SERAPHINA
The elevator opened with a hiss, and I barely had a second to breathe before the man’s grip tightened on my wrist again.
His fingers dug in like iron. No escape.
“Let’s go, pretty boy,” he said with a twisted grin, yanking me out into darkness that stank of filth, wine, and rotting desire.
The underground brothel.
A hundred times more terrifying than the Sinspire floor above.
"Juan!" wolves greeted him with toothy grins, snarling and drunk on pleasure.
So that’s his name.
I tried to keep my expression blank, to control my disgust, but every step deeper into that place scraped my nerves raw. My boots echoed across velvet-draped halls lined with glass cages, blood-red curtains, and chained bodies.
My heart twisted in my chest.
Male and female prostitutes, displayed like
