Ordered To Serve His Mistress: Heiress's Revenge

My fiancé sent me a text ordering me to serve his mistress, unaware that the waitress holding the tray was actually the daughter of the man who owned his soul.

I was working undercover at his club, playing the role of a poor nobody to test his character before our wedding.

But tonight, the test ended in disaster.

His mistress, Jaden, walked in and treated me like dirt. When I brought her drink, she slapped the tray, spilling scalding coffee all over my hand.

The pain was white-hot. My skin blistered instantly, peeling away in angry red patches.

I showed Connor the injury on a video call, expecting protection. Expecting him to be a man.

Instead, he looked at my burned hand and then at his investors. Panic filled his eyes.

"Fix it, Blake," he roared. "Apologize to her."

"She burned me," I said quietly.

"I don't care! Kneel if you have to. Kiss her ring. Just make her happy so I can finish this deal!"

He told the Principessa of the Shaw crime family to kneel to a woman who meant nothing.

He sacrificed his future wife to save face.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my heart; it was the leash I had placed on myself.

"Okay," I whispered.

I hung up the phone and dropped it into a pot of boiling pasta water.

Then I turned to the Executive Chef, a former hitman who recognized the lethal shift in my eyes.

"Lock the doors," I ordered.

"And tell my father I'm ready to burn this place to the ground."

Chapter 1

My fiancé sent me a text ordering me to serve his mistress, unaware that the waitress holding the tray was actually the daughter of the man who owned his soul.

I stared down at the spiderweb fracture on the screen of the burner phone tucked into my apron pocket.

Handle it, Blake. She's important. Keep the peace.

Connor Bishop believed he was texting his submissive, lower-class fiancée-a woman who worked this job purely for the novelty of playing poor.

He didn't know he was texting the Principessa of the Shaw crime family.

He didn't know I was here to weigh his soul and decide if he lived or died.

I shoved the phone back into the pocket of my polyester apron.

The cheap fabric scratched against my skin-a stark, abrasive contrast to the silk I had been draped in since birth.

I stood in the shadows of The Velvet Lounge, the VIP section of Connor's club, The Gilded Cage.

This was supposed to be a partnership.

My father, David Shaw, the Capo dei Capi, had agreed to this union to secure the East Coast ports.

But I wasn't going to marry a man without testing the strength of his spine first.

So I became a runner.

A nobody.

A ghost in the machine of his empire.

And tonight, that machine was breaking.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Jaden Juarez stepped out.

She