He Killed My Parents and Made Me His Mistress,After I Disappeared and He Begged

In the third year of being forced to serve as Dean Henson's mistress, his fiancée Gwendolen James made me play “spin the bottle” at a private drinking party.

Whichever man the bottle landed on got to sleep with me.

I bit my lip and said nothing.

Dean sneered. “Your parents played hero back then and put my sister in a vegetative state. They got off easy by dying, but the debt isn't paid. Now you pay it with your body. Gwen tells you to play, you play.”

I was shaking all over. “Dean, I just had a miscarriage……”

He scoffed. “So what?”

“I'll give you two choices. First, wake my sister up, then drag your parents out of their graves to apologize.”

“Second, you play this game like a good girl.”

——

The color drained from my face, bit by bit.

Dean's sister had never woken up. My parents had been dead for years, killed in an accident.

From start to finish, I never even had the right to say “no.”

Gwendolen spoke up suddenly. “Dean, I'm a little dizzy. Rub my temples for me?”

Dean didn't look at me again. He held Gwendolen close, pressing his fingers gently against her temples, his eyes full of tenderness.

“Did you catch a chill? Gwen, you just found out you're pregnant. You need to be careful about everything.”

Gwendolen's voice was soft. “Dean, Rebecca Pruitt just lost her baby, and now I'm carrying one. Do you think she'll be upset……”

Dean let out a cold laugh. “What is she? She has no right to be upset.”

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

That morning, I had just come out of the abortion. My lower abdomen still ached with a heavy, dragging pain.

In all my time as Dean's mistress, he had found every way there was to degrade me. He made me kneel on shards of broken porcelain to wash Gwendolen's feet until my knees were slick with blood. He pinned me to the living room floor in front of every servant in the house and stripped me of my dignity like I was a dog. He got me pregnant again and again, and again and again he forced me to the hospital to have it taken away.

My voice trembled beyond my control.

“Dean, this debt of mine. How much more do I have to pay before you think it's enough?”

He blew a ring of smoke into my face.

“Not until you're dead. But I don't want to let you off that easy. Your whole family owes me.”

The game had already started. The bottle on the table was spinning.

Laughter erupted around the room.

Someone called out, “Mr. Henson used to keep this little kitten all to himself. Guess he's finally bored enough to let the rest of us have a taste.”

The bottle spun several rounds before stopping in front of a short, heavyset man.

“Well, well. Miles Dickerson is the lucky man tonight!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Miles likes it rough. Wonder if this one can handle him.”

Miles leered, then shoved a glass of liquor into my hand. “Have a drink first. Get in the mood!”

Dean's voice was flat. “Drink.”

Miles grabbed my chin and poured the liquor down my throat. My stomach caught fire instantly.

I coughed violently. Through the haze, I thought I heard Dean's voice from years ago, back when it was still young and unsure.

“Rebecca, your stomach's always bothering you, so I made you some porridge. After graduation, will you marry me? Let me take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

Heat flooded my eyes, and tears spilled over.

For one fleeting moment, I wanted Dean to speak, wanted to tell him my stomach hurt so badly, wanted to hear him say something caring the way he used to.

But when I lifted my head, all I met was his cold, indifferent face.

Then a searing heat surged through me, nothing like alcohol.

There was something in that drink.

Panic screamed through my mind. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled and I crashed from the chair to the floor.