“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Kiril says. “They’ve been approved.”
I sag in relief. “Thank you.”
I close the door and set the bouquet on the table, leaning in to smell the floral scent. They’re blood-red roses and gorgeous.
Just like the roses I told him I love.
I turn them around and spot a card with my name scrawled across the front, immediately recognizing it as Kane’s handwriting.
Princess,
Kiril and Giani have been instructed to bring you to me tonight at 6 p.m. Wear whatever you want. And remember your safe word—roses.
XO,
Kane
My stomach drops.
Remember your safe word …
Is this it? Is Kane going to go along with my request?
He said he didn’t want to do it in our home, so while we’re away would be the perfect time to do this.
Since I need a way to release some of my anxiety, I continue with my original plan and head over to the gym, joining their Pilates class. I consider texting Kane several times to ask him what he’s up to, but refrain, going along with what he has planned.
Then, I spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready. I shave everything, straighten my hair, and perfect my makeup, giving myself a sultry smoky eye. I go with the dark olive faux leather trench dress I brought, pairing it with my knee-high, stiletto caramel leather Saint Laurent boots.
Since it’s cold outside, I throw on my peacoat, put my phone into my clutch, and head out with my guards.
The drive is long, and when we finally arrive, I have no idea where we are.
“Ma’am, Mr. Morgan said to go inside, and you’ll be directed where to go from there. We’ll be out here.”
“Okay.”
While I trust Kane, a small part of me is nervous, as I’m unsure what’s going on. In our world, it’s hard to completely trust anyone,especially the man who forced me to marry him. He might have proven he cares about me, but I can’t forget that our marriage is due to his need to avenge his father’s death.
I walk up to the door and ring the bell, and a beautiful woman opens it.
“Good evening, Mrs. Morgan. Welcome to Elite.”
I step inside, and she guides me down a dark corridor and then into an elevator. Instead of going up, we go down, and once we get off, we head down a long hallway with closed doors on both sides.
“Can I ask what Elite is?”
She turns around and grins. “Elite is New York’s premier underground sex club.”
Oh God. This is it.
It’s happening tonight.
Even knowing what’s to come, I can’t help the nerves that course through my veins.
I’ve read up on what to expect—though every article and forum says each victim will react differently. I spoke to a therapist who worked with sexual assault victims, and she confirmed what I wanted to do was common. She even said that the way I was going about it was smart. Some victims will put themselves into horrible situations to re-enact what they went through. But the fact that I’m doing it with someone I trust shows that I’m being responsible about it.
But even after doing my research and speaking to a professional, I’m still nervous about how this will all go down. And what if it doesn’t help? What if it only makes it worse?
