Chapter 5 - The Mistress Who Thought She Was Stealing a King
At 3:30 PM, I made a brief, unannounced detour to L’Aura, an exclusive private spa on Oak Street where Chicago's elite women paid five hundred dollars an hour to pretend they were immortal.
I knew Elena Ramos had a standing appointment every Tuesday afternoon at four.
I didn't storm in like a hysterical, betrayed wife. I didn't throw wine or cause a scene that would make the society blogs. That was what cheap women did when they were desperate.
I walked in wearing my cream designer suit, carrying my Hermès Birkin, smelling of expensive jasmine and quiet supremacy.
"Mrs. Bennett!" the front desk concierge gasped, immediately standing up straight. "We didn't have you on the schedule today! Can we prepare the private relaxation suite for you?"
"That won't be necessary, darling," I said with a warm, disarming smile. "I’m just here to drop off a small gift for Miss Ramos. I believe she’s currently in the thermal lounge?"
"Yes, ma'am. Right this way."
Elena Ramos was lying on a heated marble lounger, wrapped in a plush white robe, cucumbers over her eyes, an iced matcha latte resting on the side table. She was young, undeniably gorgeous in an obvious, high-maintenance way, and possessed the dangerous arrogance of a woman who believed she had just captured the most powerful beast in the jungle.
I pulled up a cushioned wicker chair and sat down quietly beside her.
"The eucalyptus mist here is lovely, isn't it, Elena?" I said smoothly.
Elena froze.
She whipped the cucumbers off her eyes, her body going rigid as she scrambled into a sitting position on the marble slab. Her face drained of all color, her lips parting in shock.
"Claire," she stammered, looking frantically around the empty lounge. "I... what are you doing here?"
"Relax, dear," I said, crossing my legs elegantly. "You'll ruin your facial. Cortisol causes premature wrinkles around the forehead."
"I don't know what you think is going on," Elena began, her voice shaking slightly before she tried to force a defiant sneer onto her face. "If Mason sent you—"
"Mason didn't send me," I interrupted gently. "Mason doesn't even know I’m here. Mason is currently at his West Loop office convincing himself that he is a master of the universe."
I reached into my handbag, pulled out a small, exquisite velvet jewelry box, and set it on the marble table between us.
Elena stared at the box like it contained a live scorpion. "What is that?"
"Open it," I instructed.
With trembling fingers, Elena reached out and flipped the velvet lid open.
Inside lay a heavy platinum pendant set with a flawless three-carat emerald—an heirloom piece from the Bennett family vault.
"Mason gave that to you," Elena whispered, her eyes wide. "He told me he was going to give it to me after the merger on Friday."
"He tells every woman what she wants to hear when he needs her father's logistical supply lines," I said, my voice dropping to a cool, clinical whisper. "Elena, you think you’re winning a king. But let me explain what you are actually inheriting."
I leaned in closer, watching the panic flicker across her young, carefully contoured features.
"Mason owes eighty-four million dollars to the North American Port Authorities under personal indemnity guarantees. He has pledged your father's rail terminals as secondary collateral without Hector's knowledge. The moment this merger closes on Friday, the federal marshals will seize your family’s southern shipping yards to cover Mason's unpaid customs liabilities."
Elena's breath hitched. "You're lying. Mason loves me. He's leaving you for me."
I let out a soft, genuine laugh that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
"Darling, a man who will betray the woman who built his empire for seven years will sacrifice you in seven seconds the moment the water gets warm. Take the necklace. Keep your mouth shut during tonight's dinner. And if you have even an ounce of self-preservation left in that pretty head of yours, tell your father not to sign the Bennett agreement until he checks the Cook County lien registry on Friday morning."
I stood up, smoothed the fabric of my trousers, and looked down at her with pure, unadulterated pity.
"Enjoy your massage, Elena. You're going to need the relaxation."
May you like
I walked out of the spa without looking back once.
By five-fifteen, I was back in the penthouse kitchen, tying a dark linen apron over my clothes, checking the temperature of the wine cellar, and waiting for the wolves to arrive for dinner.
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