Ordered To Serve His Mistress: Heiress's Revenge

From the back cover

My fiancé sent me a text ordering me to serve his mistress, unaware that the waitress holding the tray was actually the daughter of the man who owned his soul.

I was working undercover at his club, playing the role of a poor nobody to test his character before our wedding.

But tonight, the test ended in disaster.

His mistress, Jaden, walked in and treated me like dirt. When I brought her drink, she slapped the tray, spilling scalding coffee all over my hand.

The pain was white-hot. My skin blistered instantly, peeling away in angry red patches.

I showed Connor the injury on a video call, expecting protection. Expecting him to be a man.

Instead, he looked at my burned hand and then at his investors. Panic filled his eyes.

"Fix it, Blake," he roared. "Apologize to her."

"She burned me," I said quietly.

"I don't care! Kneel if you have to. Kiss her ring. Just make her happy so I can finish this deal!"

He told the Principessa of the Shaw crime family to kneel to a woman who meant nothing.

He sacrificed his future wife to save face.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my heart; it was the leash I had placed on myself.

"Okay," I whispered.

I hung up the phone and dropped it into a pot of boiling pasta water.

Then I turned to the Executive Chef, a former hitman who recognized the lethal shift in my eyes.

"Lock the doors," I ordered.

"And tell my father I'm ready to burn this place to the ground."