CHAPTER 1
CASSANDRA
The moment the silk slips over my eyes, I know I’m fucked.
There are a thousand ways to wreck your life. Getting blindfolded in a ruthless billionaire’s penthouse happens to be mine.
Cuffs bite into my wrists, firm and unyielding, forcing my body into stillness.
The air thickens, heavy with authority and heat.
Every instinct I have screams for control.
The darkness behind the blindfold sharpens everything. The faint creak of expensive leather beneath me. The distant hum of the city forty floors below. The unmistakable slide of power in the air, slow and deliberate.
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m convinced it’s echoing off the marble floors.
Pretty sure he can hear it, wherever he’s lurking in this palace built for gods and devils.
Why the hell am I even here?
Not because submission comes naturally to me. Certainly not because I've got a closet full of leather bondage and whips. I don’t.
I’m a type-A control freak. Own sensible, beige bras. And my sex résumé is humiliatingly vanilla.
I’m here because the alternative is far worse.
Clara’s heart is running out of time. And I’ll be damned if I let the world steal my sister from me.
The room hums with quiet power. Faint music I can't quite place, the soft click of a fireplace somewhere to my left.
The normalcy of it all makes my skin prickle. Like tying women to chairs is just another Thursday for him.
I breathe in leather, smoke, and expensive cologne—the scent of a man who’s never been denied.
I swallow hard and force my shoulders back.
Get it together, Cassandra.
You signed up for this gamble.
To be fair, this was never part of the plan.
Three months ago, I walked into The Velvet Ledger with a forged resume and Clara's medical bills burning a hole in my purse. On the surface, the company appears to be an executive placement agency. Technically true. Underneath, it's an escort service for the obscenely wealthy, and everyone who signs their NDA knows it.
When I signed the documents, I let them believe I was a professional submissive.
A woman trained to kneel, to obey, to perform the role without flinching.
A lie that got me through the door.
And maybe, just maybe, into hell.
"You'll wait here," Damien's assistant had said, all pleasant professionalism.
She was tall and thin, the kind of slender that looked effortless. All long lines and calm confidence.
I’d grown to love my curves. The softness. The way I filled space.
