The Game of Masks and True Identity

Phoebe's POV

“So you’re Phoebe?” the little girl snorted, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not even that pretty. If it weren’t for the Olivers' blood running through you, do you really think Cade would give you a second glance?”

“And that wedding?" she scoffed. "Don’t be delusional. In Cade’s eyes, you were just a cheap breeder.”

Her words landed like ice. But upon looking at her, she was clean and pampered, looking every bit the sheltered child I’d heard about. Margaret Jarvis, the pure, naive foster girl, Cade kept hidden away. Six years ago, he’d supposedly saved her life. Everyone in the city knew she existed.

My interest sharpened. Cade had ruined me. I wonder what his face would look like if I killed the one he’d kept like a pet.

A cold smile tugged at my lips. The prey really had walked right into my trap.

I waved her over. “Come here. I have something for you.”

That evening, after Cade tended his wound, he finally came to see me.

“Phoebe,” he said, “since you know the truth now, I won’t hide it any longer. If you behave and give birth to this child, I’ll have your legs fixed and let you go.”

He then tossed a check amounting to fifty million onto the table. “This is your payment.” His eyes scanned me like I was nothing more than an object. “Women like you, easy and loose, could sleep with models for the rest of your life.”

I laughed coldly from my wheelchair. “And if I refuse?”

“Cade,” I shot back, “why should I accept terms you set? Remember who’s carrying something right now. You should be begging me. If anyone draws up terms, it should be me.”

But he barely took me seriously. He simply scoffed and turned to leave.

That was when I let him have it. “Cade,” I said, calm as a knife, “you’re a mafia boss and you’ve had an eye stabbed out. How can you still be so naïve?”

Finally, he froze and spun to look at me. “What do you mean?”

I clapped slowly and pointed toward the construction crane not far from the villa. “You hide that girl so carefully because you’re scared someone will find her, right?”

“Now it’s my turn to set the choice.” I let the sentence hang. “Pick one: the child in my belly, or your foster sister.”

His face immediately lost color, then he whirled to the window.

Outside, a crane held a small figure suspended in a white dress, arms and legs bound, muffled whimpers slipping past her gag. “Cade, please, help me! She’s a madwoman!”

Cade’s jaw tensed, veins bulging. He stared at me like I’d gone insane and fumingly ordered, “Let her go!”

“And if I don’t?” I met his gaze, a hard edge of madness creeping in. “Cade, don’t make me say it twice. Which is it? Her, or the child in my belly?”

He kept staring, weighing it all, profit, bloodline, risk.

Six months ago, I’d known getting into a boss’s bed wasn’t as simple as a drunken night. When I’d stripped him that night, he’d welcomed me because he already knew who I was, because he needed our family resources and a child. It was a trap he had set for me.

I could carry any man’s child in my life, anyone’s but his. Not his.

I let him stew.

Soon, I lost track of time until my impatience slipped out and I spoke up, testing him.“Have you already decided?”