Became His Mistress to Pay for My Brother's Sin

Sienna Clark’s life took a sharp turn when her brother, driving under the influence, hit the wife of the wealthy Elijah Morgan. The accident caused her to miscarry and left her infertile, resulting in her brother being sentenced to prison. Desperate to secure his release, Sienna agreed to Elijah’s conditions and moved into a house he arranged.

The first night was shrouded in darkness, with only faint moonlight illuminating his face. His striking features were sculpted like a god’s, distant and untouchable. He carried a cool, intoxicating scent, and his voice, low and velvety, asked her softly, "How old are you?"

Overwhelmed with pain, she couldn’t answer and bit his shoulder in frustration. He groaned, a sound both sharp and restrained, before his actions grew harsher. Elijah was a man of undeniable power, and after only a few encounters, she found herself pregnant. Ten months later, she gave birth to a robust, healthy boy.

Sienna, barely more than a girl herself, became a mother before she could even process the reality of her situation. The burden was heavy, and though she had only wanted to fulfill her part and leave, the child tethered her heart.

The baby was allergic to formula and could only tolerate breast milk, binding Sienna further. A month of feeding him, of holding him close, intertwined her blood and soul with his in a way she couldn’t escape.

On the eve of the confinement period’s end, Elijah appeared again. He was in his early thirties, tall and imposing, his tailored dark suit outlining his strong frame. Sharp eyes glinted beneath his glasses, piercing through her defenses. His voice, low and magnetic, carried a seductive edge.

"Sienna," he said, "do you want to stay with your son?"

Hope flickered in her eyes, but she clenched her resolve and shook her head. "No. I won’t be a mistress."

"Not a mistress," Elijah replied, his words deliberate, "but a wet nurse."

"A wet nurse?" she echoed, her lips trembling as she repeated the term. A spark of longing ignited within her.

"Does that mean… I don’t have to leave him?"

The man nodded, his eyes flashing with steely determination.

But Sienna had been too naive to understand the full extent of his words. Being a "wet nurse," as he put it, entailed far more than simply feeding the child.

That night, Elijah approached her with his usual calm demeanor, his hand settling firmly on her shoulder. He pinched lightly, as if testing her resolve, before saying in an unyielding tone, “Take off your clothes.”

By morning, he was gone, leaving her alone to face the aftermath. As she washed up, her reflection in the mirror confronted her with bruises—faint purple marks tracing the path of his loss of control. Her cheeks burned in memory of the night before.

At first, she had resisted, her pride clinging to the idea that this was no different from being kept as his mistress. But Elijah was nothing if not skilled—both with his actions and his words. It wasn’t long before her defenses crumbled, and all she could do was clutch him tightly and cry.

Afterwards, he held her close, his voice low and coaxing, “Don’t think too much. Whether it’s once or countless times, it’s all the same. This way, you can stay with the baby and help your brother get out sooner.”

His reasoning hit its mark. Sienna couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Her parents’ untimely deaths had left her brother as her only family. He had raised her, paid for her education, and treated her like a cherished princess. If this was what it took to repay him, how could she refuse?

Yet, as she watched Elijah’s satisfied expression that night, a bitter thought crept in—she had been outmaneuvered from the start.

From then on, Elijah moved into the villa. Apart from his necessary social engagements, he returned each evening to spend time with her and the baby. It became a routine she both cherished and feared.

When she saw him cradling their child in one arm, while reading through documents with the other, an unbidden illusion would arise—that they were a family of three, bound not just by circumstance but by love.

Yet she knew this life was borrowed, stolen even, and that one day, the price for it would have to be paid.

That day came sooner than expected, when an uninvited guest arrived at the small villa.

Sienna froze as she opened the door to face Courtney, Elijah’s wife.

This wasn’t their first meeting. The last time she had seen her, Courtney was sprawled in a pool of blood, her pallor ghostly white. Now, though, she was radiant—her skin glowing from meticulous care, her figure as graceful and striking as that of a supermodel.

Standing before Courtney, Sienna felt small and insignificant, like a clownfish swimming beside a shark.