Illusions: A prequel novella to Mirage
Illusions
Prequel Novella to
MIRAGE
By
Alice Tribue
Being a Madame is no easy job...
I guard privacy and secrets with my own life, and I've never slipped up or got caught, not once.
I don’t do long-term relationships, there’s too much at stake, but there's something about the man I just met, something that makes me uneasy. I try to push him away, but he won’t take no for an answer...
I'm just not sure if the red flags I'm currently seeing are real or just another Illusion...
NOTE: This novella is a free prequel to the full-length standalone
MIRAGE
, that will be released on June 22nd. This novella will be included in the full-length novel once it is released. You can read it first as a free download or as a part of the novel once released.
Published by AMT Publishing
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
Photography by Sara Eirew Photographer
Cover Models Michel Giroux & Catherine Côté
Cover Designed by Letitia Hasser for RBA Designs.
Editing by Jenny Carlsrud Sims for Editing4Indies
Formatting by CP Smith
Translation of Love (Of Love #1)
Desperation of Love (Of Love #2)
The Of Love Series Set
Shelter You
Unspeakable Truths
Unspeakable Lies Novella
Contractual
It’s time to have my ceiling painted,
I think to myself. These are the things my mind notices while I’m stuck in this position. It’s amazing the things your brain wanders to when you’re bored out of your mind. When I get tired of the view, I close my eyes waiting for it to be over, seriously hoping that it’ll only last a minute or two more. I do my part, wrap my legs around his waist, and cry out my phony sounds of pleasure.
“Yes, oh God, Collin.”
“Fuck, yeah.” I cringe when his hot breath hits my neck. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when my mind isn’t in it, I can’t do anything to get me there. Sessions like these are never enjoyable—not for me, anyway.
He uses me as a receptacle, thrusting away until he fills me with his unwanted ejaculation. Then he rolls over and tells me how amazing it was, and how I’m the best fuck he’s ever had. I’m just thankful for it to be over.
It’s always the same, exactly the fucking same. A man gets comfortable, he thinks that he has you, believes that you are so in love that you would never walk out the door, and then you meet the lazy alter ego of their former self. You know the one you actually met and wanted to fuck? With this new guy, there is no flirting, no kissing, and no foreplay. He just climbs on top of you, inserts dick, and there begins the most uneventful few minutes of the day.
I lie here panting, pretending to be basking in the afterglow of post-coital bliss. He’ll never know that I’m faking; he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. My award-worthy act continues as he gets up and walks to the bathroom to relieve himself. Then, and only then, do I reach over and check my cell phone. Instantly, I’m on alert—three missed calls and one voicemail message.
“Victoria, it’s Macy.” Her voice is shaky, and I can tell that she’s been crying. “I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”
It’s strange to get a call from her because she’s not one of the needy ones. I delete the message and call her back; she answers on the first ring.
“Victoria?”
“Macy, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I had a scheduled appointment with Conrad, things just- I can’t… Victoria, can you just please come see me?” The desperation in her voice is evident, and it fills me with anxiety.
“Yes, Macy, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Just sit tight.”
“All right.”
Hopping out of bed, I run into the bathroom to clean up just as Collin is coming out.
“I have to run out,” I tell him while walking past.
“Where are you going?”
“I just have to take care of something at work.”
“Of course, what else is new?”
His sarcasm pisses me off, but I say nothing. There’s no time for another tedious argument about the hours I keep. I focus instead on cleaning up and throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The quicker I get out of here and to Macy, the better. I put my hair up in a loose ponytail, take a quick peek in the mirror, and exit the bathroom.
“Don’t wait up,” I toss out to Colin once I reach the bedroom door, trying my hardest not to slam it on my way out.
When I finally make it to Macy’s, I find a situation that does nothing to control my foul mood. In fact, it only intensifies it.
***
No one understands what it’s like to be me. To have grown up being the girl who everyone talks over, the one who no one listens to, because they can’t hear what they don’t see. I made myself invisible out of necessity, and I did it long enough that by the time I no longer needed to, I didn’t know how to stop.
The long-term effects of that are still there because, even now, even after the success I’ve achieved, when I think about it, no one really knows me. They never see the real me…they see only what I allow them to.
In my youth, I was timid… In adulthood—I’m not the kind of woman who you fuck with, not even a little. I’m the kind of woman who would take a baseball bat to your knees if you even tried. I’ve developed a low tolerance for bullshit over the years because I’ve seen it all. Trust me; I’ve seen it all. Living in a city like New York, there’s not much that you don’t see. But there are things that I haven’t witnessed just as a spectator, and I’ve actually lived them. I’m not new to pain, betrayal, hurt, violence; I’m not new to a shitload of things and because of this, I’ll do what I have to do to protect myself, my interests, and the people I care for. There is no shame or guilt in that; it’s what makes me who I am.
I stride down the brightly lit hallway feeling a dangerous combination of anger and fearlessness. All the while, I’m wondering why some people (particularly rich people) feel like they can get away with just about anything. I wonder why they think that there are no consequences for behaving badly. After the condition I found Macy in yesterday, I’m in the mood to make someone pay.
I didn’t come from money—never had anything handed to me on a silver platter—because I worked my ass off for my wealth. Were my methods unconventional? Sure. A little outside the boundaries of the law? Possibly—but I never, NEVER go out of my way to hurt people, and if my choices are wrong, if I’m destined for hell, then I’m positive that assholes like Conrad Roberts are going right along with me. On that thought, I steel my spine, cock my head to the side, and knock on the front door.
“Victoria, what are you doing here? How did you get up here?” he questions with a false look of astonishment on his face.
“Hello, Mr. Roberts. I’m sorry to have shown up unannounced. Your doorman must have been on break. May I come in? We need to talk,” I say pushing past him. He isn’t much of a man; he’s long-limbed and thin with absolutely no muscle tone. He combs his thinning brown hair over, making him appear years older than he is, and his skin is scarily pale. I can understand why he would use my services because he’s not the kind of man who has his choice of women. Rumor has it that his wife only married him for his money; her father, whose own business was failing, pushed her into it.
“How dare you show up at my apartment like this? What if my wife would have been here?”
I wave him off as if his statement is ridiculous. “Don’t you worry; I waited until I was sure that she was gone.”
His body tenses, and his face contorts in anger; clearly, Mr. Roberts needs to work on masking his emotions. “You did what? Have you been watching my house?”
“I have,” I confirm, giving him the sweetest smile I can muster. “I have, Mr. Roberts, because, unlike you, I actually abide by the terms of the contract that we entered into, the same one you signed.” This is where I start speaking to him as if though he was a goddamned toddler who I’m trying to reason with. “I would never abuse my clients’ trust in me; I would never ever make my clients doubt my integrity. You, on the other hand, crossed a line last night, and I came here to see that you understand what that means.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? Hmm, that’s odd.”
“Can you just get to the reason why you’re here so that you can leave?”
“I received a very distressing phone call from one of my employees last night; the very same employee that I sent to see you yesterday. You see, when she called, she was clearly upset, frightened even, so I, being her employer, went to make sure that she was all right. Do you know what I found, Mr. Roberts?”
“I have no idea,” he answers, his tone annoyed. There’s no guilt on his face, no regret in his features, no remorse to be found anywhere on his body. He stands arrogantly, glaring at me as if I’m disturbing him, and it makes me angry. It makes me want to punch him in the frickin’ throat.
“I’ll tell you what I found,” I say, squaring my shoulders and wishing like hell that I had a baseball bat with me. “I found a girl, who just hours before was in perfect health, bloodied and bruised. Her wrists and ankles were red and sore from being bound to a bed against her will. I found a girl who was held that way for HOURS and used and abused by you until you got your fill.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Are you going to tell me that’s not what happened?”
“What I’m saying is that she was a willing participant.”
“Really? She asked you to beat the shit out of her?”
“Some women like that sort of thing.”
“And some men get off on hurting girls; they get their kicks by taking a pretty girl and abusing her, making it so that she can’t defend herself. Some men are just that disgusting.”
“Miss Powell.”
“Do not even try to explain away your behavior; I really don’t want to hear it. What I came here for is to tell you that I am terminating you as a client. You will no longer be able to use the services my company offers.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever I want. It’s my company.”
“Fine, I’ll expect a refund.”
“You won’t be getting one; I’ll also be sending you a bill for Miss Madison’s physician charges.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Also, Mr. Roberts, I’d like to remind you that upon entering into our association, you did sign a non-disclosure agreement. Should violate that… well, let’s just say I’d advise you to adhere to it. I’d hate to have to enlighten your wife on your extracurricular activities.”
He grows even paler, if that’s possible, and I relish the look of defeat on his face. I wish it made it all better, wish it was enough to satisfy my need for payback, but it’s not. I make my way back to the front door, grabbing the knob before turning back.
“I almost forgot; there’s a little someone I’d like to introduce you to before I go,” I tell him, twisting the knob and opening the door. I don’t turn around, but I know Kyle is standing in the open doorway now. I can tell because I’m pretty sure by the look on Mr. Roberts’ face that he’s fighting the urge to soil himself. “This is Kyle; he’d just like to make sure you understood what we’ve spoken about today.”