The Mistress's Revenge

My name is Wendy Scott, and I have been Leo Luke's mistress for five years. During these five years, I have compiled his preferences into a memo saved on my phone. If he hates cilantro, I never eat it in front of him. If he likes warm milk before bed, I prepare it half an hour in advance every day. Even the style of dress I wear and the scent of perfume I wear are strictly according to his demands. He never allows me to appear in public. The villa where I live is heavily secured, like a delicate birdcage. Every day, all I can do is wait for his occasional late-night return or stare blankly at the empty living room. Once, I tentatively asked him if he could take me to an art exhibition — a show by an artist I had admired for three years. Yet, he frowned and said, "Such occasions are not suitable for you," then turned and went to his study. I once deceived myself into believing that if I were obedient enough, I could eventually win his acknowledgment, that I would wait for the day he would be willing to introduce me to others. Until Sunny Wade returned to the country, at that welcome banquet held on the top floor of the Joy Hotel. Leo Luke told me the night before. He asked me to wear that champagne-colored fishtail dress, saying, "Don't speak much." The crystal chandeliers in the banquet hall shimmered painfully in my eyes, and amidst the scent of fine clothes and styled hair, everyone was a stranger to me. They gathered in twos or threes, chatting and laughing, their conversations full of business dealings and high society gossip. I felt like an unwitting outsider, curling up on a corner sofa, pretending to be invisible. It was then that Felix Jones came over. He was Mr. Luke's childhood friend; I had met him a few times before, and each time, his gaze on me was unmistakably lecherous. He held a glass of whiskey, swirling the ice inside, and stopped before me: "Mr. Luke, your little toy is quite obedient, sitting here like a statue. How about letting a few of us have some fun with her?" His voice wasn't loud, but several men around him heard it and instantly burst into ambiguous, harsh laughter. Those laughs pierced me like needles; I clenched the hem of my skirt, my nails digging deep into my palm, the pain numbing my fingertips.