THE DON'S CAPTIVE MISTRESS

You're Not

HAZEL

Kat eats like she’s performing for an audience, every bite louder, slower, exaggerated, like she wants me to flinch. I don’t. I stay right where I am, arms crossed, face blank.

But the truth is, it burns. Everything about her burns, the way she moves, the way she smirks, the way she acts like she knows Axel better than I ever could.

She swallows and wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

"You really think you’re different, huh?” she says, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “You think you’ve got something I don’t? That you matter to him?”

I breathe in slowly through my nose because if I open my mouth, I might just lose it.

Kat leans forward. “You’re just another broken toy, Hazel. The only reason he’s keeping you around is because he likes watching you fall apart. It entertains him.”

I laugh. I actually laugh, but there’s no humor in it; it’s short and bitter. “And you think you’re better because you get to serve him drinks and warm his bed when he’s bored?”

Her eyes flash, and for a second, she looks like she might throw the plate at me. I wish she would. Instead, she pushes the half-eaten plate away and stands up, stepping closer until we’re nearly face to face.

“At least I know what I am,” she says, her voice quiet now, sharp as glass. “You’re the one still pretending.”

The words sting, even though I don’t want them to. Because somewhere deep down, I know she’s right... I am pretending. Pretending I’m not trapped. Pretending I’m not scared. Pretending I don’t still to think for Harris, long for him.

Kat’s voice slithers across the room, lazy, cruel, and filled with mockery.

“So you think you’re a client, huh?” she continues, her lips curling into a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She laughs, shaking her head before taking another bite of food. Then she stops and looks at me. “You’re not a client, Hazel? You’re just the client’s…”—she tilts her head, pretending to think—“…doormat. Yeah. That’s exactly what you are.”

Her words slice through the air, slow and deliberate. “You don’t get whatever you want. You get whatever the client wants. And the client?” She leans back, folds her arms, her smirk deepening. “He has power over what you want, over what you need. And me?” She taps her chest. “Axel specifically gave me the power to serve this room. Nobody....and I mean nobody in this entire club has the guts to get in here. Only I do.”

She lets that sink in, watching me, waiting for a reaction.

“So,” she continues, her tone dripping with false innocence, “you refuse to eat because I was the one who brought the food, isn't it? Because I know you asked for food. Nico told me you were hungry and wanted someone to bring you food.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “So… princess?”

The word Princess comes out coated in venom, twisted until it doesn’t sound like a title at all—it sounds like a curse. A bad word. An insult.

And even though I tell myself not to react, not to give her the satisfaction, something inside me still tightens. I try not to let it get to me.

But it does.

Kat is brushing her hands as if she’s dusting off the food. She leaves the dirty dishes right there on the table and starts walking toward the door.

Good riddance, I think. She’s finally leaving.

But when she reaches the door, she pauses. Slowly, she turns back toward me with that cool, practiced smile.....the kind that tells you whatever she says next isn’t just meant to sting; it’s meant to cut.

“Do you know what Axel has been doing since he left you in here?” she asks.

I don’t answer her. I know she’s just trying to get to me and I don't care to know what Axel has been doing either.

“Well,” she says, her tone thick with mock sweetness, “I’ll put it in small, simple words. He was getting pleasure...”

She draws the word out, exaggerating it with her body, her mouth, the tilt of her head.

“I was giving him pleasure,” she continues, just in case I am dumb enough not to understand.

I shrug, forcing myself to sound flat. “And what the hell does that have to do with me?”

Kat smirks, her voice low and venomous. “It seems like you aren’t doing your job. You think you’re the first w***e, the first mistress to live in the Moretti mansion?”

She laughs at whatever she sees on my face.

“You’re not the first,” she goes on. “I lived there too for a couple of weeks. And then came someone else. And someone else. And someone else.....”

She’s watching me closely, hunting for a reaction. So I put on my blank mask.

“Do you know what always happens, though?” she presses, stepping closer, her smile stretching wider. “Even after I left, Axel always comes back to me. Because what he gets from me, he can’t get anywhere else. He’s trying to live without it, without me....but he can’t. Especially not with people like you.”

She leans in, her voice dripping with poison. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but you’re not the one. Because he still comes back to me. He still wants me. You’re not taking care of him. You’re not giving him what he needs. You’re incapable of fulfilling his fantasies. You’re incapable of rising up to his nature, his depravity.”

Her words hit like blows, but I swallow hard and hold my ground. I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing what her words do to me.

Kat watches me for a long moment, her head tilted. Then she says softly,

“I just thought you needed a little wake-up call. You seem a little too comfortable. You seem to think you’re higher than me. That you’re above me.”

She smirks, winks, and with a flick of her hair, opens the door.

“You’re not,” she says, and then she’s gone.