“Then I stay peripheral. Let you hold centre stage. I'm just another body in the scene. Nothing worth his specific attention.” I met Dom's gaze. “I can do this, Dom. Stop asking if I can and start trusting that I will.”
He studied my face for a long moment. Then nodded. “All right. But if at any point it becomes too much—if you need to pull out—you signal me. We have contingencies.”
“I won't need them.”
“Have them anyway.” He moved closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And Cal? Once we're in that room, once the scene starts, I'm going to be someone else. Not the person you know. The version of me that doesn't hesitate or second-guess or worry about feelings. Can you handle that?”
“I know.”
“Watching from a distance is different than being part of it.” His hand came up, cupped my jaw. “I need you present. Need you focused. But I also need you safe. And those things might conflict tonight.”
“Then we make sure they don't.” I leaned into his touch despite every instinct that said showing vulnerability was dangerous. “We do our jobs. We get the proof. We get out. Everything else is secondary.”
“Everything else,” he repeated quietly. “Including this.”
He kissed me. Slow and deliberate. I kissed him back, memorising the taste and feel because in a few hours we'd be performing for an audience and this version of us—private and real—would have to disappear behind masks and roles.
No middle ground. No safe retreat.
Midnight approachedwith the weight of inevitability.
I arrived at Eden wearing clothes designed to blend: dark trousers, black shirt, leather harness visible beneath. A half-mask that covered my eyes and cheekbones but left my mouth exposed. Hair slicked back.
Dom was already in the VIP room. I could hear voices through the door. Laughter. The particular cadence of people performing relaxation while hunting for advantage.
I took three breaths. Centred myself. Became the version of Cal Mercer who could walk into a room full of predators and make them think I belonged there.
The door opened onto controlled chaos.
The room was larger than I'd expected. Circular. Walls draped in deep red fabric that absorbed sound and created pockets of shadow. Low lighting from sources I couldn't immediately identify. Furniture positioned strategically—benches, tables, restraint points built into architecture. And people. Maybe fifteen. All masked. All moving through space with the particular awareness of individuals who understood consent and negotiation and the rules that made this kind of gathering possible instead of dangerous.
Dom stood near the centre. Shirtless. The light caught every cut of muscle. His presence was magnetic—people orbited him without seeming to realise they were doing it. He wore a mask too, but it didn't matter. His body was identifiable. His posture. The way he held control like it was oxygen.
Harrow sat in a corner with perfect sightlines. Flanked by two men I recognised from surveillance photographs. The fixer and the enforcer. He wore a suit. No mask. Making a statementabout power—he didn't need to hide because he owned the narrative.
His eyes tracked Dom with predatory interest. Then swept the room, cataloguing faces, bodies, potential leverage. I stayed in shadow. Kept my movements small. Just another participant warming up to the evening's entertainment.
Adrian stood near the entrance, immaculate in a dark suit that somehow made everyone else look underdressed despite their various states of undress. His presence commanded attention without demanding it.
“Welcome to Eden,” he said. Voice carrying effortlessly through the space. “Tonight's gathering follows our standard protocols. Consent is absolute. Safe words are respected without question. Boundaries are sacred. What happens in this room stays in this room.”
He paused, let that settle.
“For those new to our VIP experiences, your hosts this evening are some of our most skilled practitioners. They'll guide the flow. They'll maintain the structure. All you need to do is communicate clearly and enjoy yourselves.” His gaze swept the room, lingered fractionally on Dom, then on me. “Any questions before we begin?”
Silence. Anticipation.
“Excellent. Then I'll leave you to it.” Adrian moved toward the door, stopped beside me for just a moment. His voice dropped to barely audible. “You know what you're doing?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
His eyes flicked to Dom. Back to me. “Good. Don't forget why you're actually here.”
Then he was gone. The door closed with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
Harrow stood. The movement drew every eye in the room.
“If I may,” Harrow said, addressing the room with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to controlling narratives. “I'd like to propose we begin with something... collaborative. A demonstration of what Eden's finest can offer when given proper canvas to work with.”
