Chapter 15 #2
I lingered longer than I meant to, fingers trailing over velvet and lace until I finally found a costume: a teal lace lingerie dress with matching panties, paired with a short velvet cape meant to cover the most important bits—though the hem cut high enough that my ass was barely covered.
A toy bow rested nearby, along with a quiver of arrows and a soft leather belt with a plastic dagger already strapped in place.
Looped on the hanger was a gold crown studded with diamond-like crystals.
I’d never owned anything like it and couldn’t resist the chance.
Tonight I’d be a brave Scottish warrior princess.
Yes, that suited me just fine.
Sofia glanced over as I strapped the dagger to my thigh. “Oh. That’s dangerous.”
I shrugged and undressed and then pulled the lacy dress over my head and settled the cape over my shoulders, securing it with the Velcro closure at my neck.
I lifted the crown, set it carefully onto my head, and pinned it in place until it felt secure.
It was lightweight, but unmistakably there.
The dagger pressed lightly against my skin when I moved, and the bow fit comfortably across my back.
Armor, I told myself.
If I were going to be seen, I would choose how.
“You look as if you’re about to start a war,” Margaretta said.
“Good,” I said lightly. “I’m tired of being the good girl. Tired of doing what everyone else wants me to do.”
Sofia’s gaze softened for just a second before she smiled. “You’re going to break hearts.”
Sofia might be a wild girl, but she was still the same best friend I remembered growing up with. I flung my arms around her and squeezed her tight. “Thank you. You’re the best,” I whispered.
We stepped out of the dressing room together and into the club.
And wowzah. What a space it was.
At the center sat a perfectly circular stage beneath dramatic lighting.
Terraced levels rose outward from the stage in wide rings, each one packed with options—standard cocktail tables, massive overstuffed armchairs, padded ottomans, chaise lounges, stools, and surfaces that left no doubt about their intended use.
Bars were located on every level, glass and metal catching the light.
Beyond the main theater, I caught glimpses of quieter alcoves, private rooms, and curtained corridors that promised privacy without isolation.
Sofia gestured as we walked. “See? Theater in the round. That’s why it works so well. Every seat has a perfect view.”
Bodies pressed close as we moved through the crowd.
We must have been one of the last to arrive, the scent of alcohol and sex already heavy in the air.
Music pulsed low, settling under my skin like a second heartbeat.
The atmosphere was feral and charged, and Sofia thrived in it, waving, laughing, completely in her element.
I wasn’t.
But it wasn’t new to me either.
I’d seen rooms similar to this in Madrid. Not as a choice—but as survival.
The difference tonight was intent. I was here because Sofia wanted to be here. Because she was helping me escape.
And because places like this weren’t new to me. I’d learned a long time ago how to move through them without pretending they were something else. I didn’t carry illusions about purity anymore—only the knowledge of what men expected, and what it cost to give it to them.
Several sets of eyes followed us as we climbed the steps.
Still, every man who caught my eye—nice, attractive, eager—blurred together and fell away. None of them held my attention for long.
And then, uninvited, my thoughts drifted back to him.
The man from the church.
The way he’d looked at me, with controlled violence wrapped tight in discipline. The restraint he’d worn like a second skin. Terrifying, yes. But easily the most dangerously seductive man I’d ever laid eyes on.
We reached one of the terraced seating areas a couple of levels up from the stage, where a curved love seat upholstered in deep red velvet was tucked into a semi-private nook.
The lighting was lower here—dark enough to feel intimate without cutting us off from the spectacle below.
Sofia dropped onto one end, perfectly at ease.
Margaretta hesitated, then sat in the middle, still taking everything in.
I set my bow and quiver on the low table in front of us and took the other end of the seat.
The table wasn’t decorative—it was functional.
Solid, discreet metal rings were set evenly along the edge, with legs thick enough to anchor anything you attached to them.
Not cocktail-height, yet not a casual coffee table either.
It sat at exactly the right level for bondage play, for leverage and control.
I couldn’t help but wonder how many people had been fucked on top of it—and how many were curious about why we chose this spot.
Champagne showed up immediately.
Three flutes were placed on the table. It was flowing throughout the room as everyone found their places.
Sofia lifted hers with a grin. “See? This place understands priorities.”
I took a sip, bubbles skittering over my tongue. It went straight to my head after everything I’d already had to drink.
Sofia leaned closer. “So. How long do you think it’ll take your father to realize you’re gone for good?”
I laughed. “I’m sure there’s already some kind of APB out for me.” I took another sip. “But I couldn’t have picked a better place to hide. This is the last place on earth he’d ever look.”
I hesitated, then added, quieter, “I just hope he doesn’t find me at your place later.”
Sofia waved a hand. “Don’t worry. If my superfans can’t find me, your father won’t either. When I bought my new place, I did it through a trust. The only names anyone can see are my attorneys.”
I stared at her. “Oh. Wow. Being friends with someone famous really comes in handy when you’re trying to escape the mayor of New York City,” I said, bouncing my brows and laughing.
Margaretta choked on her champagne.
“Oh my God,” she said, coughing before staring at me.
“Oh my God. You’re her. I thought I recognized you.
You’re the mayor’s daughter, the nun. I cannot believe you two didn’t tell me—or that—” her head whipped back and forth between us— “that you’re here looking like this.
It’s so fabulous, I can’t wait to tell—”
“No!” Sofia and I shouted at the same time.
Margaretta froze.
“You can’t tell a soul,” Sofia said, punctuating the words with a quick grasp of Margaretta’s leg. “Not your mom. Not your friends. Not your group chat. Not your therapist.”
“I won’t,” Margaretta said quickly.
Sofia tilted her head. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Because if you do,” Sofia continued, sweet as poison, “I will absolutely ruin you. Socially. Publicly. Creatively.”
Margaretta blinked.
“I will post something so salacious your phone will combust,” Sofia went on. “And if I can’t find something good enough, I’ll make something up.”
Margaretta swallowed. “Okay. I swear.”
“Pinky swear,” Sofia said.
Margaretta hooked her finger with Sofia’s.
“Pinky swear.” She turned to me, her voice dropping just a notch.
“I would never hurt you. Tonight’s been so much fun, and I can’t wait to hear all the details about how you’re on national news with the bishop as a nun one minute, and then—” she waved her hands in front of me, grinning “—the next you’re in a sex club looking all sexified. ”
I snorted. “You have no idea how much I hate that fucking robe and veil.”
She laughed. “I bet.”
“My father’s made my life a living hell,” I explained, the words spilling out easier than they ever had before. “And there’s no way I’m going back. I’d rather jump off the Manhattan Bridge.”
Sofia reached around Margaretta and squeezed my knee. “You’re not going back.”
Suddenly, the lights dimmed.
Conversation died down across the room as a low, pulsing beat rolled through the space. The stage brightened in slow increments, drawing everyone’s attention.
Another round of champagne appeared.
Around us, bodies shifted closer. Hands slid over hips and backs. Mouths found mouths without hesitation. Couples kissed openly, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world. Singles drifted, assessing, brushing past each other with intent that wasn’t subtle.
Sofia leaned back, eyes gleaming. “If either of you wants to play tonight, you need to look the part. The production team’s already watching.”
Margaretta sat up straighter, running her hand through her chestnut curls.
I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.
I sank deeper into the chair, all the alcohol warming my veins, swaying to the music vibrating through my body.
I didn’t care about playing a part. Tonight wasn’t about me performing.
It was about Sofia and Margaretta having a great time.
And me, staying right here and watching how everything unfolded.
For the first time in a long time, I felt free.
I’d been too afraid to jinx tonight by making plans. Too afraid to imagine anything beyond this moment. But sitting here, surrounded by noise and bodies and possibility, I let myself believe anything was possible.
Maybe it was the booze talking.
But the satisfaction humming through me was undeniable.
I was happy.