Too fucking bad, Mother!

Eden 

The cab rolled to a stop at the end of the gated driveway, and I stared up at the monstrosity in front of me, all marble, glass, and cold, modern grandeur. Home sweet home. 

Before I could even step out fully, my mother, Lillian, pulled me into a suffocating hug. Her perfume, something heavy and floral, clung to my skin. "Welcome home, baby," she cooed, her manicured fingers brushing my hair back like I was still a kid. 

The mansion screamed money. High ceilings, floors so polished I could see my reflection, and abstract art that probably cost more than my entire college fund. I dropped my bag onto the white leather sofa, already feeling out of place.

"So," I said, glancing around, "where's your new husband?"

She adjusted a vase that was already perfectly centered on the table. "Daniel’s at work, darling. But he’s very excited to meet you." The way she lingered on "very" made my skin prickle.

She gestured for me to follow. "Come, let me show you around." 

We moved through the mansion. The kitchen was vast enough for a restaurant staff, with a dining room set for twenty and a sunroom drowning in orchids. She introduced me to the cook, an older woman with a no-nonsense grip; the gardener, who barely looked up from his shears; and the two drivers idling near the garage.

"Daniel decided to drive himself today," Lillian said with a flick of her wrist.

As we turned down a hallway lined with minimalist portraits, one frame caught my eye, a younger man, dark-haired, with eyes as sharp as a blade. He looked older than me and also looked like a playboy.

"Who’s this?" I asked.

Mom barely glanced at it. "Daniel’s son. He’s hardly home, always working." Her tone was dismissive, her fingers already tugging me toward the grand staircase.

My room was at the end of the west wing, all silk sheets and a balcony overlooking the pool. "Settle in," she said, though my bag was still downstairs.

Once alone, I stripped off the day’s travel clothes and stepped into the shower, letting hot water sluice over my skin. I took my time, working scented oil into my curves, shaving where it mattered. When I stepped out, steam curling around me, I caught my reflection in the fogged mirror, flushed, damp, and ready for something reckless.

I dressed carefully, in a tight black dress that clung to every dip and swell and heels that made my legs look endless. Then the final touch, a thin leather choker, with the words "Yes Daddy" stamped in silver across the front. A smirk tugged at my lips as I fastened it.

I walked out of my room and headed downstairs; before I could even see her, my mom spoke.

"Oh, I thought you might have dozed off; dinner is ready." 

I smiled at her; my mom and I aren't close, but she tries her best to make me happy. After my father ran away when she was pregnant, she has been trying, even though most of my life I've been with different foster parents. We have been in touch; I've always known she was my mom, and she would send me money when she got a chance. 

Then last month she told me she got married to this rich man who is so excited to meet me and wants us to stay as a family. I am happy for her. At least I am no longer with any foster parents; I've been staying on my own for some time now. And besides, I'm done with college and ready to look for new job instead of restaurants jobs.

Dinner was obscenely good, seared scallops, truffle risotto, and wine that cost more than my last paycheck. Lillian watched me eat with a satisfied smile, her fingers drumming against her glass. "Hungry, darling?"

"Starving," I murmured, sucking butter from my thumb. 

We ate in silence, well, she has been married to her husband, whom I haven't met for 4 months now. I finished my meal and I knew I couldn't be in this house, I need to go out.

"I'm gonna get some air." 

Lillian didn't argue, just tossed me the keys to her BMW like it was nothing. "Don’t stay out too late. make friends!" I smiled and left.

I drove with the windows down, the city lights fading behind me as I followed the whispered rumors of The Velvet Room, a club where the elite didn’t just play; they hunted. The line outside stretched down the block, all hopeful faces and desperate smiles. I didn’t wait. A flick of my gaze at the bouncer, a slow roll of my hips as I walked past the rope, and just like that, I was in.

The bass throbbed through me, deep enough to feel it in my ribs. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and darker things, the kind of sin that came with power. Men in tailored suits watched from the shadows. Time to see just how much trouble I could find.

The club pulsed around me, bodies moving in a rhythm that felt more like a challenge than an invitation. I slid onto a stool at the bar, ordered something strong, and let my eyes wander.

A hand settled on the small of my back, warm and possessive. "You don’t look like you belong here."

I turned, meeting the gaze of a man whose suit probably cost more than my car. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that promised things I wasn’t sure I wanted. Yet.

"Funny," I said, sipping my drink, "I was just thinking the same about you."

His thumb stroked my spine, slowly. "Is that so?"

The music faded into a low hum as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Let me show you what happens to girls who wander into places like this."

I shivered, but not from fear.

Lillian’s warning echoed in my head. "Don’t stay out too late."

Too fucking bad, Mother!