Chapter 4: Clarissa 2.0

~Clarissa’s POV~

I stared at the ad on my screen like it had personally called out to the mess I had become.

“Need to feel again? Escape heartbreak. Find your pleasure. Join ECSTASY.”

The name practically pulsed on the screen. Seductive and Dangerous, like the kind of nightclub your mother warned you about.

Ecstasy. Even the name tasted like sin.

Think Tinder, but darker. Grittier. Less “looking for my soulmate” and more “ruin me in the backseat of your car while I forget my name.”dudes. This was raw. Unapologetic. A dark, spicy, grown ass version of a hookup app for people who didn’t want small talk, they wanted release.

Escape. Power. Pleasure.

The interface was sleek.....deep blacks and blood reds, like a velvet room laced in sin. The profiles were minimal. No cheesy pickup lines or golden retriever energy. Just anonymous snapshots, bare torsos, inked skin, moody lighting, and bios that didn’t beg for coffee dates.

I wasn’t here for love. Love betrayed me.

I was here to feel something different. Anything but heartache.

My thumb trembled, poised over the d******d button like I was about to detonate a bomb.

Don’t do it, the rational part of me whispered, holding on to the dying embers of my former self. The bride. The good girl. The woman who believed in forever.

But then I saw his face again.

Eric.

Laughing with my sister. Wearing that damn linen shirt.

No. Screw the good girl.

I tapped d******d.

The app opened with a flicker of red and black, slick and minimalistic. No bios about loving long walks on the beach or being a “dog dad.” Just photos. Blurred faces. Muscles. Skin. Tattoos. Whispers of danger and lust all wrapped into digital foreplay.

Pick your poison, baby.

The tagline winked at me as I scrolled. Some were too eager. Too cheesy. Too frat boy. Too old. Too young.

Nope. Nope. Nope. God, absolutely not.

Until him.

A single picture.

Shirtless. Cut like sin. A full sleeve of black and grey tattoos wrapped around his right arm like shadows come to life.His face was hidden in the dim lighting……just the edge of a strong jawline, lips curved into the hint of a smirk. Mystery clung to him like cologne. Expensive. Sinister. Irresistible.

His bio was short. Barely six words.

“No names. No games. Just pleasure.”

My thumb froze. My stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety and thrill.

What the hell was I doing?

I meant to back out. I really did.

But somehow…..my finger slipped.

MATCHED. You’ve connected.

Holy shit!

I froze, heart hammering. My instinct was to throw the phone across the room like it had betrayed me too. I wasn’t ready. This wasn’t me. I was the good girl. The planner. The fiancée. I was supposed to be sipping champagne in the Maldives, not matching with anonymous masked men on a sex app.

Before I could unmatch, a message popped up.

“I like bold women. Are you free tonight?”

My chest constricted. My palms turned clammy.

But then, something hardened inside me. That familiar pain in my chest, Eric and Mia on that yacht. My stolen honeymoon. The headline labels of jilted bride. The pity in strangers’ eyes. The weakness.

I wasn’t going to be that girl anymore.

“Yes!” I typed, my fingers surprisingly steady. “Where?” I asked.

He sent a location. Just an address. No name. No emoji. Nothing soft or flirty.

The place was a discreet, members only loft club downtown I’d heard of before.....“Velvet Room”. Rumors whispered about its indulgent privacy and underground pleasures. You only knew if you knew.

He followed up again.

“Midnight. Look for the door with the silver mask. Don’t knock. Just put it on and walk in.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve blocked him. Deleted the app. Gone back to crying into my wine stained hoodie. Every nerve in my body screamed red flag, danger, Dateline special. But the louder part the one craving to be wanted, craved, seen.....roared louder.

So I got up.

And I got ready.

**********************

I stood in front of Diane's full length mirror like a woman reclaiming herself. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw me.

Not the broken bride.

Not the pitied ex.

But Clarissa. The woman. The fire. The damn storm.

My dress was warpaint.

A deep wine red satin that hugged every curve like it had been stitched to wreck havoc. Slit up to the thigh, neckline plunging like it was daring gravity to hold it in place. My heels screamed “Temptress”, and my matching lingerie? The lacy black set I had secretly splurged on for my wedding night that never happened, tags still on, untouched, unworn.

Tonight, it would finally have a purpose.

Hair? Glossy waves cascading down my back.

Makeup? Smoky. Sultry. A little too dark, but that was the point.

I didn’t look like someone going on a date.

I looked like temptation itself.

Ready to be taken, claimed, possessed.

Giving myself a final once-over, I picked up my clutch and headed towards the door. Just as I unlocked the knob to leave, I almost collided into Diane, who just got back from a shift at work.

“Umm.....where are you going?” she questioned, as her eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and admiration, slowly evaluating my provocative look.

“Somewhere!” I responded, biting down my tongue from saying the truth. Uncertain of how well she could handle it if I told her directly.

“Well....does “SOMEWHERE” have a name?” Diane asked persistently, gesturing with her fingers mid air making quote signs. Her eyes searching my face for any answer, unwilling to let go.

Seeing how determined she was and still blocking the entrance, I let out a defeated sigh.

“Ugh, fine. I began and then paused, Well if you must know Diane.....I’m going out on a date, but not really a date.....more like a hookup”. I let out.

“With who?” Diane asked, sounding unconvinced by my alibi.

Hesitant, “A guy I matched with online” I mouthed the words, my voice barely a whisper.

“Huh? I didn't quite get that”. Diane said, looking befuddled.

“I said..... I'm meeting up with a guy I met online” I shouted, from the depths of my lungs. As an awkward silence lingered in the atmosphere between us.

Diane's jaw dropped, her eyes blinking more than they were supposed to. If I didn't know better I would have thought she was having a cardiac arrest, or maybe she was? I couldn't tell for sure.

“Clarissa, are you crazy?” she finally let out. “There’s absolutely no way, I'm letting you go”.

“Why not?” I questioned.

“W....why? Why? Are you seriously asking me that?” she exclaimed hysterically. “Clarissa you don't even know this man, for all we know he could be some weird psychopath or worse.....a serial killer”.

I knew Diane has always been protective of me, but this was on a whole new level and usually I would just give in to her demands, but this time was different. I had to take a stand.

“What if he's not?”, throwing back the question. But Diane wouldn't budge an inch.

Stepping closer, “Diane, I know your worried and your doing this because you love me, but please I really need this”. I muttered, gripping both her shoulders gently yet firm, my gaze fixated softly into her eyes.

Diane averts her gaze for a moment and then brings it back to me.

“Are you really sure, this is what you want?" she asked with. a defeated tone, and I nod.

“Okay fine, she concurs, offering a small smile. “But make sure your phones location is turned on at all times Rissa, and keep me updated every second”.

Yup, this was definitely my best friend, always playing the role of my mum.

“Yes mommy. I teased, Don't worry I'll be fine okay” I assure her, now pulling her into an embrace and pecked her blushed cheeks, before dashing out the door, into the hallway.

“Be safe!” Diane said for a final time, and I nod in compliance, just before I heard the door close behind me.

*************************

The address led me to a sleek building tucked away on a quiet downtown street. Upscale. Anonymous. Too quiet. Like the kind of place where rules didn’t exist, just desire and secrets.

I walked up the steps, heart hammering like a drum line, rain misting in the air, and then....

There it was.

A black silk venetian style mask, hanging from a silver hook on the door.

Next to it, a post-it note in clean handwriting:

“Put it on before you enter.”

My blood went cold.

Every instinct screamed, turn around. This was insane. People got killed this way. I had read the articles. Seen the documentaries. Beautiful women walking into trapdoors and never walking out.

But something inside me, something reckless, broken, and starved....pushed forward.

I picked up the mask.

Tied it behind my head with trembling fingers.

The world dimmed through the satin.

My hand reached for the doorknob, breath shallow, knees weak.

And just as I stepped inside, the door creaked shut behind me on its own.

Click.

Locked.

I stood frozen. Masked. Breath shallow. Skin alive and tingling.

The air in the room was thick with something unspoken, like the walls themselves were watching. A slow, hypnotic rhythm pulsed from hidden speakers, sensual and low like the whisper of breath against skin.

And then I saw him.

A figure in black.

Tall. Commanding. Still.

He leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed, wearing black slacks and a dress shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing the ink that crawled up his forearm like living smoke. His face was still shrouded in darkness……but I could feel his gaze on me.

Predatory. Intrigued. Burning.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, voice like melted bourbon smooth, deep, and just a little rough around the edges.

My knees weakened instinctively.