When His Mistress Tried to Kill Me, My Tycoon Saved Me

The California sun beat down on my skin as I adjusted the safety harness around my waist, double-checking each buckle and strap. Around me, the film crew bustled across the backlot, a symphony of shouted instructions and equipment being dragged into place. Frank Miller, our veteran stunt coordinator, approached with his clipboard, his weathered face creased with concentration.

"Looking good, Isabella," he said, inspecting my gear with practiced eyes. "Remember, it's a straight drop and then roll left to avoid the debris. We've got the padding in place, but—"

"But timing is everything," I finished for him, offering a small smile. "I've got it, Frank."

He nodded, the respect in his eyes a balm to my spirit. In this world of make-believe and false adoration, Frank's straightforward professionalism was refreshingly real.

"Sterling's at it again," he muttered, glancing over my shoulder.

I didn't need to turn to know what he meant. My husband's voice carried across the set, that special tone he reserved for one person only—and it wasn't me.

"Scarlett, sweetheart, you need to stay hydrated in this heat." Gabriel's voice was tender, solicitous. "Here, I had them bring your special mineral water. And is the hair team taking care of you? That last take had your highlights catching the light perfectly."

I tightened a strap with more force than necessary, feeling the familiar hollow ache spread through my chest. Eight years of marriage, and he couldn't even spare me a glance before I performed a dangerous stunt. Eight years living as his secret, watching him shower another woman with the care and attention he had once given me.

Frank's hand landed briefly on my shoulder, a gesture of silent support before he moved away to check the landing area. He knew. Most of the veteran crew members did, though they never spoke of it directly. The secret wife. The convenient body double. The woman Gabriel Sterling kept hidden in the shadows.

I moved toward the edge of the rooftop set, mentally calculating the trajectory of my jump. Nearby, Gabriel and Scarlett ran through their dialogue under David Chen's watchful eye. She laughed at something Gabriel said, touching his arm with casual intimacy.

"Perfect chemistry, you two," David called out. "Let's keep that energy for the actual take."

I busied myself checking the cables attached to my harness, forcing my face into a mask of professional detachment. A small group of crew members passed by, nodding respectfully in my direction. At least here, in this small corner of the industry, I had earned a reputation for skill and reliability. It wasn't much, but it was mine.

"We're ready to roll in five!" David announced, his voice carrying the edge of impatience that had become his trademark on this production. "Isabella, are you set?"

"Almost," I called back, frowning as I noticed a slight irregularity in one of the harness clips. The metal connector seemed looser than it should be. "Frank, can you check this connector? It feels—"

"We don't have time for another equipment check," David interrupted, consulting his watch. "We're already behind schedule. The safety team cleared everything this morning."

Frank approached, his expression concerned. "Let me just take a quick look—"

"Now, people!" David clapped his hands sharply. "Positions! We're losing the light."

Frank gave me an apologetic look. "Just make it a clean jump, Isabella. I'll be watching the whole way."

I nodded, swallowing my unease as I took my position. The cameras rolled, and I heard my cue. Taking a deep breath, I launched myself from the edge, feeling the momentary exhilaration of flight.

Then came the snap.

Mid-air, I felt the connector give way, the sudden slack in the cable sending me plummeting at the wrong angle. Time seemed to slow as I realized what was happening. I twisted desperately, trying to correct my fall, but it was too late.

The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. Pain exploded through my leg as I hit the padded landing zone, a sickening crack reaching my ears before the agony registered. My scream tore through the set, halting all activity.

"Cut! Medical team, now!" Frank's voice boomed.

Through the haze of pain, I saw the crew rushing toward me. Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement—Scarlett, her hand pressed dramatically to her mouth, sinking to her knees in apparent distress.

And Gabriel, my husband, running across the set—past me—to kneel beside her, cradling her trembling form against his chest as medics lifted me onto a gurney.

"It's okay, Scarlett," he murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear. "She'll be fine. Don't upset yourself."

As they carried me away, our eyes met for the briefest moment across the chaos of the set. In that instant, through the fog of my pain, I saw something in Gabriel's gaze that finally shattered the last of my illusions.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there for me at all.