His Underground Mistress Fled Away

For five years, I was Carlos’s dirty little secret.

In the light of day, I was his executive assistant, handling his legitimate businesses while he treated me with cold, professional detachment.

In the shadows, I was the woman he claimed to love more than life itself, the one who warmed his bed while he whispered promises against my skin.

That was until I found out I was pregnant. I was ready to tell him, to finally ask for a life in the light.

But then, I discovered Carlos had purchased a secluded estate in the suburbs—a fortress meant for a wife.

I followed him there, heart in my throat, only to watch through the window as his hand slid beneath a woman’s silk lingerie, his eyes burning with a raw desire I thought belonged only to me.

"Sophie," he groaned, his voice rough with emotion. "I stayed unmarried all these years for one reason. I was waiting for you to come back to the States. Marry me."

The sounds of their pleasure echoed from the room. The shock was a physical blow; my body revolted, and the stress induced a miscarriage right there in the cold.

When I woke up in the hospital, empty and broken, I made a call I had been avoiding for years. I accepted the arranged marriage my family had set up for me—a political alliance with a rival syndicate.

The next morning,I would vanish from Carlos’s life forever.

Sophia’s POV

The abortion was successful. I didn’t feel much pain.

I just felt hollow, as if someone had carved the vital parts out of my soul.

Forcing myself to block out thoughts of Carlos, I took a cab back to the penthouse we shared in secret.

I had barely walked through the door when Carlos returned.

He had brought a box from an expensive Italian bakery to cheer me up, hand-feeding me a piece of cake.

The cloying sweetness hit my tongue, tasting like wax.

I hated sweets.

I had told him countless times, but he never remembered.

There were times I refused to eat it, and he would lose his temper, calling me ungrateful.

Now I understood. The woman who loved sweets, the woman Carlos actually loved, was someone else.

Acid rose in my throat. I pushed his hand away and dry-heaved violently.

A flash of impatience crossed Carlos’s eyes, gone in an instant, replaced by his usual mask of concern.

"What’s wrong? Sophia, are you feeling sick?"

"Yeah, I feel like I’m going to vomit," I said, my voice flat.

Carlos smirked, that dangerous, charming grin, and pulled me into his lap.

"Let me see," he purred, his hand sliding up my thigh. "Is my little Sophia carrying my heir?"

I froze.

"Carlos, stop."

"If I were pregnant," I asked, staring into his eyes, "would you take me to City Hall? Would you give me a wedding in front of your family?"

The two questions killed his mood instantly.

He pulled his hand back,