I glance at the nearest mirror, and she’s right: my skin looks glowy, my hair extra gold, my figure more curvy and lush. Maybe this place is a hallucination.
“So you work here, right? What’s it like?” I ask.
Sophia leans back, crossing her legs, as she thinks. “It’s like being a flight attendant on a private jet. Everything’s elegant,everyone’s rich, and the nuts are warm.” She winks. “But it pays well, and you get to meet men from all over the world.”
I fidget with the edge of my cup. “Do you ever get weirded out at all the luxury?”
Sophia shrugs, but it’s a slow, deliberate shrug. “Not anymore. It’s not as wild as you think, but it can be intense. The billionaires who come here are used to getting what they want. Some want a drinking buddy. Some want to talk about the stock market. Some just want to be alone, but not lonely.”
“And what do the women want?” I ask, surprising myself.
She smiles again, this time softer. “Depends. Some want love, some want escape, some want to feel like they matter. Same as anywhere.”
I look down at my hands, turning the cup in slow circles. My nails are a polished pink. For a second, I wish I had her poise, her easy confidence.
Sophia reaches out and taps my wrist, her touch feather-light. “Hey. You okay?”
I look up, into those green eyes. There’s no judgment there, just curiosity and a little bit of kindness.
“Yeah,” I say, and it’s not a lie. “I just feel like I’m on another planet.”
She squeezes my wrist, then lets go. “It’s a good planet. You’ll see.”
We sit for a while, sipping tea, not talking. I get the sense that she’s waiting for me to say something, but I can’t think of a single question that won’t make me sound crazy.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “Wanna see the rest of the club? There’s a spa, an art gallery, and a library that’s mostly whiskey and cigars.”
I nod, and she jumps up, smooth as a cat. “Follow me, Miss Daisy.”
As I stand, she steps behind me and arranges my sweater so it drapes just so over my chest. Her fingers are warm and sure, and when she adjusts my hair, she lets it tumble down my back, then brushes her hand over my shoulder.
“There,” she says, “now you look like you belong here.”
I want to say thanks, but what comes out is a nervous laugh. “I doubt that, but let’s go.”
Sophia opens the door, and as we step into the hallway, she glances back at me with a smile that’s both friendly and mysterious.
“You’ll fit right in, Daisy. I promise. Mr. McCarren will see to it.”
I let her lead the way, a little bit flustered from the tea, and the sense that the rules here are just different enough to be dangerous.
And for the first time since waking up, I don’t feel completely powerless.
The elevatordown from the suite is lined with ornate wood paneling, and a mirror. Is that really me? The woman with the spun gold hair and shocked blue eyes? I try not to look at myself, but Sophia notices my unease.
“You okay?” she whispers, like we’re sharing a secret.
“I think so,” I say. “I’m just not used to places like this.”
She presses the button marked SPA in all-caps and winks. “You will be.”
The doors open into what might be the world’s fanciest Roman bathhouse, rebuilt by people who have never once checked a price tag. The air is warm and heavy with something floral—orchids, maybe, or just the general concept of money. Marble floors and columns everywhere, real crystal chandeliers overhead, and the distant sound of trickling water. The reception desk is manned by a woman with slicked-back red hair and chubby cheeks, wearing a soft blue suit and a smile that’s all efficiency.
Sophia leads the way, waving at the attendant, who gives me a once-over, then a knowing little nod.
“The spa’s open to members and their guests twenty-four seven,” Sophia says, guiding me past a row of private treatment rooms with frosted glass doors. “Most of the guys only come for a quick massage or a sauna, but you should try the hot stone facial. It’s like being born all over again.”
I peek through the glass at a woman in a pale tunic, kneading the back of a man who’s twice her size and radiates a kind of bored, predatory power. She’s focused, professional, but something about the way she keeps glancing at him reads more personal than service-industry. The whole place is like that—there’s something different about Sanctum, although I’m not sure what it is yet.
