She sits on the bench. He kneels between her legs.
Performs for five excruciating minutes while the audience watches like it's a cooking demonstration.
When it's over, he helps her stand and they exit together.
The fourth presentation involves the furniture.
A man in his sixties positions his acquisition—a woman maybe thirty—on the cushioned platform.
Binds her hands above her head with silk rope.
He touches her. Makes her come while she's bound and exposed and helpless, while sixty people watch.
Eden's nails are digging into my hand.
I can feel her shaking.
"That's enough," I say. "We're leaving."
"No. It's almost our turn. We have to?—"
"We don't have to do anything. We're going. Now."
"Mr. Sutherland." Victor's voice. He's standing at the end of our row. "You're next. Please prepare your acquisition and proceed to the stage."
Everyone is looking at us now.
Waiting.
This is the moment.
I stand, pull Eden up with me and walk toward the stage.
I can feel every eye on us.
Feel the anticipation. The curiosity. The judgment.
We step onto the platform. The lights are bright. Hot. Blinding compared to the dimness of the audience.
I can barely see their faces.
Just shadows and silhouettes in seats.
Sixty people are waiting to watch me display Eden like property.
Waiting to see if I'm worthy of joining them.
I turn to face them. Eden beside me. Hand in mine.
"I was supposed to demonstrate my control tonight," I say. My voice carries in the acoustically perfect room. "I was supposed to show you that I've trained Eden. That she's mine. That I'm worthy of the inner circle."
Silence. Complete silence.
"I was supposed to make her kneel. Make her beg. Make her perform intimate acts for your entertainment. Proof that I can acquire something precious and break it to my will."
I pause and let that sink in.
"But I'm not going to do that."
