Chapter Two
A ding went off, alerting me of a text message that came through, and unsurprising to whom it might be. Pulling out my phone from my desk drawer, the notification was, of course, from Trey.
“Have you gone yet?”
Doesn’t he realize it’s only been a few days since the party and not everybody has the same amount of free time he does? Plus, the card had no expiration date on it.
Another ding went off.
Looking at my phone again, “Don’t ignore me, I know you read my text message.”
Replying back, “Yes, I read your message and right now it’s not really on my list of urgent matters. Have you ever heard of this thing called work? I’d like to keep my job.”
Trey is a micro-influencer.
What that means is that he goes on Tik Tok, Instagram, or Twitter making videos of him using some product that nobody needs to purchase and gets paid depending on how many likes or views he gets, let alone sales. Other than that, he has no frequent source of income, skating by with the bare minimum in hopes that one of the larger companies hires and signs him.
If the whole influencer thing doesn’t work out, he plans to marry a wealthy older man, duping him to continue supplying his vibrant lifestyle. Sometimes I wonder what his actual game plan is if life doesn’t actually go the way he wants it to.
“I’m not asking you to leave your work, I just want to know if you went or not?” Trey replied.
“You’ll never know.”
“So unfair.”
Trey was right though—sooner or later, I’d have to indulge in his gift and finally put this whole thing to rest.
Curiosity hit me again, and I Googled the address on my laptop. As a precaution, I got up from my seat, shut my office door, keeping anyone from barging in while I researched more about this damn place. I just didn’t want anybody from the office finding out about what I was up to and starting a damn rumor or gossip about me.
Not that I cared, but here at INDIGO publishing, you’ve got some people around the office who make it their business to know everybody else's business.
Once Google Maps loaded, there were some familiar streets nearby, yet the area was completely foreign. All that appeared on the 2D page was a large area next to the ocean—at least what the map was telling me.
Who knows what could be there.
Sinking back into my desk chair, I huffed at the stupid situation. I have half a mind to text Trey and tell him he should gotten me what everybody else got me—a damn gift card. Or maybe a new sex toy. At least then, I’d have some fun.
A knock from my door, I sprung up from my seat, immediately closing out of my current browser, “Come in.”
Emily, a tall, fit woman with legs so long you’d need a map to navigate them, and a fellow editor came waltzing through my door wearing a pencil skirt so tight it looked like it was vacuum-sealed to her body, almost revealing the outline of her underwear.
“I’m surprised HR hasn’t called you into the office yet. I mean at this point, you’re one outfit away from starting a riot or a company wide scandal,” I say, sitting back down in my chair.
“She’s afraid of me,” Emily responded, flipping her hair dramatically, ”Or she’s secretly in love with me. Who wouldn’t be, right? Anyway, are you ready for lunch?”
“Oh shit! I completely blanked on our burger food truck plans. I’ve been dreaming about them all week. My stomach might actually start a rebellion if we don’t go now.”
“Well, let's go. I heard the line gets so long that people start considering it their new permanent address, and I’m not about to apply for a new residency.” Emily quipped.
Emily and I managed to reach the food truck just in time. The line had already begun to snake around, but fortunately, we were close to the font. It didn’t take long for us to place our order and get our hands on our lunch.
The online pictures didn’t do the burgers any justice. These things were practically the size of a small planet. Emily was struggling to take a bite without half of it sliding out the other end, looking like she was wrestling an unruly toddler made of beef and cheese.
“I forgot to ask, how was your birthday party? Sorry I couldn’t make it,” Emily asks, wiping away any reminisce of a burger from the corners of her mouth.
“It was alright. Everybody had a good time. Mostly got gift cards, which is nice,” I explain.
“That’s good! Just know, it was severely hard trying to keep the surprise party from you. Trey messaged me saying I better not say anything.”
“Don’t worry, the cat was pretty much out of the bag when overhearing someone else from the office and asking them about the surprise party. It wasn’t really hard to solve after that point.”
We both laugh.
“Well, spill it! What did Trey get you?” Emily says, eager to know.
“Promise not to tell a soul at work?” I say, squinting at her playfully.
“Who am I going to tell? The HR lady?”
“Okay, okay. All he got me was a card that had an address on it and saying ‘thirty-five’ on it.”
Emily nonchalantly took another bite of her enormous burger.
“Do you have it with you?”
Wrestling with my jacket, I pull the white card out from the side pocket and hand it over to her. Her eyes grow wide, completely focusing on the object in my hand.
“What?” I say quizzically.
“Is the address 6501 Sutton Avenue?”
“Um, yes. How do you know that?” I look at her with an eyebrow raised.
She finished chewing her food and took a big gulp from her soda, “I’m not going to ruin the surprise. it’s best to go find out on your own.”
“This sounds bad.”
“Not at all!”
Since the moment Emily and I started working together five years ago, I’ve come to recognize when she isn’t telling me the truth. Her voice pitches higher and her eye contact becomes extremely nonexistent.
“I think it would be best if you experience it yourself and decide then on keeping the gift or not,” she adds.
After lunch, Emily didn’t outright avoid me, but she made a clear effort to keep her distance. She knew I’d keep pestering her with questions until she either spilled the beans or snapped and made a scene in front of everyone. I wasn’t asking for a full reveal—just a little hint to help dial down the mounting curiosity.
Since she wasn’t going to tell me anything, I figure it's best to just head down there myself. I closed my laptop and tossed it into my work bag, making sure to grab anything I might need to work from home if this whole venture turned out to be a complete waste of time.
As expected from Google maps, the drive from my office to the destination was relatively short. I parked my car in a discreet spot, hoping to avoid any opportunistic carjackers or the risk of it getting towed. The neighborhood wasn’t exactly the safest, with a reputation for frequent muggings—well at least that’s what a free local crime report told me.
There was nothing much here.
The only thing here was a two warehouse that loomed ahead of me. Its exterior a stark white with large, black metal-framed windows that were completely obscured. It was as if the building itself was deliberately trying to keep its secrets hidden. The close I got, the more unsettling it felt—something about the darkness behind those windows made the place seem almost alive, breathing out mystery and intimidation in equal measure.
As I approached the front door, hesitation washed over me. Why was I so scared? Was it the fear of the unknown waiting behind those walls? Was this a thrill of surprise, or just the chill of pure fear?
I pounded on the steel door, the metallic echo bouncing off the empty street. No immediate response. I turned away, shoving my hands into my pockets, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and the rhythmic crash of waves. The sight of the waves folding onto the shore was oddly calming, the kind backdrop that made the tension in my shoulders ease—if only for a moment—even the seagulls' squawks, oddly, weren’t annoying and complimented the crashing sounds.
A screech shook me back around and a pair of brown eyes were staring intensely at me through the door.
“Password.”
Password?
“Can you tell me what this place is?” I responded.
I needed answers, and I wasn’t about to squander this chance by indulging in a pointless guessing game.
“Password.”
“Look, I don’t know what you want. Can you just tell me what I want to know?”
The eye slit closed quickly.
“What the—,” I said under my breath.
What kind of place needs a password just to get through the door? Knowing Trey, this could easily be some bizarre cult—it wouldn’t even shock me at this point. I love the guy, but he’s not exactly known for his critical thinking skills—he’d probably trust anyone with a free smile and a convincing story.
Okay, I’ve got to think.
Trey wouldn’t have left me completely clueless; that’s why he gave me that white card. The address led me here. Looking at the card again, the only left on it was the number thirty-five, and then hit me. Banging my hand on the door, the eye slit hastily opened once more and the same brown eyes glared at me.
“Password.”
Stepping back, “Thirty Five.”
The brown eyes vanished, replaced by the sound of heavy locks disengaging with loud clunks. The door creaked open just enough for me to squeeze through, and I slipped inside without giving the circumstance another thought.
“Follow the hallway down, and to your immediate left, there is a yellow door,” a voice instructed, as if reading from a script.
Looking in the very direction the voice told, it was a dim, narrow hallway that was just off enough to make my instincts scream in protest.
This had to be a cult.
Scientology, maybe.
Could the one weight loss one that big haired lady ran before dying in a plane crash. Those are the only real two big ones I’ve heard about, that will eat you up and never spit you out.
I followed the instructions, my eyes adjusting to the space around me. The floor and walls were coated in black glitter tile—the sort you’d expect to find at Victoria’s Secret, more glamorous than practical. White fluorescent lights lined the space, shining with enough intensity to make a dentist’s office jealous, and definitely bright enough to prevent any accidental faceplants.
It all felt a bit like walking into a department store rave—flash, a little ridiculous, but somehow fitting for whatever bizarre place this was.
Making it to the end, I glance over my shoulder looking back at the front door which was now closed and nobody there. Pulling out my phone, I went to text Emily my location if anything were to go wrong and end up going missing, but all my bars were gone and a big red SOS took its place.
“Well, there’s that,” I mutter to myself, hearing a slight reverberation after.
Sliding my phone back into my jacket pocket, the yellow door stood in front of me like a challenge I wasn’t sure I wanted to take. The urge to turn around and abandon this entire mission tugged at me—who needs this kind of stress just to figure out a cryptic gift? Maybe Trey could get a refund and buy me something simple, like a nice bottle of wine, But then again, here I was, with the door just a few steps away.
No.
Despite the fear gnawing at me, I had come too far to back out now. I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and approached the yellow door. My hand closed around the handle, and I pushed it open, revealing a young woman seated at a desk in a red room. A few lounge chairs were positioned off to the side, adding a strange contrast to the otherwise stark setting.
Chains dangled from the walls, swaying gently, each adorned with ships and paddles of varying sizes. A large wooden x-shaped frame stood ominously, straps hanging from each arm, while an assortment of handcuffs lay neatly arranged, ready for use. Sheer black drapes framed the room, adding an unsettling elegance to the display
The cult theory was quickly falling apart, especially when I took in the blonde receptionist. She wore black latex with delicate lace trim, her hair styled in a Barbie-perfect-ponytail—more dominatrix chic than cult acolyte.
She radiated an aura of sweetness and innocence, her smile warm and disarming.
“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked.
“Can you please tell me what this place is? Your doorman wasn’t very helpful and disappeared before I could ask any other questions—it was very creepy,” I explained in one breath.
“My apologies. We’ve talked to him about the presentation. Before getting to your questions, answer one of mine. Where do you think you are?”
“Really?”
“Indulge me,” she sweetly insists.
I let out an exasperated sigh. There was no way to get the answers I needed without playing along with her little game—that seems to be all I’ve encountered so far since arriving. She reminded me of a princess in the midst of a rebellion—deliberately breaking the rules, yet still somehow annoyingly regal.
“Um, well it’s safe to say this isn’t a cult,” I start.
She giggled, waving her hand in a gesture that said, ‘go on.’ I scanned the room again, hoping for a clue that might give me some context. My eyes settled on the details—whips hanging from the walls, handcuffs, bondage gear in full display—slowly, the pieces clicked together.
Oh.
My.
God.
This was no cult. This was a dungeon.
Meeting her eyes again, “It’s a dungeon.”
“Very good!” she squealed, “You just answered your own question. Should be very proud.”
“Not exactly, you haven’t told me anything. How about the name of this dungeon?”
“You ask what this place is, not the name of it.”
This chick was starting to get on my nerves.
“Can you please tell me the name of this dungeon?”
“Welcome to Wonderland,” a deep sultry disembodied voice announced.
The blonde receptionist straightened immediately, her demeanor shifting to one of deference, as though she was a child about to be chastised.
“Master Leo. My apologies, I did not see you,” she said.
“No need to apologize, Lady Scarlet. I actually just popped in, and its fortunate I did. Who do we have here?”
When he finally stepped into the light, his presence was captivating. His chiseled jawline framed his face with an almost statuesque quality, while his broad, powerful shoulders and defined chest led the eye effortlessly down his trim waist and athletic build. The way he moved exuded confidence, each feature sculpted as if by a master artist—making even the statue of David seem ordinary in comparison.
“Leo,” I swallow hard, keeping my composure, “I need some help,” I ask, trying to not to get lost on my way back up to his eyes.
Lady Scarlet squirmed a bit, making a tiny sudden gasp.
“Don’t you be disrespectful,” she sternly stated, “Within these walls you address..."
He raised his hand slightly, a subtle gesture that silenced her immediately. I wasn’t sure what I had done in those ten seconds to provoke her reaction, but it was clear that I had overstepped some unspoken boundary.
“You’re not familiar with how things work around here,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze pinned me in place, “You will address myself and everyone else here by their title. I am Master Leo, owner of this dungeon, and this is Lady Scarlet. No, tell me who you are?”
Jesus.
I hadn’t realized I was speaking to the owner. The way he tool control of the conversation over a minor mistake left me feeling...unsettled, maybe even intrigued. I wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.
“My apologies, Master Leo. As you mentioned I didn’t know. I’m Drew. A friend of mine gave me a white card with this address and thirty-five on it. So, here I am.”
A slow smile spread across Master Leo’s face at my apology, his confidence radiating through the room like a force of nature. The way he moved—graceful, commanding, with that wicked curve of his lips—stirred something deep within me, an undeniable feeling that felt right down to my core.
“Your friend, I believe, is Trey, right?” he said.
“Yep, that’s him.”
“What he gave you was a private session here at Wonderland with a tenured dominate. Saying something along the lines of ‘needing to finally surprise you and get the stick out of your ass’.”
That son of a bitch.
What on earth was Trey thinking, putting me in a situation like this? He knows I’m not the adventurous type when it comes to sex—probably why most guys think I’m dull—and I’m definitely not into the BDSM scene.
“An hour that seems really generous of him,” I responded.
“Do you have a date and time in mind to book you and what about preference?” Lady Scarlet said, in an encouraging tone.
Preference?
I understand what my ‘type’ is when it comes to men, but is that the same as preference? What exactly is my preference? Judging by my past relationships, I tend to go for guys who are tall, a bit muscular, and have a good sense of humor. But seriously, what am I even doing here right now? This isn’t why I’m here.
“I’m actually good, thank you Lady Scarlet. This isn’t really my...well, thing. But I appreciate the time you have provided.”
“And what exactly do you mean by ‘thing?” Master Leo asked, his tone calm but laced with curiosity as he tucked both hands into his back pockets, his steady and probing.
Considering that he probably runs a non-judgemental dungeon, Master Leo seemed very sensitive to me calling BDSM a ‘thing’—I didn't mean to offend him or dismiss the lifestyle, it had slipped out of my mouth carelessly.
“I meant nothing by it, but thank you.”
Turning on my heel, I decided it was best to leave before I stirred up any more tension. Trey was definitely going to have a lot of explaining to do, primarily why he thought this was a good idea. For his next birthday, I swear I’m getting him a hooker.
“Stop.”
My legs stiffened, rooted to the spot.
Master Leo’s voice rose just enough to fill the room with silence. It was clear that he wasn’t going to let me leave until I responded.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Drew?” Master Leo asked, his voice dripping with a hint of something that felt almost playful.
His eyes bore into mine, challenging me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips again as if he already knew the answer—completely amused by it.
“You do not make me feel uncomfortable,” I say, hesitantly.
It was a complete lie, and I could only hope he wouldn’t see right through it.
“Look, Master Leo, I think my friend ultimately did this to create some sort of shock value. Once again, I do apologize. But I must be going.”
Before he could say anything else, I forced myself to move, breaking free from the paralysis his words seemed to induce. I walked straight out the door, my legs carrying me all the way back to my car with a single focus: get home. The entire interaction with Master Leo had left me unsettled—odd and unnerving, especially the way he seemed to effortlessly control the conversation.
Once my phone regained signal, it buzzed with over eight notifications. Most were from Trey, eagerly asking if I’d used his so-called gift yet.
Could this really be called a gift after what I’d just gone through? There was an urge to call Trey right now and give him a piece of my mind for putting me through an embarrassing ordeal—especially in front of someone as infuriatingly attractive.
Ugh.
And yet...if it were to be asked about my “preference”…damn it, he would be it. He exuded raw sexuality. Confidence poured off of him effortlessly. The way he wielded power over me in an instant—God, it made me want him even more.
Wait.
No, no, no.
What am I even saying? I’m not into this kind of stuff. Dominance, submission—none of it. My sex life is painfully vanilla, and honestly, my hand has seen more action than any of my ex-boyfriends combined.
No.
This is over. The mystery has been solved, and now I can put it behind me. Master Leo was just a hot dominant guy who happened to charm in the moment—nothing more, nothing less.
Still, there’s one thing left that needs answering.
“We need to talk.” I text Emily.