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MISTRESS OF THE GAME
MISTRESS OF THE GAME
Author: June Estee

ONE

Author: June Estee
last update Last Updated: 2025-02-08 16:33:47

MARIE

Soft music floated through the air, blending with the low hum of conversation at the Ritz. I swayed slightly to the melody, fingers tracing the stem of my wine glass as I watched James’ expression shift. First confusion, then disbelief.

“I… I don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “Marie, you said you loved me.”

I tilted my head, offering him a small, almost pitying smile. “I lied.”

His blue eyes searched mine like he was hoping—praying—this was all some cruel joke. It wasn’t.

“But I love you,” he choked out, his fingers tightening around his glass. “I wanted to marry you.”

Oh no. Was he going to cry? I hated that. Weakness in men repulsed me. Strength—that was what I enjoyed breaking.

Putting both hands on the table, I leaned in so that I could pin those eyes of his with mine. “James, please, don’t embarrass yourself. Take your loss like a real man, trust me, it’s way better that way.”

“Trust you?” He asked in disbelief. “Trust you!” He thundered, his face crumpling even more. “Look where trusting you has gotten me! You’ve ruined my life. You made me delve up my secrets to you, and then you gave it to my enemy!”

“Yes I did,” I replied coolly. It was important that I let each target know I was done with them after I had gleaned all the information I could for my boss. The last thing I needed was to string along heartbroken men who thought they could have another chance with me.

My work was simple, make targets fall in love with me, glean information from them for my boss, then break their heart in the worst way – okay, the breaking their heart part wasn’t part of my job, but I loved to do it anyway.

I smiled sweetly at the man who sat opposite me. “You still seem a bit confused. I never loved you James, never cared about you. You see, the only reason I was with you was to glean information, and now my work is done, now you’re ruined, I don’t need you again.”

The veil dropped from his eyes, and he finally saw me for who I was. “You’re a snake!” He snarled. “You’re a heartless whore, and a snake!”

I could feel people watching as I walked out, their eyes flicking between me and the heartbroken man sitting frozen at the table. To them, I probably looked like the perfect woman—soft, lovely, untouched by the ugliness of the world. But to James, I was the devil in red lipstick.

And I didn’t mind one bit.

Outside, the city was alive. The crisp night air carried the scent of expensive cigars and freshly poured champagne. I hailed a taxi, slipping inside just as my phone chimed.

“I knew you’d do it,” the deep voice of my boss filtered through the phone to tease my ear.

I was still smiling when I replied. “You shouldn’t have too much faith in me you know – shouldn’t trust me.”

He scoffed. “I don’t trust you Marie, I know you. I created you.”

 He allowed a brief silence to let that sink in before he continued. “Keith’s lawyer called, Marrish enterprises is willing to settle outside court. The information you got from James Sawyer was the blow that buried them. You’ve done well, now come over to my apartment, let’s celebrate.”

I swallowed as the line cut, a familiar feeling tightening my chest.

Garrick Sloane wasn’t just my boss. He was my savior. My inevitable lover—or so he claimed. He was also the only man who had ever truly had power over me.

But he was wrong about one thing. He hadn’t created me.

Five years ago, I was just a heartbroken eighteen-year-old in a wedding dress, sitting on the side of a dusty road, my world shattered. I had caught my fiancé with another woman on the morning of our wedding.

And then Garrick found me.

He offered me a job, a fresh start. At first, I thought I’d be his secretary. But that was just a front for the women he recruited—women like me, trained to seduce and manipulate, to dig up secrets and destroy powerful men.

Garrick was a different kind of businessman. He didn’t reclaim property—he reclaimed control. He used leverage, blackmail, and espionage to get what he wanted, and then, he offered them to his clients who contacted him in the first place to destroy their opponent.

And I was his favorite weapon.

I Let Garrick draw me into his arms the moment I stepped into his pent house apartment.

Low music played at the background, the lights where dimmed into an incandescent glow, his hands felt firm on my hips as he pulled me into the sitting room, swaying in a way that could pass for a dance.

I knew exactly what he was doing. Garrick had made it clear that he wanted me, and that what he wanted, he got.

I let his hands skim up a little more, pressing the small of my back, so that I was even closer to him, before I pulled away.

“I should get a raise for this, James Sawyer was a tough nut to crack.”

He smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “For a moment there, I thought you were asking for a raise because I’d held you in my arms.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Garrick,” I fired back. “You know you’ll never be a target to me.”

“And is that such a good thing?” He asked softly, contemplatively. “Would you let me fuck you if I were a target?”

I lowered my lashes, suddenly interested in the pattern of his marble tiles. A beat of silence passed before he spoke again.

“You’ll get a bonus for the Sawyer job,” he said finally. “But before I consider a raise, there’s one more case I need you to handle.”

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  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   152: MARIE

    MARIEThe day had been ordinary, almost too ordinary. I had gone to the mall to pick up a few things Sheila asked me to get. I wanted to keep busy, to feel normal, to convince myself that life was finally smoothing out. The mall was crowded, people weaving in and out of stores, the air filled with chatter and the hum of Christmas music even though the holiday was still a day away.And then I heard it.“Marie!”I froze. That voice. That tone. It sent a shockwave straight through me, like someone had reached inside and pressed a finger against a wound I thought had healed. Slowly, I turned, and there he was. Timothy.My husband. My runaway ghost.My breath caught, then anger surged, hot and sharp. “You!” The word tore out of me before I could stop it. “Leave me the fuck alone. Are you back from the dead or something?”He looked exactly the same, yet older. His hair was a little longer, a little messier, but those eyes, those familiar pleading eyes, still had their pull. He raised his ha

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   151: XAVIER STORM

    STORMMarie made it to Sheila’s and, for a while, everything went the way I wanted. Dante reported steady updates: meals shared, walks by the river, quiet afternoons in the small flat that smelled of old perfume. The reports were clean and ordinary, and for the first time in months I allowed myself a thin thread of relief. She was breathing without me, and that should have been enough.But I do not trust quiet. Quiet is often the sound that comes right before a trap snaps shut.Dante called me that afternoon in a voice that had lost its casual tone. “Sir, something happened. Timothy Grant was seen near Sheila’s.”The name was a punch behind the ribs. Timothy Grant. Marie’s runaway husband, a story I had placed under a sheet and folded away because it was messy and dangerous and not mine to untangle. The moment Dante said the name, a cold certainty settled like metal in my gut.“It is Garrick,” I said before I even allowed myself to think. The syllables were flat, like a verdict. Garr

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   150: XAVIER STORM

    STORMI did not sleep well that night. The hospital lights had bled into my head, the steady beep of machines stitched into the fabric of my thoughts. I had booked a room in a hotel close enough to the hospital to be there in minutes but far enough away that its anonymity soothed me. I needed the space to think, to put together the pieces that had splintered in the last ten weeks.By dawn I was restless. The sun tore through the curtains and I found myself thinking of Marie not as a problem to be solved but as a person who had nearly been broken beyond repair. There are moments when power feels hollow; this was one of them. I had built walls to protect what was mine, and yet those walls had kept out the one person I did not want to lose. I had told myself I could control everything. The truth was uglier. I had never been good at handing over freedom to someone else, not without a plan to protect my own interests. The baby we had never met had changed something in me I was not ready to

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   149: XAVIER STORM

    STORMTen weeks after the BBM’s quarterly meeting, the dust was still settling, but in my world, nothing ever stayed quiet for long. Garrick had been arrested, dragged into the spotlight like the criminal he always was, and Roland had been in my custody all this time. He had been waiting for my judgment, but I had not had the time nor the desire to grant him that satisfaction yet. I had fired everyone who colluded with him; their loyalty had been sold too cheap, and in my empire betrayal had only one consequence. Exile, if they were lucky. Ruin, if they weren’t.While they rotted outside my walls, I had the tech team restructure everything. They built me a new procurement and accounting system, one I could oversee from anywhere in the world. They created an app that consolidated my services, my projects, even the monitoring of key departments and their KPI’s. It was power and control neatly folded into the palm of my hand. I no longer needed to be chained to an office or a meeting roo

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   148: MARIE

    MARIEStorm shut the door without answering me that morning and the silence settled like a weight I could not lift. He left me with the question hanging in the air, unclaimed, the space between us stretching wider every hour he was gone. Days bled into weeks and weeks into months. The house was a gilded cage and the ocean outside the windows only reminded me of how small I felt within it.I tried to measure my life in small things to keep from losing the shape of myself altogether. I learned the angles of the beach house, where the light pooled best in the afternoon, how the wooden floor warmed under bare feet at noon, the exact rhythm the refrigerator hummed when it thought no one was listening. I watched the cook move through the kitchen like ritual: palms on the counter, measured pinches of salt, a hum under her breath that seemed to promise continuity. I looked for Sheila like someone groping for a thread at the back of a tapestry, certain it had to be there somewhere. Sometimes I

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   147: XAVIER STORM

    STORMBy the end of the forty-eight hours, I had everything I needed. Evidence, testimonies, financial trails, and enough dirt to bury Garrick, Roland, and the five other staff members Roland had managed to corrupt. Everything was in play. I sat in my office, the morning sun bleeding faint light through the tinted windows, a glass of water at my side. The fatigue was heavy in my bones, but I felt the edge of satisfaction. It had been a long two days, and every second of it had been worth it.Steve walked in, his expression smug, his voice laced with expectation.“Mr. Storm, I hope you are satisfied with our service?”I leaned back in my chair, keeping my tone neutral. “Yeah, I can say so.”Truthfully, I was thrilled. My blood burned with quiet victory. But I wasn’t about to shower him with praise. Over-complimenting men like Steve only made them greedy.“Well,” he pressed, “the forty-eight hours is up, and we’ve given you what you asked for. It’s time we talk about our payment.”I nod

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