Violet
My grand plans for the weekend had crashed and burned.
Daddy had gotten short with me, Liam proved to be useless, and Rowan’s taunts left my mouth tasting like ash. Sunlight filtered through cream gossamer curtains in my dorm room, the sheets twisted around my legs and my laptop balanced on my knees, while I tried to figure out what to do next. I took a long sip of my water, wanting to wash away my failures and focus on the next task at hand.
Might as well grab the bull by its horns.
The screen glowed with search results for Oubliette locations. Their website offering nothing but tasteful black backgrounds and gold script addresses. No photos of interiors. No contact information. Just locations, like breadcrumbs for those who already knew the path.
I clicked through anyway, studying the exteriors. Nondescript buildings in expensive neighborhoods. The kind of places you walked past a thousand times without noticing, unless you knew what hid behind those unmarked doors.
In my first life, Edward had taken me to Oubliettes in multiple cities. Each one was similar in layout, in atmosphere, in the careful way they separated the social floor from the private rooms below. The dancers who worked the main floor were beautiful and untouchable in their confident smiles.
And yet I had been one of the hidden secrets. . . the merchandise that bled.
My fingers cramped around the laptop edge. The websites revealed nothing useful. No application process, no audition schedules, no hint of how someone gained entry to that world. Edward had simply walked through the doors, and the staff knew his name before he spoke it. I had only assumed it was his money that opened those doors. A reputation he threatened to defile. The right introduction.
I had none of those things.
But I knew how they operated, or at least, assumed how it worked. For as often as Edward took me, I had noticed that new dancers rotated through regularly, providing fresh faces to keep the floor interesting. His favorite had been Monday nights“because they ran slower,”he mentioned. Knowing this gave me the confidence that management might be more willing to consider walk-ins. I’d need the right clothes. The right makeup.
I needed money. But more than that, I needed proximity to Edward’s world. From what I recalled, he’d disappeared into Oubliette’s depths regularly, leaving me topside to wait like a good pet. If I could get inside and work the floor, maybe someone would remember him. Maybe someone would know where to find him now.
I clicked once more on the image of Oubliette in Atlanta and realized it was not too far from me. My stomach turned over, slick and cold. I wasn’t afraid of Edward anymore. I wasn’t the scared, ignorant child he had once bought. However, there was still a seed of fear planted deep within me from that time long ago. I knew I needed to dig it out before it could take root and blossom. I had to in order to take back my autonomy, especially if I went ahead with this plan.
Vengeance required patience. . . and the grit to walk back into the same kind of hell I’d died trying to escape before I was hung up to die. It had been my own naivety to assume that going home to ask Daddy for money would work out. While that had proven to be a bad idea, the thought of stepping through Oubliette’s doors was even more ominous. Hence why it was my last resort.
The difference? I was choosing my own path forward this time. This body had never been touched by those hands. My memories of love, safety, and trust warred with blurred recollections that flinched at the sound of expensive shoes on marble.
I closed the laptop and shoved it aside. Philosophy class started in thirty minutes. I needed to move, needed to stop thinking about what tonight might require. I grabbed clothes without looking, my bag, my phone, and turned towards the door just as it opened.
Alice stepped through, coffee in one hand, her other reaching for her keys. We collided.
Brown liquid arced through the air, splashed across her cream silk blouse, and down her brown pants. The cup hit the floor, bounced, and rolled under her desk.
“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out in the genuine panic I felt. My hands moved on instinct, reaching for the spreading stain, trying to somehow undo what I’d done. My palms pressed against wet fabric, against the swell of her breast beneath.
She smiled, honey-colored eyes crinkling. “I was planning on drinking that instead of wearing it.”
I looked down. My hands splayed across her chest, coffee soaking through to my skin. Heat crawled up my neck, into my face.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I jerked back, hands now wet, and reached for a dirty towel in my hamper. “Do you want a towel?” I offered, then felt foolish when she declined. I wrapped my arm around my middle self-consciously.
“It’s fine, Violet. I should’ve been paying attention.” Her voice carried that easy grace I’d never possess, the kind of calm that came naturally to women like her.
“No, this is my fault. Let me buy you a new top. I’m going shopping after class anyway.”
She started to protest when another voice cut through.
“Your guilt is apology enough.”
I turned. The woman standing behind Alice stole the air from my lungs.
Dark skin that caught the light and transformed it into something precious as she stood there in an ivory one piece. White hair falling past her waist in waves that belonged in fantasies, not freshman dorms. Bone structure that suggested aristocracy, divinity, something beyond simple genetics.
Beautiful didn’t cover it. This woman looked sculpted by hands that understood raw, primitive desire.
“Did any get on you?” My voice pitched higher than intended. Her clothes screamed money, the kind that made my trust fund look like pocket change.
