His Masked Mistress

it did little to warm the chilly evening air. She tightened her grip on the handle of her briefcase, her thoughts a whirlwind of deadlines and unanswered emails. A soft breeze picked

ling street, she found herself face to face with a man dressed in a sharp suit, his tie askew and a playful smi

rrowing slightly. The man chuckled, his la

, extending a hand

She was just a lowly office worker, one of the many faces lost in the crowd of the city. But his handsha

sper above the city's murmur. "What

aid, his voice low and confident. "A chance to change you

ed, but she was also wary.

me tomorrow at this address," he said, pressing a sma

ttering in the wind. She looked at the address scribbled on it: an abandoned warehouse on the outskir

achines in the hospital, and her mother's frail body plagued her. The weight of their medical bills pressed down on her, a constant remin

omed before her, a relic of the city's industrial past. She stepped inside, the echoes of her heels th

hed him, her legs trembling slightly. As she grew closer, she could see his eyes gleaming wit

said, his voice s

her voice sha

pite the intimate setting. "I need a masked mistress, someone to satisfy my... particular tastes and accompany me to

e. Yet, she thought of her sister's hospital bills and her mother

she said, he

he said, pulling out a black mask from

round her grew dark, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and fear. This was the sta

covered chair. "Remember, Celine," he whispered.

hat, the g