“I hear you.But looking at this room, someone is undoubtedly selling secrets.”
The servers continue their quiet humming, processing terabytes of compromising material.Somewhere in those drives could be the private moments of some of the most powerful people in every metropolitan area with a club location.London.Paris.Shanghai.New York.Miami.Politicians, celebrities, business leaders—all of them vulnerable.
I turn to face Adrien fully.“We need to find out who’s running this little side business.And we need to do it before they realize they’ve been discovered.Because you’re positive this isn’t part of the standard operation?”I mean, if he’s hands off, maybe this has a legitimate function and he’s unaware.
“Positive.We don’t store footage.We don’t label it.”Any hint of his earlier flirtation is gone.An undercurrent of anger belies his calm exterior, and there’s determined conviction in the set of his jaw.“Where do we start?”
I look back at the stacked servers, taking in the array of blinking lights.“We start by figuring out who else knows this room exists.Because whoever built this didn’t do it alone.And we find out who’s accessing it and using it now.”
ChapterNine
Adrien
The Sanctuary was supposed to be untouchable.A refuge for the powerful and the weary—a place where secrets stay secret.Instead, it’s become a stage for betrayal, and I’m the fool who bought and expanded it.
The Sanctuary promises a place out of the public eye, away from nosy reporters and photographers aiming to make a quick buck off insinuation and lies.A place where friendships can flourish, and a place where business can be discussed without scrutiny.Privacy, the one thing our members crave, is something I’ve failed to provide.
Brie moves through the space like an appraiser, her gaze cataloguing every imperfection as if she were valuing a piece at Christie’s.The low light glints off the brass fixtures—dulled by neglect.The equipment rack hums with a frequency I feel in my teeth—industrial, expensive, maintained.Someone’s been caring for this technology while letting the brass fixtures tarnish as camouflage.
As Brie snaps photos of the room and studies every crevice and light, the dizzying effect of the implications comes at me like a vortex with one exit.Every face from every event flashes through my mind—senators, CEOs, celebrities.Trust, bought and paid for.And now broken.
For years, I’ve sold the fantasy of control—curated pleasure, engineered intimacy.But what happens when the fantasy outgrows its maker?When desire becomes the weapon, not the reward?When intimacy is stripped of consent and sold back as leverage, what do you even call that—lust, or something far uglier wearing its skin?
“I need to shut the club down.”
Brie applies pressure to my arm, and I cut my gaze to meet hers.I expect sympathy—or at least a flicker of pity—but she’s all business.The same cool precision that once turned me on now slices clean through fresh wounds.I’m probably one of many she never meant to keep—just another weekend folded into an alias.
“Don’t be ridiculous.Come on.Let’s go.Step out of here and don’t touch anything.”
“What?Why?”
“Because someone’s using this room.I’ll show this to the team.When your staff returns tomorrow, by Wednesday at the latest, we’ll know who is doing this, then we’ll shut it down.How you handle the membership, that’s up to you, but you can set safeguards in place to ensure this never happens again.”
I exit into the hall, watching as she holds her magical device up to the keypad until it beeps red again, the lock re-engaging.
When was this room added?Was it here three years ago when I bought it?Did I buy my own liability?
As Brie messages someone, I stand in the basement corridor, considering the staff.Eddie Thorne—“Call me Eddie”—has to be involved.I replay the conversation when he showed me the security system, how he casually mentioned the “closed circuit” setup while guiding my attention to the visible cameras, not the infrastructure.The way he always seemed to materialize when I visited unannounced, as if he had advance warning.Jesus.He probably did.
Then there’s Macon Chen, head of security.If Eddie’s the strategist, Macon is the muscle.Are they working together?If they are, the rot goes deeper—maybe all the way to Miami.
As managing director, Eddie oversees the New York and Miami locations, but Macon only manages security for the New York club.
And then there’s Tiffany—that’s not even her real name.It’s what she chooses for the membership, and I’ve never questioned it because discretion is currency here.For years I’ve called her Tiffany, watching her glide through the club in those perfectly tailored shifts, embodying the aesthetic we sell.But her real name is pedestrian...Karen?No.Carol?The irony stings—I don’t even know the real name of the woman who knows every member’s preferences, every whispered request, every private need.
“Come on.We’re going to meet the team in the security room.”She stops further down the corridor, her long hair glimmering under the light as she looks over her shoulder.“Adrien, the operation just got a lot simpler.At the moment, this might not seem like it, but this is a best-case scenario.”
“Are you out of your mind?There’s nothing best case?—”
“Come on.You said staff might pop in this afternoon.We have work to do.You need to snap out of it.”
She sounds annoyed…with me.
What the hell?
I step forward, following her out of the basement.Maybe she should be annoyed.My stomach feels like it’s been hollowed out with ice.I let this happen under my own roof—under my own name.It all happened while I focused on marketing and how to leverage my learnings to grow the family business.What my father called folly I thought had been brilliant brand extension, but that flash of brilliance might cost me my reputation as a businessman to be taken seriously, and well, if the clubs go under, I’d get a fraction of the $1.5 billion I invested.
The irony is rich—I fought to earn my independence from the family business, only to discover I’ve been played by my own employees.Every conversation with my father about due diligence and hands-on management echoes in my head.Perhaps Papa was right about my naivety after all.
