She shakes her head. “It’s perfect. I knew you’d be gorgeous, but girlfriend, you’re like a sexy evil princess.”
She circles me, fingers fussing with the straps and smoothing out the skirt. “This one’s going to get the club members going,” she whispers, tugging the neckline lower. “The guys will eat it up.”
She’s behind me in the mirror, and for a second we lock eyes in the reflection. Then, Sophia nods.
“You ready for a little more?” she asks, voice soft.
I hesitate, then nod.
“Good,” she says. “Let’s practice a walk.”
She shows me how to stand, how to walk—hips loose, chin high, eyes fixed ahead like there’s no one in the world but me. I try,and nearly fall over in the heels she brought, but Sophia catches me.
“Again,” she urges. “Slower.”
I sashay. I turn. I pose. Each time, she claps, encouraging and kind. Soon it feels less like a punishment and more like a game.
When I trip once again, my tits almost falling out of the neckline, Sophia steadies me with both hands. “You’re going to do amazing, Daisy,” she says. “And after? You can do anything you want. You’ll have enough money to get out of here, to start over somewhere. Someplace sunny and warm.”
Her words float in the air, bright and impossible.
I look back at the mirror, at the girl in the dress, and for the first time, I don’t look away.
I see her.
She’s nervous, but she’s also alive.
It’s after Sophia leaves,promising to text me later, when the memories come back, stronger this time. I’m in a car, laughing with a girl who looks like me but isn’t. We’re driving fast, music blaring, and her hand is on my arm, her nails painted blue. There’s a man in the front seat—older, dark hair, eyes cold and bright as blue ice. He glances at me in the mirror, and for a second, I think it’s Hunter.
The world flips, and suddenly I’m at a table, candlelight flickering, a bottle of wine half-gone. I’m holding hands with someone, but I can’t see his face. I squeeze, and he squeezesback, and the feeling is like being underwater—weightless and heavy, safe and dangerous all at once.
I shake myself awake, blinking hard.
I touch my face, then my wrist, half expecting to find a bracelet or something that would anchor me. There’s nothing. Only the faint pressure of my own hand.
I stare at the clothes on the bed, then at the city beyond the window. I wonder who I am, or who I was before I became Daisy.
But for now, I just want to be seen. I want to walk on that stage and watch every male eye go wide. I want Hunter to watch, and ache as his cock hardens, and remember me forever.
I want to be the star.
Even if I don’t remember why.
The next day,Sophia is at my door with a smile and a clipboard, dressed like she’s about to host an afterparty for the Met Gala. She’s also brought a black gym bag and a bottle of some lemon-cucumber water from a fancy French brand I can’t pronounce. The second I open the door, she sweeps into the suite, all perfume and energy.
“Ready for some more walking lessons?” she chirps, and before I can answer, she tugs me by the wrist, clipboard clacking against her thigh.
She leads me down a maze of corridors, past velvet settees and oil paintings that seem to watch us pass. I’m in the white slip from yesterday, which now feels less like a dress and more like auniform. My legs are bare. My arms are bare. My nerves are very, very bare.
“Should I be wearing this in public?” I whisper, a bit embarrassed.
Sophia merely shoots me a knowing look.
“Sweetheart, girls here sashay around in nothing but panties and high heels. This is Sanctum we’re talking about, where the less the women wear, the more the male members like it.”
Oh. Right. I bite my lip and stumble along behind her.
Finally, we stop in front of a large door. Sophia swings it open and gestures grandly. “Welcome to the studio of seduction!”
