One painting in particular caught me, a print of the goddess Sif. Her hair cascaded like spun gold, her crown a statement of dominion rather than decoration. Her eyes held both beauty and unyielding strength, captured in a single look that made me pause.
I wondered what it would feel like to wear an expression like that, not one carefully constructed to meet expectations, but one earned.
My fingers itched the way they always did when I saw a piece that spoke to me. I could draw well enough. Good for an amateur who never took it beyond hobby, but translating this? Capturing the soul of a work? That was the kind of magic no photo could manage. Tourists snapped pictures, thinking they’d captured a memory, but the essence was lost unless you took in every brushstroke, until you understood why it mattered to you.
I tore my gaze away reluctantly and continued down the corridor. My heels clicked in a steady rhythm, an echoing reminder of the risk I was taking just by being here.
When I reached the coat check, I exhaled slowly, a breath that carried the weight of three days’ confinement and years of resentment.
Tonight wasn’t about running from my father. It was about finding me—the version I’d been too tightly leashed to explore. And, God help me, I was ready to meet her.
“Hello, and welcome to Club Midgard.”
The greeting came from a woman with flamboyant blonde hair streaked with bubblegum pink, her wide smile warm enough to melt nerves I didn’t realize I had.
“Are you registered for the event tonight?”
“I am. My name is Hecate.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ooo, love that! I’m Sondra, well,Little Missyhere at Club Midgard. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Little Missy?” I couldn’t help smiling. “That’s an interesting name.”
She laughed softly, a sound that matched the streaks in her hair, bright, playful, unapologetic. I’d seen Littles in clubs before, women who delighted in age play, radiating sugar-sweet energy as they skipped along holding their Dom’s hand, calling him Daddy with an enthusiasm that made half the room melt and the other half grin. They were adorable, in their way.
Me? I didn’t want a Daddy. But a strong, hulking Dom who would seeme, challenge me, and claim me on my terms? One day, maybe.
Not a Daddy.
But a Dom capable of making me forget my own name for a few hours?
“Do you have a Daddy here at the club?” I asked, curiosity slipping through before I could stop it.
“Not yet.” Her smile turned soft, almost shy, but there was an eager sparkle in her eyes that said she had a target in mind. “But I have my eyes on someone, and I’m hoping tonight’s the night I finally connect with him.”
The way she said it was almost innocent, but behind those baby blues I caught a flicker of sharpness, a quiet intelligence that didn’t quite fit the stereotype. I wondered what she did when she wasn’t wearing the Little Missy persona. Banker? Investor? Something that required precision, power, and confidence hidden beneath this sweet exterior?
“Can I check your coat and purse, Hecate?” she asked, businesslike again.
“Oh, yes, please.” I handed over my coat and bag, feeling suddenly lighter, freer, as though I’d shed more than just clothing.
Little Missy gave me an unabashed once-over and smiled. “Whoever you’re paired with is one lucky guy. A statuesque beauty… honestly, you’re a work of art.”
My cheeks warmed under the compliment. It wasn’t often someone looked at me like that—with admiration untouched by politics, legacy, or power. Here, no one knew who I was. No one sawMorozov’s daughter. They just sawHecate.
“You’re very kind. Thank you.”
She beamed. “Head through those doors, and to the right you’ll find a table with a gorgeous woman waiting to introduce you to your partner for the evening. Good luck!”
“Thank you.”
I straightened my shoulders, inhaled once, and stepped toward the double doors she indicated. My heels clicked softly on the polished floor, each step a reminder: here, I wasn’t someone’s possession or problem to solve.
Here, I could besomeone else entirely.
“Well, aren’t you a vision in that gorgeous dress. Welcome! My name is Dottie.”
The woman who rose from behind the table was stunning, the kind of beautiful that made you pause mid-step. She was striking, her skin a rich, warm brown that gleamed under the subtle lighting, her waist cinched and balanced by lush curves, and hips that swayed like they were made for music. Her neckline dipped low enough to hint at full, perfect cleavage—an unapologetic display of power wrapped in silk and confidence.
