She’d never seen anything like it.
The space was vast but cold. Not in temperature, in intention. The walls were a muted grey, almost black. The ceiling felt lower than it was, like the shadows leaned in.
Heavy dark green curtains smothered the floor to ceiling glass window, where he'd been watching her from, swallowing whatever daylight dared try to enter. The air was still. No breeze. No sound. Not even the hum of electricity. Just the soft, eerie scent of leather, musk, and smoke.
There was a bed. Of course. Massive, king-sized, too neat. Not a wrinkle in the sheets. Jet-black, tucked with military precision. It didn’t feel like a place to sleep. I
A black leather chair sat angled by the window, though the curtains had already been drawn shut. Why place it there?
The rest of the
