Chapter 29 Katerina
KATERINA
Ares takes my hand and leads me back out into the main hall. My heart races at the scenes before us—even more explicit than what we'd witnessed earlier. The center of the room now holds what looks like medieval torture devices, but it's clear they're meant for pleasure, not pain.
Well, at least not the unwanted kind.
A woman swings from leather straps suspended from the ceiling, her body arched as a man thrusts into her from behind. Even through her mask, you can see her ecstasy. She's biting her lip to silence her screams as another woman stands beside them, trailing a feather along her skin.
"Jesus," I whisper, unable to look away. The music is louder now and pulses around us.
Ares's grip on my hand tightens. "Are you okay?" His voice is low in my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"Yeah," I say. "It's just, I've never seen anything like this."
He laughs. "I have something better to show you."
We reach a hallway branching off from the main room that's covered with a seductive glow. Doors line both sides, some closed, some with windows, and others partially open.
As we walk, a door to my right swings open. Inside, a woman is bound, her wrists and ankles secured with padded cuffs. A man stands behind her, running something that looks like a small whip across her back. She moans with each touch, her skin flushed pink and red.
Another door reveals a woman straddling what looks like a mechanical bull, except it's shaped differently, more like a saddle, and I'm almost positive something's inside her.
Her head is thrown back, her hair matted to her face, as the machine vibrates beneath her. Two men stand on either side, one holding a flogger, hitting her breasts, the other watching with hungry eyes as he touches himself.
"Some people enjoy being watched," Ares says, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. "The thrill of being seen, being desired."
Heat rises to my face as I consider this. Would I ever want that? To be watched, to be the center of attention? The thought makes my stomach flip in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.
We continue down the hallway, passing more doors, more scenes of pleasure and pain intertwined. The sounds—moans, slaps, the buzz of toys—fill my ears, creating a soundtrack of desire that makes my own body respond.
I'm so distracted by what I'm seeing that I almost bump into Ares when he stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Unlike the others, this one is solid black with an image of Dionysus drinking wine, surrounded by naked women.
Ares raises his wrist to a small scanner beside the door. The purple band glows under the light, and the door unlocks.
He turns to me, his eyes dark behind his mask. "After you, my beautiful wife."
I hesitate for just a moment before stepping inside. The room is dimly lit like the rest of the club, but it's different—more intimate, more private.
The first thing I notice is my reflection. One side of the room is lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The other sides are deep burgundy.
In the center is a large bed covered with black silk sheets. Various items hang on the walls—whips, ropes, restraints—and a cabinet stands open, revealing an array of toys and things I can't even name.
"What is this place?" I ask, though I have a pretty good idea.
Ares closes the door behind us and deadbolts it.
"This is the lounge's private room. The Hades suite.
Only VIPs have access to it." He removes his mask, setting it on a small table near the door.
"You can take yours off too, or you can leave it on if you wish," he says with a sly grin. "No one can get in now."
I slip the mask off, oddly feeling exposed despite the fact that we're completely alone. "So this is why you brought me? To show me your secret sex dungeon?" I say with a smile.
Ares approaches me slowly.
"Actually," he says, voice low and dark, "I brought you here for you."
I blink. "Uhh, for me?"
His hands wrap around me and he pulls me close to him. "I'm going to show you that your body isn't something to hide. Not from me. Not even from yourself."
Something cold seizes my chest. I freeze, my entire body tensing under his touch.
"What... what do you mean?" The words come strained.
But he sees it. Of course he sees it. That's the problem with Ares, he sees everything.
My husband's dark eyes scan my face, reading every flicker of emotion I'm trying desperately to conceal. His arms loosen, and he steps back, giving me space I didn't ask for but desperately need.
"That," he says, pointing at my face. "That right there."
I swallow hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He moves toward the wall and flicks a switch. The lights change to the purple shade I've seen since arriving, but now they are illuminating the mirrors running along one wall.
I shift and instinctively angle my right side away.
"See?" He gestures toward me. "Every time. Every single time."
I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't—"
"You do," he interrupts. "Every time we have sex, you close the blinds. You make sure all the lights are off. You position yourself so I can't see your right side. You hold your breath when I touch your scars, like you're still waiting for me to recoil."
Heat rises to my face, but it's different, it's grounded in shame. I want to deny it, but the words stick in my throat.
"That ends tonight," he says, his voice softening.
I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. "Ares, please—"
"I'm not asking, Katerina." There's no cruelty in his tone, only determination. He approaches me again, slowly, like I'm a wounded animal he's afraid of startling. "Look at me."
I raise my eyes to meet his, and what I see there is something that makes my heart hammer against my ribs.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he says, his fingers gently tilting my chin up. "And I can't allow you—my own wife, the future mother of my children—to not see that."
His words hit me like a physical blow. I've never heard him refer to me as the mother of his children even if that's been the unspoken plan. It's the first time he breathed it into existence.
Before I can process it, he continues.
"You see only burn scars." His hand moves to my right side, resting over the fabric of my dress where he knows my scars begin. "I see you. Your story. Your beauty. Your survival. What makes you, you." His voice drops. "It's time you see it, too."
I feel tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. "I can't," I whisper, blinking rapidly.
He moves behind me, towering over me like my protector. He leans down and speaks into my ear. "Do you trust me?"
The question hangs in the air between us. Do I trust this dangerous, powerful man, who's shown me more tenderness than I thought possible? Who seems to see me even better than I see myself?
"Yes, of course," I say, surprising myself with how true it feels.
He smiles. "Then turn to face the mirrors."
I do as he asks, my legs feeling heavy beneath me. "Ares—"
"Trust me," he says to me gently.
I turn slowly until I'm facing the wall of mirrors. My reflection stares back at me—a woman in a red dress, pale with anxiety, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. I focus on my left side, the side that's whole, undamaged.
Ares stands behind me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "What do you see?" he asks.
"My reflection," I say.
He makes a sound of disagreement. "No. You're not looking. You're hiding." His fingers move to the zipper at the back of my dress.
I nod, unable to speak. The zipper comes down slowly, exposing my spine inch by inch. The cool air of the room kisses my skin, raising goosebumps. He pushes the dress off my shoulders, and it falls in a pool of red at my feet.
I stand before the mirrors in nothing but my heels, completely naked. My right side is fully exposed—the patchwork of scars that start at my hip and crawl up my side, over my ribs. The skin is mottled, pink and white in some places, red and angry in others. Years of healing, years of hiding.
Instinctively, I angle away, trying to hide the worst of it.
"No," Ares says firmly. His hands guide me back, forcing me to confront my reflection. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts.
"Say something nice about what you see," he commands.
I stare at my reflection, searching desperately for something, anything.
"My hair looks good?" It comes out as a question.
Ares laughs behind me. "Yes it does, but try again. Something about your body."
I swallow hard, forcing myself to look at my naked form in the mirror.
"Umm, I have nice legs," I say finally.
"You do," he agrees, his hands skimming down my sides to rest on my hips. "Very sexy legs. What else?"
"My, my breasts are okay."
"They're perfect actually," he corrects and cups them gently. "And they fill my hands perfectly."
I can feel my nipples hardening under his touch, and I blush, watching it happen in the mirror. It's strange, seeing what he sees, witnessing my body's reaction to him.
"What about here?" he asks, his right hand sliding over to my scarred side.
I flinch, but he doesn't let me pull away.
"What about this part of you?" he pushes.
I shake my head. "There's nothing good to say about that."
"There's everything good to say about it." His fingers trace the largest scar, a jagged line that runs from just under my breast to my hip. "This tells me you survived. This tells me you're stronger than fire, stronger than death."
A sob escapes me before I can stop it. "It's ugly."
"It's beautiful," he counters. "It's part of you, and you're beautiful. Every inch."
He turns me in his arms until I'm facing him, my back to the mirrors. "You don't need to hide from yourself, Katerina, or me. Not ever." He leans down, his lips brushing mine. "Not in darkness. Not in light."