The invitation had no name on it, no explanation. Just a time, a place, and one chilling line in bold letters: Come ready to surrender.
I should’ve thrown it away. I should’ve ignored the pull in my stomach that made me slip on a black dress, heels, and follow the address scrawled in silver ink. Instead, I found myself standing in front of an old warehouse at midnight, heart hammering against my ribs like it already knew I’d made a mistake.
Inside, the air was heavy with perfume, cologne, smoke, and something darker—like lust clinging to every wall. Dozens of men in tailored suits leaned back in velvet chairs, masks covering their faces. Their eyes, though, were all on me.
That’s when I realized.
I wasn’t a guest.
I was the entertainment.
A hand clamped on my arm, steering me forward
