The room was spacious, with walls of a dark red, almost blood-like. There were leather sofas, a lit fireplace, candles everywhere. In the center, a black armchair, solitary, as if waiting for someone. In the corner, a table with two glasses and an already opened bottle of red wine.
Victor entered first. Zoey hesitated.
"You can still turn back," he said, without looking at her. "But if you enter, you will have to write with your body."
She entered.
The door closed behind her with a deeper click this time. And only then did she notice he had locked it.
Her gaze met his, defiant. He approached slowly, stopping a few inches away.
"Are you scared?"
"No."
"Should you be?"
"Perhaps."
Victor offered her one of the glasses. Zoey took it without breaking eye contact. She took a sip. The w
