My Billionaire Boyfriend Let His Mistress Scatter My Parents' Ashes

Victor Hale appeared in the foyer before I reached the door. He didn't hurry. He simply stepped into my path, hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted in that particular way staff adopt when they're about to deliver bad news with perfect diction.

'Miss Boyd,' he said. 'I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave just yet.'

I stopped. My suitcase felt heavier than it should. 'Excuse me?'

'Miss Perkins has instructed that no one leaves the premises without authorization.' His voice was smooth. Professional. Like he was explaining a wine pairing.

I stared at him. 'I don't need authorization. I'm leaving.'

'Your passport, Miss Boyd.' He produced it from his jacket pocket, holding it between two fingers like something distasteful. Then he bent—slowly, deliberately—and set it on the marble floor behind his polished shoes. 'You're welcome to retrieve it. Once we've ensured you're not taking anything that doesn't belong to you.'

My throat closed. 'I returned everything. Every piece of jewelry. Every card. Every key. Check the box on the dining table if you don't believe me.'

'Nevertheless.' He didn't move.

Footsteps on the staircase. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I could smell her perfume—something French and expensive that probably cost more than my grandmother's funeral would.

'Victor's right to be cautious,' Nadia said, her voice light and warm, as though we were discussing weekend plans. She still held her champagne flute. She'd refilled it. 'Nine years is a long time. People get... attached to things that aren't theirs.'

I turned. She stood three steps from the bottom, backlit by the chandelier, looking like something out of a magazine. Beautiful. Untouchable. Smiling.

'I didn't take anything,' I said.

'Then you won't mind proving it.' She gestured to the two housemaids hovering near the living room entrance. 'Emily, Sophia—would you mind checking Miss Boyd's suitcase? And her person, of course. Just to be thorough.'

The maids exchanged glances. Neither moved immediately.

'Now, please,' Nadia added, her smile never wavering.

They came forward. Emily unzipped my suitcase and upended it onto the marble floor. My clothes spilled out—a week's worth of basics, nothing designer, nothing expensive. Two pairs of jeans. A sweater. Underwear that had been folded carefully and now lay exposed under the chandelier's glare. Sophia patted down my sides, my hips, ran her hands along my arms. I stood still. I didn't look at them. I looked at the front door, six feet away, and the passport on the floor between me and freedom.

'Nothing, Miss Perkins,' Emily said quietly.

'How thorough of her.' Nadia descended the last three steps, her heels clicking. She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the fine powder on her cheeks, the tiny gap between her front teeth that somehow made her more beautiful. 'You know, Raya, I actually admire your discipline. Nine years of playing the devoted girlfriend, and you didn't steal a single thing. That takes real commitment.'

I said nothing.

'But there's still the matter of your... presumption.' She tilted her head, studying me like I was a painting she was considering buying. 'You walked into this house tonight in a wedding gown. You stood beside Lukas in front of his friends. You made people think you were something you weren't.'

'He posted the announcement,' I said. My voice came out flat. 'I thought—'

'You thought wrong.' She set her champagne flute on the entry table. 'Victor, would you bring me the riding crop from the equestrian room? The one with the braided handle.'

Victor didn't hesitate. He turned and walked toward the east wing.

My heart slammed against my ribs. 'What are you doing?'

'Giving you your passport back.' Nadia's smile widened. 'After you apologize properly. Nine lashes—one for each year you overstepped your place. You'll kneel, count them aloud, and thank me when it's done. Then you can leave.'

I looked at the door. At the passport. At the suitcase contents scattered across the floor like evidence of a crime I didn't commit.

'Or,' Nadia continued, 'you can refuse, and I'll call the police. Report you for trespassing. Theft. Whatever keeps you here long enough for Lukas to come home and see what you really are.'

Victor returned. The crop was black leather, braided, with a metal tip that caught the light.

I knelt.

The marble was cold against my knees. I could see my reflection in it—distorted, pale, wearing a wedding gown that suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Nadia stepped back. 'Whenever you're ready, Victor.'

The first strike landed across my shoulders. Fire bloomed beneath the silk.

'One,' I said.

The second came faster. I tasted copper.

'Two.'

I counted all nine. I didn't flinch. I didn't cry. I gave her nothing but numbers, spoken clearly, each one a nail in the coffin of whatever I'd been before tonight.

When it ended, I stood. My back screamed. My hands didn't shake as I bent and picked up my passport from behind Victor's shoes.

Nadia was already walking away, champagne retrieved, humming something under her breath.

I left my clothes on the floor. I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped into the night.

Behind me, the penthouse glittered like a jewelry box. Ahead of me, the city stretched dark and indifferent.

I didn't look back.