Every wall was covered in rows of metal hooks and neatly arranged implements—floggers, ropes, cuffs, crops. The stark black walls gleamed under the low overhead lights, creating a mix of threat and seduction.No windows. No clocks. But cool air hummed from an overhead vent. Mia examined it quickly, testing for any weakness, her fingers working the edges—but no luck. Solid, reinforced. Another dead end.Think, Mia. Think.She barely had time to react before the door burst open.She jumped, spinning to face it, heartbeat racing—but forced herself to relax. She smoothed her dress, straightened her posture. If Axel wanted a show of weakness, he wasn’t getting it now.He entered, fresh clothes, the faint scent of whiskey clinging to him, rolling off his broad shoulders and sharp suit like static electricity.“On your knees, doll,” he said, his voice lower, darker. “I’ve had a long day, and I could use a little relief.”His hand toyed with his belt buckle as he stepped toward her, arrogance
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