Chapter 3 – Signed in Red

The soft glow of morning filtered through the window as Isolde sat at her desk in her East Village flat, the duplicate necklace laid beside her laptop. Blood drummed in her ears. Exactly the same, down to the bail. And that note… “From someone who keeps your sister’s promise.” She didn’t know what that meant but she knew this wasn’t a gift. It was a message.

The folder “Vivienne Wrenleigh” lay open: grainy photos, transcripts of emergency calls, a fragment of a boarding pass. Penelope had sent the video footage from a hidden camera in Archive Room C. Someone else was at work inside Velvet. Her sister after her. Maybe alive. Maybe not.

She picked up the duplicate necklace, comparing it to the one around her neck. Two. Another sign.

Velvet – That Evening

The club glowed in candlelit opulence. Velvet drapes, black marble floors, and jazz that pulsed against the air like a tangible charge. Isolde entered through side doors, escorted by two silent masked attendants. This time, she had an assignation: Penelope was waiting.

She spotted her in a dim corner near the wine bar. Penelope’s posture radiated tension. She tapped her wristwatch.

“It’s happening tonight,” Penelope said under her breath. “The document drop.”

Isolde halted. “Document drop?”

Penelope nodded. “List of files. Dorian’s ledger. Names. Transactions. And something about a ‘Red Promise’. The note referenced it.” She cast a sweeping glance. “He’ll expect it here but not from you or me.”

Isolde drew a slow breath. “We need Dorian.”

Penelope paused. “He’s…suspicious.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes. “So are we.”

They merged toward the entrance of a private parlor. Velvet passed them like a tide watchful eyes, silent bodies. Velvet tolerated control; tonight, it would demand it.

Behind the door, Dorian waited. Tall, dark figure framed by red velvet. His eyes flicked to Isolde. Condensation bloomed at the edges of his collar. He moved aside.

Isolde stood, heart hammering. “You know about the drop?”

Dorian clasped his hands. “I intercepted an encrypted message. The ledger. Tonight.” He regarded her closely. “You’re safe?”

“Yes.” Her voice steadied. “But who’s orchestrating it?”

He glanced away. “Someone close.”

Penelope slid in. Dorian’s jaw clenched. “Penelope.”

She nodded at Isolde. “We have a plan.”

In the Private Parlor

The room was darker than usual: no decanter tonight, only a low bronze table with a linen folder. Tension hung like incense.

Dorian closed the door. “Let’s hear it.”

Penelope opened the folder, pulling out a list. “Red Promise is a ledger likely Velvet’s illicit side-book. Names on vertical columns: politicians, royals, corporate heads.” She tapped lightly. “One marked in red. High value.”

Isolde stared. “Who?”

Penelope flicked her gaze at Dorian. He shook his head. “Not until later.”

Isolde flushed. “You’re being secretive again.”

He inclined his head. “You said you didn’t trust me. I’m reminding you.”

She exhaled. “Fair.”

Penelope added, “The person delivering it? They’re not a stranger. Someone working with rare access. It could be…” She trailed off.

Isolde leaned forward. Heart pounding. “Vivienne.”

Flashback – London, 2015

The smell of damp pavement and old theater seats. Teenage Isolde and teenager Vivienne waited outside stage doors, tickets and excitement bubbling. A matinee performance ended. Vivienne dashed to Isolde, breathless. “I saw him in the lobby,” she whispered. “Tall. Dark. He stared.”

Isolde chalked it up to teenage drama. But years later, reconciling that moment…she wondered. The tall stranger… Dorian? Velvet’s watcher?

Dorian’s posture stiffened. “Vivienne would be dead if she involved herself.”

Isolde bristled. “Unless she’s part of this.”

Dorian exhaled. “Then she’s smarter than I gave her credit.”

Penelope lifted a slim envelope. “This contains instructions: where to go, what to look for. But no name.”

He stood up. “Isolde, I’m taking tonight. You stay close but safe. Penelope, you assist.”

Penelope nodded. “I’ll move first.”

Isolde’s breath hitched. “You don’t trust me.”

He closed the gap between them. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Yet.”

Downstairs, Velvet hummed. A rich crowd glided. Pianists played. But Corridor C waited, masked patrons passing without pause. Velvet security passed like steady rhythms.

Penelope led. She spotted a man in midnight suit near a side door. She paused by a discreet plaque: Archive Room C. Wordlessly, she slipped through.

Dorian, tailing Isolde, watched every move.

Inside, Penelope slipped the envelope beneath a file-folder stack. Time stamped: 11:13 PM.

She turned but froze: footsteps echoed in the corridor. Someone waited mask glimmering underneath a dark hood.

A breath passed…and the figure stepped back.

Isolde waited alone, heart thumping against the past’s memory. Dorian watched her sympathetically. His suit smelled of wind and danger. She resisted leaning into him.

He whispered: “I fear for you.”

She stiffened, swallowing. “Then keep your guard closer.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Tomorrow. Early.”

She closed her eyes. Felt a whispered brush of silk.

They found the envelope again at midnight, placed in Dorian’s surveillance locker signed in red. The note inside read:

“I have Vivienne. I want a scene with Isolde before I release her.”

Blood froze in their veins.

Silence washed over the private parlor. Paper trembled in Dorian’s hand, red ink soaking into the silence louder than any bomb blast. Isolde’s breath caught her worst fears crystallizing in one sickening sentence.

Dorian’s voice was a low rumble. “They have her.”

Isolde staggered as though he’d struck her. “Vivienne?” Her fingers went slack. “But how?”

Dorian stared at the note as if searching for hidden venom. His jaw clenched. “We don’t have time for puzzles.”

He moved toward Isolde, who remained rooted to the spot. Touch felt like both warmth and trap. Gently, he placed his gloved hand on hers. “You’re not going in blind. Tomorrow, you and I together.”

Her gaze locked on his. “No. Penelope goes.”

Dorian shook his head. “No.” Emotion flashed, then vanished. “We act as a unit my people on the outside. I can’t lose either of you.”

Isolde’s posture trembled under the weight of his conviction. “You don’t trust me,” she whispered.

He softened, tilting his head. “I trust you to hurt me. I can’t trust them not to kill her.”

They leaned closer over the table. A slate of low lights illuminated folders and notes between them.

Penelope closed her eyes. She let out a slow breath: “The note’s line about ‘a scene’…that sounds theatrical.”

Isolde’s heart galloped. “Vivienne was studying stagecraft.”

Penelope nodded. “Missed it kingdom play. She was obsessed, part of that London circuit. If they’re demanding a scene bluff, performance it’s twisted. A game.”

Dorian opened another folder grainy camera stills of a woman onstage: Vivienne, crown and gown, silk dress clinging in movement. “This is…her, yes?”

Isolde swallowed hard. “Before she disappeared. One year ago.”

Penelope placed her tablet on the table. Camera schematics, a timestamped floor plan of Velvet’s stage area. “Only place call ‘scene’ comes up.”

Isolde’s gaze dropped to the tablet. “So they have her backstage. In the hidden catwalk.”

Dorian’s eyes hardened. “Tomorrow night, we go.”

Later that night, Velvet’s main floor thrummed with music the pulse of danger barely contained behind laughter and steel-edged smiles. Isolde stood with Dorian and Penelope near the bar, masks in place, silent participants in the grand dance of power and privilege.

No one knew what lay beneath. No one except them. And whoever held Vivienne.

Isolde’s voice was low. “Any signal?”

Penelope scanned the crowd. “Our contact should appear…when the lights dim.”

“Tonight’s scene,” Dorian whispered.

Isolde’s heart stuttered at the double meaning.

Music slowed, hush fell. Velvet’s stage lights blinked down. A host stepped forward to greet the masked members. The hush remained with velvet curtains sewn to hold secrets.

Behind the curtain, footfalls. Dorian slipped from Isolde’s side. Penelope followed. Masks concealed them predators born of necessity.

Isolde watched Dorian’s shoulder disappear behind the red drapes. She swallowed. She had no exit plan if something went wrong.

One beat passed.

Two.

Down the dark corridor behind the stage, lights dimmed completely. Velvet’s heart throbbing in silence.

Vivienne’s BACK appeared in the glow of a single spotlight as she stood on the raised stage, dress flowing a prisoner turned performer.

Isolde gasped when she recognized the silhouette.

Vivienne turned. Eyes wider than any stage performance.

And whispered:

“Isolde…”

Then someone offstage struck the light switch and the world went black in Velvet’s deepest chamber.