, she went to work on Cody. Just like she had with Tristan.

Time dissolved into a blur of horror.

I must have blacked out. When I opened my eyes again, the apartment was silent.

Gwendolyn stood across from me. I flinched, my body convulsing against the porcelain tub. She didn't look at me. She turned on the shower.

She washed the blood off her skin. Calmly. Methodically. She changed into fresh clothes. The blood-soaked silk dress went into the toilet bowl. She burned it, flushing the ash away.

Only then did she crouch in front of me. Eye level.

"Do you love him?"

I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. I murmured, "No, I don't love him."

It was actually the truth. But I didn't know if Gwendolyn would believe me. And I didn't know if she would let me go.

Gwendolyn stood up. She walked to the living room and returned with a glass of red wine.

"Drink."

I looked at the dark liquid. Then at her. I had no choice. I swallowed the wine.

Ten minutes later, the world faded to black.

Chapter 4