004: Commandment One – Never Deny Your Deepest Desires

Lydia stared at herself in the mirror.

The bracelet was still there.

No key, no clasp, no logical way to remove it—not without tools or force. It felt more like a mark than jewelry. A reminder. A warning. A dare.

The Latin phrase haunted her now. Aut disce aut discede.

Learn or leave.

She didn’t know which she was doing.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Damian: Wear something that makes you feel powerful. Tonight, the first commandment begins. Car picks you up at 8. Don’t be late.

There was no “would you like to join me” or “are you ready?”

Just a directive. Inevitable. Like gravity.

And God help her—she responded with one word.

Lydia: Okay.

—

The car arrived precisely at eight. Sleek, black, window-tinted. The driver didn’t speak—just opened the door with a nod.

As she stepped inside, her heart pounded a fierce rhythm.

Her dress was deep crimson, backless, thigh-slit to the hip. A rebellion stitched into silk. She didn’t wear it for him. She wore it for her. For the mirror. For the girl who used to feel like power was something other people owned.

She didn’t know where they were going. The city blurred past. Lights smeared like desire too long denied.

When the car stopped, she wasn’t at the same mansion as before.

This was something else.

A rooftop.

A private glass pavilion surrounded by fire pits and shadows. Music drifted through the air like incense—low, sensual, haunting.

Damian stood inside, watching her.

His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, posture easy… but his eyes held something darker. More feral.

“You came,” he said softly.

“You summoned.”

“And you obeyed.”

“Don’t push me, Damian.”

His lips curled. “What if I want to?”

She stepped closer, spine straight. “Then push me all the way. Stop playing.”

His gaze changed—just slightly. A glint of something unguarded. She hadn’t just intrigued him. She’d challenged him.

“Good,” he said. “Because this isn’t a game you can win by hesitating.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded card.

Black. Sealed with wax.

When he opened it, she saw one sentence printed in silver script:

Commandment One: Never deny your deepest desires.

She swallowed.

“And if I don’t know what they are?”

He moved behind her, voice a breath against her neck.

“You do. You’re just afraid of admitting them.”

His fingers slid down the curve of her spine. She gasped—but didn’t move away.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She hesitated.

“Trust me.”

That was the catch, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t the commandment that frightened her. It was how easily she wanted to obey.

She closed her eyes.

He whispered—hot and steady against her ear—“Tell me one thing you’ve fantasized about… but never dared to ask for.”

She bit her lip. “Why?”

“Because tonight, we stop pretending you’re a good girl who doesn’t want dark things.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, “Being touched without seeing who’s doing it.”

A pause.

She could hear the smile in his breath.

“Good girl.”

There was movement. The air shifted.

And suddenly, a silk blindfold slipped over her eyes.

Her heart kicked.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you asked for.”

She felt him circle her slowly. His hand grazed her shoulder, then was gone. Another hand—different—touched her waist.

Her breath caught. “Is someone else here?”

“Yes,” Damian said behind her. “But I’m watching.”

Fingers trailed down her arm. Then across her ribs. The touch was gentle. Teasing. Every nerve she had sparked to life.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

She should’ve said yes. Should’ve backed away. Ripped the blindfold off and walked out.

Instead, she whispered, “No.”

The touches continued. Hands ghosted over her hips, down the slit of her dress. Another set of fingers skimmed her neck. Nothing overt. Just sensation. Surrender.

Her knees nearly gave out.

She moaned—quiet, involuntary.

Then, suddenly, the hands stopped.

She tore off the blindfold.

Damian stood inches from her. Alone.

Her body was trembling.

“Who was it?” she whispered.

His answer came with a razor-soft smile.

“A mirror.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You just touched yourself.”

Her breath vanished.

He moved closer. “Desire begins in the mind, Lydia. Tonight wasn’t about proving how far you’ll go—it was about proving you’re already there.”

His fingers slipped beneath the bracelet on her wrist.

“You didn’t deny your desire. You obeyed.”

She stared at him—heart pounding, skin on fire, soul halfway between shame and euphoria.

Then her phone buzzed again.

A photo.

Grainy. Distant.

Her—standing in the glass pavilion. Blindfolded. Arms open. Mouth parted.

Captioned: “I wonder what else you’ll do when told.”

Her blood ran cold.

She looked up at Damian.

He was already reading it over her shoulder. Jaw tight.

“Someone was watching?” she breathed.

He said nothing.

Just reached out… and pressed his thumb to the photo until the screen cracked.

She broke the first rule—and someone was watching. But was it an outsider? Or someone Damian let in? And if trust is already breaking, what happens when the next commandment tests her even harder?

Lydia’s fingers curled around her phone as if she could crush the truth inside it. The crack across the screen shimmered like a fresh wound. Her image—captured in that moment of blind vulnerability—seared into her brain.

“Tell me this wasn’t part of it,” she said, voice low.

Damian’s jaw worked, but he didn’t answer right away. That silence hit harder than anything else.

“Damian.” She stepped back. “Tell me that wasn’t you testing me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I’d risk you like that?”

“I don’t know what you’d do. That’s the problem.”

He closed the distance between them in one stride. “You think you’re the only one risking anything here?” His voice dropped. “You think this bracelet is just decoration? You have no idea what it means to wear it.”

She lifted her chin. “Then explain it.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Instead, he reached out and pressed a hand to her bare back, just between her shoulder blades—warm, possessive, trembling slightly.

“I didn’t take that photo,” he said, softer now. “But I’ll find out who did. I swear.”

“Someone knew where we’d be. Someone watched me,” Lydia said, breath hitching. “That moment was supposed to be mine.”

His fingers curled against her spine.

“It still is.”

She shoved his hand off. “Stop saying the right thing like it makes everything okay.”

He didn’t fight it. Just stood there, gaze dark and unreadable. The fire pits around them flickered wildly in the wind, casting flickering shadows on his face—half light, half danger.

“You felt it too,” he said finally. “When you closed your eyes. When you stopped pretending you weren’t hungry for it. That wasn’t performance. That was you.”

Lydia hated that her pulse still quickened when he said things like that. Hated how close he always got to the truth inside her—truth she buried, masked, lied about even to herself.

“Desire,” he murmured, “is only dangerous when you deny it. That’s the point of the first commandment. You passed.”

“I feel like I failed.”

“Because you’re still trying to stay clean.” He took another step closer, and this time she didn’t move. “But I see what’s under the surface, Lydia. The part of you that wants to break.”

She felt herself leaning in despite everything. Because yes—he scared her. But he also saw her. And that was so much worse.

“Someone sent that photo for a reason,” she said, throat tight. “This isn’t just about you and me anymore.”

“No,” he said. “It never was.”

Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim black envelope. “Come to my place tomorrow. Midnight. You’ll need this.”

“What is it?”

“The next step.”

She stared at the envelope.

He slipped it into her hand and turned to leave. But before he vanished into the shadows, he paused.

Then said, without turning back:

“Next time… you won’t be blindfolded.”

—

Later that night

She sat on her bed with the cracked phone beside her. The image was still there. She hadn’t deleted it.

Her fingers hovered over the envelope.

She opened it.

Inside: A red card. No words. Just a single number embossed in silver.

2.

And something else tucked behind it—a photograph.

Not of her. But of Damian.

Younger. Bloody. On his knees in front of a man with a scar carved across his face.

The back of the photo had a message scrawled in sharp handwriting:

“You think you’re his first?”

Lydia’s chest seized.

She looked back at the red card.

Commandment Two was coming. And now, the danger was real.