CHAPTER 2

The corridor behind the black door was quiet. My boots sank into thick carpet as I followed Sloan deeper into the building. Lights, even muted, glowed amber and gold, casting illumination on art hung in gilded frames, women with slightly parted lips, men cloaked in smoke and power. Power, decadence, secrecy—everything in here exhaled it.

We stopped before an unmarked door of polished mahogany. He unlocked it with a brass key.

"This way," he said, not looking at me.

I hesitated briefly, then went in.

The suite was a sanctum more. Black velvet drapes that seemed to be charcoal, a chandelier of crystal that was twisted and hung low over an obsidian table. All of which glowed in muted opulence. This was not wealth for display—it was for intimidation.

A bed. Imperial, large, the headboard inlaid with dark mirrored glass. There was something in the way that said this was not for sleeping.

"This wing is yours," Sloan said. "You'll remain here unless I summon you."

I turned around to him. "You told me I'd be paid. Protected. Can I atleast go get my things?"

“Don't worry about that, you'll get new clothes by morning.”

I was taken aback by what he said. Standing tied to the spot with my tongue tied, I watched as he moved to a cabinet and opened it, pulling out a black folder. There were several pages of heavy ivory paper inside. He handed it to me. "These are the terms. Read them. Sign the bottom."

I scanned them quickly. My name already typed in neat, ominous print. Seven nights. One week. No departure without leave. Confidentiality absolute. Physical and mental tests of "devotion." If I broke any condition, I jeopardised payment and safety.

"'Obedience'?" I asked, an eyebrow up. "'Discipline rituals'?"

Sloan's mouth smiled, but it wasn't amusement. It was caution. "We take our Order seriously, Ivy. This is not a game."

"It seems like one."

He leaned in closer, his body heat permeating the space between us. "Then I would suggest you learn the rules before you lose."

I nodded. Not because I wasn't scared, but because whatever Willa had gotten herself into, this place felt like it could be the map. And if Sloan was my only lead, then I would play this deadly game until it led me to her.

Sloan took the signed contract, pushed it into a leather folder, and nodded once. 

"You start." 

He took me to a different room. It was dark, with the muted rustle of silk and whispers. There was a low, circular dais in the middle, and four masked figures stood around it silently. Two men. Two women. The masks were porcelain-white with no eye holes. Featureless.

Sloan stood beside me. "The discipline ritual is a cornerstone of our Order," he recited, as if he were reciting a catechism. "It's how we learn to surrender. How we practice control." 

"I didn't sign on to get punished," I said, my eyes tightening.

"No?" he whispered. "But you went where you had no business going.".

The shapes moved in unison. A woman knelt at the platform's edge, baring her neck. A man behind her drew a silk rope down her spine, slowly enough that it was almost a blessing. Then he pulled it tight—not to injure, but to bind. The woman gasped but did not move.

I gazed, throat-dry, as a kind of dance unfolded. A whip was never raised but it was displayed. Trust was the currency here. Pain was promised, never inflicted.

The masked figures performed their ritual like a prayer. And when it ended, the woman who'd kneeled stood and kissed the hand of the one who'd bound her.

My stomach twisted.

Sloan turned to me. "Your thoughts"

I hesitated. "I think… it's not what I was expecting." 

"And what were you expecting?" he asked, curious.

"Chains. Bruises. Screaming. Well at least that's what it looked like." 

He laughed, once. "We're not barbarians, Ivy. We are designers of desire. We don't take, we invite." 

"Still sounds like control." 

He leaned in closer. "Control, when chosen, is a gift. Submission, when earned, is an authority more deep than domination."

My heart skipped a beat. I did not wish to admit how deeply his words spoke to something in me. Something disturbed. Nameless.

And possibly… vaguely interested.

He led me back to my room and shut the door behind us. I stood at the velvet curtains, half-lit by chandelier light. He crossed the space between us until his chest nearly touched mine.

"Lesson one," he breathed. "Obedience."

Is this where I get tested?" I asked, my voice sharper than I was.

His fingers brushed a lock of hair from my jaw. The slightest touch. It burned.

"I test many things. But not without consent."

"I didn't say no."

His mouth twisted. "Good."

And then his hand wrapped around my throat—not tightly, just enough to catch my breath. He tilted my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

"Close your eyes."

I did.

"Breathe in."

I inhaled, shaking.

"Tell me what you're feeling now."

My skin. A thrill… His heat. His hand, masterful, but not cruel. I was a prey but I wasn't weak.

"Alive," I gasped.

He dropped his hand and moved back.

"That's enough."

My eyes flew open. "You're stopping?"

"I just said that," he rasped, his voice a smoky whisper. "What did you expect Ivy? This is just control.."

"So this isn't seduction?" I said, even though I knew the answer. 

He tilted his head, as if studying a piece of art. "Everything around here is seduction, Ivy. The question is, of what?"

That being said, he turned away and  left me by myself.