All Chapters of Tangled In Velvet : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

A hush fell as Isolde Wrenleigh stepped from the sleek black Town Car onto the marble steps of Velvet. The night air brushed her cheeks, stirring her confidence and her nerves. Each note of bass and distant laughter pulsed through the walls. The doorman, tall and silent, nodded imperceptibly. His gesture said more than words ever could.This is it, she thought, smoothing the crimson silk of her dress, letting the gown’s perfect fit settle on her frame. A single step closer, and she would be walking into her sister’s last world.The door swung shut behind her. Warmth and atmosphere swallowed her whole: soft candlelight, velvet drapes cascading from ceiling to floor, mirrored alcoves lining the walls. Patrons mingled with private murmurs, champagne flutes held high everything was luxe and deliberate. Every breath she took muddled high-end cologne, sandalwood incense, and something darker promise or threat. It was intoxicating. Hard to tell which.A waiter appeared beside her, placing a

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 EveningThe 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 a

Rain-soaked concrete.The downpour in NYC beat against the black SUV’s windows, mimicking the pound of Isolde’s heart. Backseat, Vivienne sat cradled against Dorian, whimpering softly. Penelope kept an eye on the rain-streaked road ahead.“Please,” Isolde whispered, leaning forward. “Talk to me, Viv.” Her voice trembled. “Tell me what the promise was.”Vivienne’s hand pressed Isolde’s back. “I kept it.” Her voice was fragile, yet haunted. “But I…forgot the cost.”Isolde swallowed hard. “Viv, listen to me ”Vivienne slid down, covering her face. “They promised safety…in Velvet. They made me promise at the show. But I never knew how.”Isolde’s pulse tightened. “We get her home.”Dorian’s hand brushed her arm. “She’s safe now.”Penelope tightened her jaw. “But they’re not done.”East Village – Isolde’s FlatThey arrived to a checked-out calm: flickering candlelight, a half-melted lavender scent. Isolde scooped up her sister, cradling her on the sofa. Penelope followed closely, just behin

The camera lights buzzed faintly, halos glowing red above the velvet-cushioned walls. Isolde blinked against the sudden heat of exposure, feeling it not just on her skin—but beneath it. They were on stage now. Not just the literal stage of Velvet’s inner sanctum, but a symbolic one where every word, movement, breath would be interpreted, archived, sold or silenced.The Host stood just beyond the pedestal that had revealed the black box. His mask—a gleaming, full-face panel of obsidian—caught the red light, casting fractured reflections. He was faceless and yet impossibly present.Dorian’s hand tightened on Isolde’s waist, grounding her. But she could feel the coil of his tension beneath the calm. His voice, when it came, was a blade wrapped in silk.“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said to the Host.The Host’s voice floated, almost amused. “I enjoy symmetry. You brought her into Velvet. Now she stands at its heart. That’s poetry, Blackthorn.”Penelope hovered near the suite’s w

She didn’t blink as the camera light clicked on.Three red dots glowed on the mirrored wall before her recording her every breath, angle, micro-expression. They wanted fear. Softness. Obedience.She gave them stillness.And then she began to speak.“I know what you think this is.”Her voice was calm. Not defiant. Not trembling. Measured. Controlled. Like someone who had studied this room her whole life and was no longer willing to live inside its story.“You think this is a confession,” she said. “Or a breaking point. A stage for submission.”She looked directly into the lens.“It’s not.”Somewhere beyond the mirrored walls, Dorian sat before a bank of monitors in Velvet’s master control room, watching her like a man on the verge of combustion.Her bare shoulders. Her regal poise. Her voice, threading danger through silk.“Her vitals are steady,” Penelope muttered behind him, eyes darting across biometric readings. “Breath controlled. Pupils fixed.”“She’s performing,” Dorian said sof