The invitation was clipped to the inside of the envelope with a single black pin: Proving Night — Public. The word thudded against my ribs like a warning bell and a siren at once. Public. The syllable crawled over my skin, igniting equal parts terror and something darker, hungrier.
Cassandra met me at the door without surprise. “Tonight you will show the room what obedience looks like when it’s given without reservation,” she said, voice calm. “You may refuse at any moment. Use your safe word if it becomes too much.”
I had the word on my tongue like a talisman — Mercy — but as we walked through the lounge, past familiar masked faces and the soft murmur of expectant voices, the talisman felt less necessary than a key I could throw away. I had practiced obedience until my muscles remembere
