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Summary
Her parents were murdered Her sister disappeared mysteriously and appeared dead on national TV but her body wasn't found She was left alone confused and betrayed She was admitted to the Rehab Everyone thought she was crazy After she got discharged from the Rehab that's when things turned the other way. She owe some people money, and they'll do anything to get it back and taking a loan that big was the reason she ended up a mistress to the Devil. ––– He slammed me violently against the wall, my eyes widened in shock, i felt my lungs intoxicated in his cologne he was undeniably close, his stare was a vivid glare shooting back at me I almost choked on my silava as he leaned towards me. "Are you Afraid of me?" he smirked and a reply I didn't have but my batting lashes were my only reply. He pushed his head against my ear, teasing my earlobe as his palm trailed down to my thigh but I grabbed his hand in a swift motion which amused him. "Don't," he loosens away from my grip getting hold of both my palm slamming them against the wall wearing a frantic glare that sent chills down my spine. "You know the rules Amirah, you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to be my mistress." The Devil's Mistress All right reserved ®Kim Lina Warning ⚠ Trigger/Content warning : may contain vulgar language , matured and sensual scene.
01
Amirah's POV
In five minutes, it'll be exactly 5:00 p.m.—my last shift for the day. I’ll finally be leaving this dump of a diner. I stride over to the counter after delivering some orders, my fingers trailing to the knot of my apron. I loosen it and slam it down on the counter just as Lilly, my coworker, shoots me a smirk.
"You're leaving early?" she arches her brows and thins her lips into a suspicious grin. I roll my eyes at her.
"I always leave early," I mumble sarcastically, mocking her pathetic excuse for a brain.
"Yeah, that's the problem," she half-yells, drawing the attention of a few customers who are almost done with their meals.
"My shift is over," I say, wiggling my brows as a hint that I want to get the hell out of here.
I head to the back to change, and, of course, she follows. Her shift ends at the same time as mine, but all she ever does is suffocate me with questions.
As I take off my uniform, I can feel her glaring at me, thirsty for answers. By now, I'm used to it and don't even care if she sees me changing.
"So, who's the boner?" she asks, nearly making me choke. I ease out a laugh before she can read my expression.
"It's none of your business," I say, rolling my eyes as I struggle to yank off my uniform, slipping into a knee-length dress, trench coat, and Converse flats.
She scoffs, mumbling under her breath, disappointed that she’s not going to get a single chit-chat out of me—like always.
Lilly is the outgoing, nosy, arrogant, and overly talkative party girl. Ever since I started working here, she’s been trying to force her way into being my friend. Honestly, I’m not interested. The less she knows about me, the better.
I gather my dark brown hair into a messy bun, grab my bag, and glance at Lilly. She's dressing up, too, changing into a crop top that leaves her cleavage completely bare, with shorts that could easily pass for panties and high, red Converse heels. Her golden-blonde hair (which is probably dyed) is styled in bouncy waves swaying over her shoulders. She’s painting her lips with red lipstick, and I’m shocked at how fast she’s able to get herself ready. She’s practically qualified to be a stripper.
I shrug as she starts applying eyeliner, which will take forever since she likes her lashes thick and fierce.
I swing my bag over my shoulder, walking past her as she focuses on her makeup. I check out and leave the diner behind.
Walking down the pavement, I stop by a nearby thrift store, pick out a birthday card, purchase it, and shove it into my bag. Then, I call a taxi to take me to the hospital. As much as I hate going back there, I have to.
When I arrive, I take a deep breath and shut the taxi door as it drives off. Standing in front of the hospital, I try to steady my breathing as painful memories come rushing back. I fight to keep myself together, but a tear slips down my cheek. I walk in anyway, ignoring the haunting memories.
I walked to the front desk where a few nurses were attending to other people. I waited for my turn.
"I'm sorry, visits to the patient in room 492 are closed. The patient just underwent an operation and isn’t in the condition to accept visitors. We'll inform you when you can come back. Thank you," the nurse said kindly to a young man, who nodded, though his disappointment was obvious.
I, on the other hand, was shaking. I have a phobia—a grave fear of hospitals—and the last thing I wanted was to find myself in one, not after what happened to me.
"Next..." The nurse called, looking at me with wide eyes, her shock poorly masked by a forced smile.
Why wouldn’t she be shocked? Amirah Rivera, in a hospital—the girl who did everything to avoid standing in one.
"Yes, miss, can I help you?" she asked as I nodded.
"Yes..." I stuttered, moving closer to the desk.
"How can we help you?" she asked again, her voice softer this time, which eased me a little. Still, I felt all eyes on me, and a gut-wrenching urge to leave hit me hard.
"I'm here to see Ariel..." I said, and the other nurse smiled shyly, likely surprised at how calm I was.
"Ariel who?" the first nurse asked.
"Ariel Dallas," I whispered as the nurses checked the schedule.
"Amirah!" I heard a squeaky voice yell. An eleven-year-old, skinny blonde ran up to me in tears.
"Ariel, what are you doing outside your ward?" I gasped as she hugged me tightly.
"I came to see you! I wanted to surprise you," she said, ignoring the fact that she could get in trouble, still hugging me all the same.
"Come on, I've been dying to show you my new room," she said as we disengaged from the hug. The nurses giggled, asked me to sign in, and I followed Ariel to her room.
We entered her ward, which was filled with new decorations and stuffed animals, probably donations from her charity to brighten the room.
It almost made me jealous.
She slid under her bed, pulling out a teddy bear with one eye, then ran over to me, dragging me to the bed with a wide smile as we both sat down.
"Seems like Mr. Hopscotch is nothing compared to your new friends," I sighed sadly as she wrapped her arms around me in a hug.
"Mr. Hopscotch will always be my favorite," she said, setting the teddy down before standing on the bed and starting to braid my hair.
Ariel is my best friend, more like a sister. Even though we're not related, she's been like family to me ever since the brutal death of my parents and the sudden disappearance of my blood sister.
My sister disappeared and was later declared dead, but her body was never found. I went insane after that. People thought I was crazy, and I was sent to rehab. That’s where I met Ariel. I was 19, and Ariel was a sweet 8-year-old wandering around the hospital. I remember I was crying, desperate to leave. Since the rehab was part of the hospital, we were locked away from the rest of the world. But then, for the first time, someone smiled and waved at me. I felt human again. After that, things started to get better. I didn’t need sedation anymore, and I grew close to Ariel.
In less than six months, I was discharged from rehab, but I’ve always come back. It's been three years, and people still can’t believe I’ll even step foot in a hospital.
Ariel has been battling a lung disease ever since she was five. She’s always scheduled for surgery to correct one defect or another. Despite everything, she’s always been positive and a fighter, but sometimes I fear she’s going to leave me like everyone else.
She always puts a smile on her face, even when she’s dying inside. I wish I could take away all her pain if I could.
I didn’t realize when a tear slid down my cheek, but unfortunately, Ariel noticed.
Immediately, she stopped braiding my hair and hugged me from behind.
“Why are you sad? The doctor said I’m getting better,” she said softly, trying to console me. But it wasn’t enough to comfort me. I wanted to see her running around, not stuck in a hospital—out in the world, playing with kids her age.
“I know, and I’m glad,” I sighed, “but I can’t keep hoping you’ll get better when you’re getting worse, Ariel…”
“The doctor said my next surgery, if successful, will make me better. I promise. Please don’t worry,” she reassured me. I nodded, and she went back to braiding my hair.
“And when I get better, you can finally adopt me.” My heart fluttered with sadness.
Ariel’s been in the hospital since she was five. Her father died of the same lung disease when she was seven, and her mother couldn’t keep up with the medical bills. She disappeared when Ariel was nine, abandoning her. Ever since, I’ve done everything possible to help with her treatment. We even organized a fundraiser so she could get through her surgeries without financial doubt.
I smiled to myself. After the surgery, Ariel and I would finally live a normal life.
---
Hunter’s POV
(Nashville)
I leaned back in the VIP lounge of the pub, sipping a shot of tequila as some women flashed me sultry looks. I had no interest, but none of them dared to breathe the same air as me.
I poured myself another drink when a young woman in a red Chanel split dress, revealing her toned thighs, boldly walked in. Norah, who stood watchfully beside me, was immediately on alert.
“Hold on, Norah,” I said, raising my hand as the woman’s red lips curled into a smile.
She glared at Norah, who reluctantly stepped back into position, and the woman sat next to me.
"Hunter Dominguez, it's an honor to finally share the spotlight with you," she purred in my ear, making a smirk creep onto my face.
"And who do I owe this honor to?" I asked, amused by her confidence.
"Monica Cinesto," she purred, taking the glass from my hand and drinking directly from it, which angered Norah, who quietly snarled.
“Well, Monica, what makes you think you can tame a devil?” I asked, watching her expression falter for a moment before she laughed it off, pampering my torso.
“We’ll see how much of a devil you really are,” she whispered. I nodded and got up, signaling to Norah and the security guards that I was ready to leave. I got in my car with Monica and instructed the driver to take us to my condo.
At the condo, Monica shared some stories, and we both drank. She was almost drunk, and I flashed her a smile as she rambled on.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked, fully drunk, and I leaned in close, a hypnotic smile on my lips.
“I don’t think you’d be interested,” I said. She pouted, and I got up to leave, but she grabbed my hand and yanked me in for a kiss.
She bit my lip, roughly teasing me between kisses, wrapping her legs around me. My hands trailed down her ass as I squeezed tightly. We made our way to the bedroom, where I tossed her onto the bed. As I trailed my hands up her thighs, she let out a flimsy moan, which excited me more. I ripped her dress until it was nothing but rags, sliding her panties down as a smile crept onto my face.
“I know who you are, Sarah Milton,” I said, watching her eyes widen in shock. She was speechless as I pulled out a gun.
“Your father sent you, right? To spy on me and get information about the Dominquez family. Am I right?” I asked, pointing the gun at her as she quivered in fear.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry. I’ll send you back to your father in a pretty little coffin,” I said, but before I could pull the trigger, someone beat me to it.
Sarah lay dead on my bed.
It was Norah.
“I never liked her,” she said, putting the gun back in her holster.
“Deliver her body back to her father, clean up the sheets, and get Kaleb to write a believable story about her death,” I instructed, pulling my jeans back on.
“Yes, Hunter,” she replied, walking up to me and trying to button my shirt.
Thiago walked in, catching Norah in the act.
“Thiago, what’s new?” I asked, hoping the sales were going well.
“Everything is going smoothly, except we haven’t been paid back a loan for almost three years now,” he said, and my expression turned cold. Norah stepped back, sensing the shift.
“How much is the loan?” I asked.
“We have an unpaid loan of $11.3 billion, with an interest of $300 million,” he said as I nodded.
“Name?”
“Amirah Rivera. She’s based in New York,” he said.
“Why would a woman take out a loan that large?” I asked.
“Reasons best known to her,” Thiago replied.
“Prepare the jet to New York. We’re going to pay our little friend a visit.”