I was the only kept woman by the side of Manhattan’s most eligible billionaire heir. One day, I happened to glance at his phone and saw a suggestive text pop up: 【Baby, I’ll be waiting at our usual spot tonight~】 I froze for a split second, then calmly locked the screen for him. He works so hard every day; what’s wrong with him spending the night with another girl? 1 It’s not that I don’t know how to be jealous. It’s just… why should I? Everett Thorne has eight-pack abs, a model’s physique, and a face that could put Hollywood A-listers to shame. The line of women waiting to date him stretches from New York to Paris. As the "trophy girl" by his side, I might have to swallow a little pride, but the $150,000 monthly allowance is more than enough to numb the pain. With benefits like these, why would I ever want to rock the boat? A smart woman never goes looking for trouble. 2 Everett walked out of his study and lazily sat back down beside me. He pulled me close while I watched some mindless reality TV, then picked up his phone. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and his fingers tapped the screen a few times. Using my 20/20 vision, I caught a glimpse of his reply: 【Understood.】 Aha. So the Prince of the Upper East Side won’t be coming home tonight? Doesn’t that mean I can finally go out and run wild? I suppressed my excitement and even played the part of the attentive partner by pouring him a glass of water. Everett didn’t drink it. Instead, he reached out with his long arm, pulled me into his lap, and leaned against me with lazy affection. His lashes were thick, his voice a low mumble: "I have a business dinner tonight. Do you want to come with me?" Uh… no. I’m not about to crash your wonderful night with whatever "trophy sister" sent that text. I don’t need to be a part of your kinky roleplay. I complained internally, but my voice was soft and submissive: "You go ahead. I’m not really cut out for those high-stakes events." Everett gave a non-committal "Mm." He didn’t push it. He just held me like he was cuddling a cat for a long while before grabbing his coat and lazily heading out. The second he was gone, I called my best friend and headed straight for the Meatpacking District. My friend, Sarah, teased me: "How did your keeper let you out tonight?" I scrolled through the club's lineup, eyeing the new male DJ, and replied: "Everett’s busy tonight. I’m out to live my best life while the coast is clear." Sarah laughed, but then she dropped a bombshell: "I heard a rumor that you and Everett are getting engaged." My hand tightened around my martini glass. "What?" "Cody told me. He said Everett’s been making massive preparations for an engagement lately. It’s a huge deal. Man, if you actually landed the heir to the Thorne empire, you’re going to shock the entire social register." I slowly sipped the rest of my drink. It took a long time before I could find my voice. "Forget them. I’m pretty shocked right now." 3 When Sarah tried to dig deeper, I played it off and changed the subject. But my mind was racing. Everett and I had a signed contract. In public, we were the perfect, doting couple—I was the buffer to handle his overbearing parents and the socialites throwing themselves at him. In private, I was just the girl he kept in his penthouse. But now, he’s getting married? Who is he marrying? And does our contract still mean anything? My head started to throb. Everything felt like a mess. I downed two more drinks to numb the anxiety and headed to the dance floor to blow off some steam. As I stood up, I noticed a commotion at the entrance of the club. I instinctively looked over and saw a group of elite young men and women walking in. One man stood out—tall, refined, and radiating an effortless nobility. The strobing club lights hit his face—a face that looked like it had won the genetic lottery. The people around him were practically gravitating toward him. Wait. Holy crap. What is Everett doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be at a "usual spot" with some girl? 4 Maybe my gaze was too intense, because Everett suddenly looked in my direction. My heart skipped a beat. I immediately ducked into the booth, barely breathing. Dead. I’m dead. The persona I maintained in front of him was "sweet, fragile little lamb." If he sees me here, surrounded by smoke and tequila, he’ll probably blow a fuse. I glanced at Sarah, who was losing herself on the dance floor, and grabbed my bag, ready to bolt for the restrooms. Safety first. Survival is the priority. I figured the "Golden Boys" would head straight for a VIP lounge. I’d wait for them to pass, then slip out. But to my horror, they sat down at the massive booth right next to mine. They were laughing and carrying on. It was a high-energy scene that drew the eyes of every girl in the room. I crouched in the shadows, not daring to move. I only caught a glimpse when a server brought them a round of bottles. As luck would have it, Everett was sitting directly across from my booth. He was leaning in, listening to a woman next to him, his sharp profile perfectly defined. I pulled back further, screaming internally. How am I supposed to leave? If I stand up, he’ll see me instantly! Just as I was plotting an escape, I heard the conversation from the next booth: "Everett, not drinking?" "No. You guys go ahead." "Ah, I get it. The 'Missus' hates the smell of booze on you, right?" "If you know, why ask?" Everett leaned back lazily, playing with his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. "You guys have fun. I’m going to give her a call." "Oooooh—!" Amidst the teasing, I was utterly bewildered. Who is this "Missus"? I’ve never once complained about him smelling like alcohol. So it’s true. Everett has another girl. As I was lost in thought, the phone in my bag started ringing. In the relatively quiet booth area, it sounded like a siren. Damn it! Who is calling me right now?! I scrambled to grab my phone and silence it. When I saw the caller ID, I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. 5 Why was Everett calling me? I couldn't answer. I couldn't. I sat there trembling, waiting for the call to go to voicemail. Usually, at this time, I’d be in the shower. I hoped he’d just assume that. Sure enough, he didn't call back. I let out a sigh of relief, peeking over the edge of the booth. Everett was staring down at his phone. His expression was unreadable. I didn't have time to wonder what he was thinking. I needed to move. But just as I stood up to slip away, a loud, eager male voice boomed right next to me: "Hey, beautiful! Did you drink too much and fall? "Let me help you up." I stayed hunched over, waving him off frantically, whispering: "No, I'm fine. Go away." The guy didn't take the hint. "Come on, you shouldn't be alone. Your face is all red." It’s red because I’m panicking, you idiot! I didn't want to deal with this "nice guy" creep. I just wanted him to vanish before he attracted Everett's attention. I looked at him coldly. "I don't need your help. Please leave." The guy smirked. "Oh, playing hard to get? Why so cold? Let’s just have some fun." He reached out to grab my arm. The commotion started drawing eyes. I was desperate. Then, a cold, familiar voice rang out from behind the guy: "Didn't you hear her? She told you to get lost." I stiffened. I closed my eyes, wishing for the sweet release of death. It’s over. The world is officially on fire. 6 When Everett is angry, he has an overwhelming presence. It’s like the air around him drops twenty degrees. The creep muttered an apology and scurried away. The creep was gone, but I was still in the line of fire. I tried to scramble for an explanation, but Everett just looked down at me with dark, swirling eyes. He turned to his friends at the next table, said he had an emergency, and walked out without another word. I panicked. Forgetting Sarah, I chased after him. By the time we got to the car, Everett still hadn't acknowledged me. I scrambled to buckle my seatbelt, and he slammed his foot on the gas. The acceleration pinned me to the seat. I didn't dare say a word. I felt like I should just get on my knees and apologize. How am I supposed to fix this? Should I say I was possessed? Should I say I was just passing by? Is he going to fire me? While I was spiraling in fear, the car stopped. We were home. Everett got out, rounded the hood, and before I could even step out, he hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Everett... Everett!" My stomach was pressed against his shoulder, and it hurt. I struggled a little. He gave my backside a firm, sharp smack. "If you have that much energy left, you’re staying up all night with me." "..." My ears turned bright red. I went limp on his shoulder, not daring to move.
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