"Kristina."
The sound of her name pulled her sharply out of a daze.
She flinched, stabbing at her half-eaten food without looking up. Her thoughts had drifted again, this time deeper, into places she hadn't meant to visit, memories she hadn't meant to summon. Places he had taken her and never quite returned all of her from.
"Yeah?" she said quickly, masking the jolt with a practiced smile.
Across the table, Emily raised an eyebrow. "That's the third time I've said your name. You okay?"
Kristina laughed lightly, forcing her attention back to the cafeteria and the smell of stale fries. "Yeah. Just tired."
Emily didn't buy it. "You're acting weird."
Kristina poked at her food, pretending interest. What could she possibly say? That every time someone said her name, her pulse spiked because she thought it might be him? That her skin no longer felt like hers unless it was under his hands? That reality felt like a thin sheet stretched over something hotter, darker, more real?
She was splitting down the middle, and the mask was slipping.
Emily nudged her tray. "Big plans tonight?"
Kristina blinked. "What?"
"You're glowing."
Kristina felt heat creep up her neck. Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it with too much urgency and tried to cover it with a laugh.
Unknown Number:You have until 8. Wear the black one. A car will arrive.
Her stomach flipped.
"Work thing," she mumbled, sliding the phone out of sight.
The car arrived precisely on time.
Matte black. Silent. Windows tinted so deeply they reflected the city instead of revealing anything inside. The driver stepped out, said nothing, and opened the rear door with surgical precision.
She wore the black dress. She wore the necklace. And underneath it all, she wore a tension like a second skin.
The ride was smooth, but her thoughts churned.
They weren't heading to his place.
The building they pulled up to looked like something forgotten by time, ivy devouring its face, wrought-iron gate creaking open with theatrical resistance. It wasn't a home. It was a statement.
An older woman stood waiting in the doorway. Her gray hair was tied in a severe twist, and her expression carried the weight of someone who'd seen many girls like Kristina before, and wasn't impressed or surprised.
"Come in."
Kristina stepped across the threshold.
The air smelled of jasmine laced with something bitter, ash, maybe, or old secrets. The kind of scent that lingered on skin long after you left.
The woman didn't give her name. She simply gestured to a heavy set of doors. "He's waiting."
Kristina's heels clicked on the marble as she walked. The doors opened before she touched them.
James stood framed by firelight.
He wasn't dressed like he wanted to impress. He was dressed like he expected reverence, shirt undone just enough to hint, pants cut to move, posture loose in a way that said he owned the space and everyone in it.
Kristina stopped breathing for a beat.
"You came," he said, voice low.
She nodded.
"Good. You're going to meet some people tonight. When I nod, smile. When I look at you, stay silent. Don't flinch."
She swallowed.
"Can you do that?"
Another nod.
James stepped close. Brushed her hair behind her ear with a touch that contradicted everything his voice demanded. Then he kissed her, once, sharp and full of intent.
"You're mine tonight," he whispered.
A flicker passed through her, fear and something far less noble.
"I thought I always was," she murmured, before she could stop herself.
He smiled, slow and knowing. "You're learning."
Then he took her hand and led her into the lion's den.
Music pulsed behind gilded doors. Voices murmured like spells. And Kristina followed, unsure if her feet moved from habit, hunger, or need.
But she followed.
Heart first.
They called it The Velvet Room.
Not because it was luxurious, though it was. Not because it was silent, though its walls swallowed sound like a confession booth. It was because the atmosphere itself seemed to press against the skin, velvet-lined and heavy, seductive and suffocating all at once.
Kristina's senses blurred at first. The lighting was low, filtered through crystal sconces and flickering candles. Smoke curled from clove cigars and incense braziers tucked into the walls. Shadow clung to the corners, but it wasn't ominous, it was watchful.
People turned to look at her.
No, not her. At James.
And because she was with him, they looked again.
He was already nodding to someone across the room. Kristina followed the gesture and found a pair of men seated in tall-backed chairs. One held a glass of wine like it was an artifact. The other had a woman kneeling at his side, silent, leash coiled loosely in his fist.
Her breath caught.
James led her with a light tug of her hand, but it didn't feel optional. They moved through the room like he was parting water, no one blocked him, no one interrupted.
He offered no introductions, just a sharp tilt of his head that made her step forward, stand behind him.
"She's new," one of the men said, examining her.
James didn't respond.
Kristina kept her eyes slightly lowered. She could feel their gaze brush over her legs, her neck, the shape of her hips beneath the dress.
"Has she been broken in?"
The words landed like a slap, but she didn't flinch.
"She's mine," James said evenly. "That's all that matters."
A low chuckle. Approval? Mockery? It didn't matter.
James turned just enough to glance at her. She smiled, small, obedient.
He took her to a corner booth after that, raised slightly above the rest of the room. From there, you could see everything. Everyone.
He poured her a drink. Didn't ask if she wanted it.
She drank anyway.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her voice soft.
He didn't look at her right away. His attention was on the floor below, on the slow, deliberate movements of people not pretending to be anything but what they were.
"Because you need to see."
"See what?"
His eyes finally met hers.
"Where this road ends."
Kristina turned those words over in her mind like a shard of glass, catching glints of warning, reflection, and something sharp enough to draw blood. The Velvet Room unfolded around her, the dim lights seeming to dim further, pressing secrets into every breath she took.
James said nothing for a while. He simply let her watch.
A girl, young, maybe younger than Kristina, was led into the center of the room. Her hands were bound delicately with silk, her body clothed in translucent fabric that hid nothing. The room fell quiet as a man approached her and knelt, brushing his mouth against her stomach like prayer.
No one laughed. No one jeered.
The energy in the room shifted, no longer theatrical but reverent. And that made it worse.
Kristina gripped the edge of the table. Her heart beat too loudly.
James placed a hand on hers. His fingers were firm, anchoring. "Breathe."
She did.
Another woman, bare but for thin gold chains, moved to the corner near the fireplace. She was crying, but with joy or shame, Kristina couldn't tell. A man followed, lifted her hair, kissed the nape of her neck, and whispered something only she could hear. She nodded.
It wasn't chaos.
It was worship.
James leaned closer. "You don't have to understand it yet. But you need to feel it."
Kristina didn't look at him. "What if I don't want to?"
His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, and it sent a ripple through her blood.
"Then we stop," he said simply.
She turned to him then. Really turned.
And saw, for the first time, that his dominance wasn't a leash.
It was an invitation.
Her pulse steadied. "What happens next?"
James smiled, not the predator, not the handler. Something softer. A flicker of the man beneath.
"You come downstairs with me," he said.
"And if I say no?"
His hand never left hers. "Then we go home. I feed you. You sleep in my bed. And tomorrow, we try again."
The room shimmered in her periphery, rituals playing out like ancient dances, but in that moment, they faded.
It was only him.
Only her.
Kristina nodded.
"I'm not ready for all of it," she said.
"I know."
He kissed her forehead. Not a claim. A promise.
"Then we'll begin with a single step."