Chapter 8 Think You Can Fool Me?

I fumbled through my bag for my phone, and when I saw that familiar string of nines on the screen, I nearly dropped it in fright. Thankfully, Gina caught it. She glanced at the number and guessed at once, "Dominic Hawthorne?" I nodded silently. The phone kept ringing. Seeing I had no intention of answering, Gina said flatly, "I'll answer it for you." And she reached for the call button. The moment she pressed it, I snatched the phone back in panic, held it to my ear, and whispered, "Hello?" "Where are you?" A man's impatient voice came through. My heart skipped a beat. I glanced at Gina. "At my… friend's place." "Be at my house within an hour." Without giving me a chance to reply, Dominic Hawthorne hung up. His words were like a royal edict. Though Gina kept urging me not to go, I didn't dare disobey. In the end, she dragged me through an elaborate, strategic makeup routine and gave me careful instructions. One minute before the hour was up, I arrived and knocked on the door of Dominic Hawthorne's villa. He opened it, checked his watch. "Did you do that on purpose?" "What?" I fluttered my large eyes at him, feigning innocence. He looked at me—his expression flickered with unmistakable surprise, but he quickly turned and pointed at a file envelope on the coffee table. "Sign this." "What is it?" I asked, walking over and emptying the contents. A credit card slipped out. Inside was an agreement—more precisely, a contract for a mistress. My heart tightened. Before I could finish reading, the man explained, "Be my mistress for one year. Fifty thousand a month, plus a credit card with a fifty-thousand limit that can't be cashed out…" "I won't do it." I cut him off, placing the contract back on the table. I kept my tone as gentle as possible, though his expression darkened. "I'm sorry. I was drunk that day. I said things I didn't mean." That night, I'd been drunk. Sober, I truly couldn't accept this. After all, I'd grown up in The House of Stars for nineteen years, helped by so many kind people—only to become a rich man's mistress? "Fine. Then tomorrow I'll register my marriage with Leona Fairchild, and I'll throw her a far grander wedding." Dominic Hawthorne walked over and sat beside me on the sofa, legs crossed, perfectly composed. Strike the snake at its weakest point. That sentence struck me right in the heart. With that, the Fairchild family's scheme would be complete. And Dominic Hawthorne—what kind of man was he? Later, he'd surely find a way to make me surrender that four percent stake… To oppose him would be to be devoured, not even a bone left. I stood frozen, my mind in turmoil. I knew, no matter what, that if I wanted the Fairchild family to suffer, the only path was to go along with Dominic Hawthorne. "Have you decided?" At his prompt, without a word, I half-knelt, picked up the pen beside the table, and flipped the contract to the last page. Just as I was about to sign my name, I noticed a clause: I must not engage in any overly intimate behavior with other men, nor question his relationships with other women. I instantly realized this was the trap Dominic Hawthorne had set—ensuring I'd forever remain beneath him. Silently, I began writing Leona's name. But just as I wrote the first two characters—before finishing the third—the pen was yanked from my hand. Then, a cold, warning voice came from above: "Lydia Fairchild, are you mocking me?"