Chapter 7
Everly
Hours pass, the house silent around me, and I lie in bed, wide awake. I'm only thinking about Xavier, fighting to give myself the release he withheld from me. But for some reason, I want to know what will happen if I don't give in.
The only problem is it's driving me crazy.
With a sigh of frustration, I realize I can't keep still anymore. I leap out of bed, throw my silken robe over my shoulders, and leave my room, seeking water. The kitchen is cold when I get there. I open the fridge, the light spilling out, and grab the first bottle of water. I drink it all in long gulps. I open another. But the cool liquid does little to soothe me. My body still burns and aches, my nerves still raw. I rest my hands on the counter, my gaze blank as I stare into the empty space.
I’m startled by a sound, a soft rustle behind me. I turn, the water bottle still in my grip, and find Winter standing there. Her platinum bob seems sharper, catching the light from the open fridge, and her ice-blue eyes are assessing me, searching for something.
"You look troubled," she states, her tone flat but not unkind.
I shake my head, feeling exposed under her scrutiny. "Just thirsty.”
She doesn’t buy it. I can tell. She moves closer, so close I can smell the faint floral note of her perfume. “Sessions with Xavier… they leave a mark, don't they?”
My cheeks flush as I remember the ways his touch wrung a response from my body, the way I begged for more even when he withheld.
"I don't know what you mean."
Her lips curl into a small half-smile, a barely there curve. “Don’t pretend with me, Everly. We live under the same roof, share the same master. It’s pointless.”
Master.
I look at the floor, then back at her, but the weight of her gaze feels like an anchor, keeping me from hiding in the polite pleasantries I’m used to.
“It's different from anything I've experienced.”
“Different good or different bad?” She leans against the counter next to me, watching me curiously.
I hesitate. I don't know how to explain this confusing, alien thing growing inside me, a desire that both frightens and enthralls. “I don't know. It's confusing. Scary. Why would I want that? Why would I want any of it?”
A shadow passes behind her eyes, and I realize she's not just seeing me. She’s seeing herself, in some way.
“I remember when I first came here, I fought with such ferocity. I hated the constraints, the forced submission to things beyond my control. I thought I could remain separate from it all, that I would always be me,” she says, her voice like cool glass, smooth.
"But you didn't?"
"No," she allows, her gaze drifting to the far wall. "The harder I pushed, the sharper the edges became. It was exhausting," she says, her voice trailing off, and I think there's regret woven within it. “I lost everything and found something… new.”
“What do you mean?”
She looks at me, her eyes sharp. “There are ways to make this life…” she gestures around the kitchen with a stiff hand. “Bearable. To make the experience part of you, rather than something done to you.”
I look at her, my brow furrowed, still struggling to comprehend her meaning. “How?”
"Stop fighting it, Everly,” she says, as cold as the water bottle that remains in my hand. “Stop viewing it as a violation. Let it possess you. Lean into the sensation, into the power—or the lack of it. Discover the pleasure in that surrender.”
“But how can you enjoy being controlled?” I ask, the confusion clear in my voice. It’s madness.
She presses her lips together, thinking for a moment before responding. “It’s not about being controlled for the sake of it. It is about the freedom that comes from accepting the boundaries set for you. It’s losing yourself in something larger than yourself.” She pauses, then adds, almost in a whisper, “Or maybe it's about something else entirely. A way to make what happened to you not the end.”
I know she’s referencing her past in some way.
There's a long silence. It stretches between us like a chasm. It’s a strange moment, her sharing something that feels so intimate and dangerous.
“Don’t look for an old life, an old version of you, Everly. You’re not who you used to be. You probably never were. Don’t look back.”
I open my mouth to ask her more, but before I can, the shrill chime of a distant clock breaks the silence. Winter turns away, her face no longer showing any of the softness she revealed.
"It's late," she says, her voice once again crisp. "Get some sleep."
Then, she’s gone, her form a shadow disappearing quickly into the hall, leaving me alone again with her words.
I don’t know what to make of it, but there’s something in her tone that echoes my own internal struggle. I’ve always prided myself on being strong, on being the good girl, but here… being good doesn’t seem to apply. Here, it’s about finding power in the most unlikely places.
I look down at the bottle in my hand, then set it on the counter. The kitchen feels colder now, the shadows deeper. I think about Xavier, about the way he played my body like an instrument, pulling every string until it sang. I think about the way I begged, the way I wanted to give in.
And then I think about Winter, about the way she seemed to find freedom in submission.
I don’t know if I can do what she’s asking. I don’t know if I can let go of who I’ve always been. But standing there in the kitchen, alone and awake, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something, staring into an unknown that both terrifies and tantalizes me.
Winter said not to look back, but I’m not sure how to move forward.
* * *
I gently stroke the edge of the leather-bound book as I lie in bed and try to read, the words blurring together on the page. Saturday nights are usually quiet for me—reading, maybe a walk if the weather's kind. But I can't get my thoughts to stay focused. This book caught my attention at the Ember, but maybe I should have left it there.
A knock at my door shatters the stillness, unexpected and sharp.
"Come in," I call out, smoothing the pages flat nervously. The door swings open, and Xavier is there, his silhouette framed by the hall light. His presence fills the room, an unspoken command that draws my attention fully to him.
"You're coming with me tonight," he says, no room for refusal in his tone.
My heart stutters, an unwelcome reaction. He steps farther in, a garment bag slung over his shoulder, and tosses it onto the bed beside me. The fabric inside rustles, a soft whisper.
I push the book aside and rise, my fingers instinctively smoothing the front of my simple cotton dress. It's modest, practical, a far cry from whatever he's brought for me to wear.
"Coming with you where?" I ask, reaching for the bag. I unzip it and reveal a dress that's anything but modest.
The fabric is rich, some blend of silk and something more luxurious. The neckline is deep, swooping in a way that would expose more than I'm comfortable showing. The sleeves are short, the skirt floor-length but slit high enough to reveal a glimpse of thigh with every step. It's elegant, yes, but undeniably provocative. I feel a flush rise to my cheeks as I take in the sheer audacity of the design.
"This... I don't know," I falter, glancing at him, hoping he'll see the hesitation in my eyes.
"Put it on," he commands. There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he knows exactly how out of my depth I am.
I want to tell him to put the dress on himself, but I know he won't like that. Besides, I'm contracted to him. With a huff, I turn my back to him and shimmy out of the dress I was wearing. I slip the new dress over my shoulders, the cool fabric grazing my skin. Xavier steps closer, and the zipper hums as he pulls it up, his fingers touching my spine. I shiver despite myself, the touch sending a cascade of nerves through me.
I still haven't touched myself since he brought me so close to the edge.
When I turn to face him, he's already at the door, gesturing for me to follow. I hesitate, my mind racing with all the reasons I should say no, should stay here, should not let him pull me into whatever game he's playing tonight. But something about the way he's looking at me, like there's something underneath the surface I can't quite see, makes me move.
I trail behind him down the hall, the silky fabric of the dress whispering against my legs. We enter a room I've never seen before, one that feels like a bizarre cross between a salon and a theater dressing room. Bright vanity lights ring a large mirror, casting everything in a flattering glow. Several women are already here, their eyes landing on me. I recognize them as dolls, though their names escape me. They move toward me with a strange grace.
One with dark wavy hair and a constellation of freckles on her nose smiles. "Welcome, Everly. Let's get started."
Her voice is light, almost too sweet. I feel like a dress-up doll, being maneuvered without my input. The one on my left, a blonde with startlingly blue eyes, begins untying my ponytail, her fingers working quickly and carefully. They're experts. I try to relax, but my body is rigid.
"Just relax," the brunette says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This will be painless."
I stare at myself in the mirror as they go to work, the transformation fast but thorough. They brush my hair back, then shape it into soft waves that cascade past my shoulders, a far cry from my plain style. Warm brushes kiss my cheeks and lips, tinting them with color. The effect is striking. When they're finished, my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller, my cheekbones more pronounced. I look like a different person. They’ve turned me into a vision of someone I barely recognize.
"There," the blonde declares, stepping back with a pleased expression. "Much better."
I study my reflection, my throat tight. I do look better, I must admit it, but it's not me. It's like they’ve taken who I am and twisted it with a kind of magic I don't understand. Or worse, like they've taken something that was already beautiful and made it something else.
Xavier steps into my line of sight, his reflection joining mine in the mirror. He looks at me, his gaze holding something akin to approval. He circles me slowly, taking in the final product from all angles before stopping directly behind me, his hands resting on my hips. They feel hot through the thin fabric.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice near my ear.
He turns me slightly and guides me out of the room, his grip surprisingly possessive.
"Where are we going?" I try to ask again, but Xavier simply pats my arm and leads me to the car.
I'm annoyed and scared at the same time.
The city lights strobe outside as we glide through the night. Xavier sits across from me, looking casual. I grip the edge of my seat, the dress clinging to me in ways that make me acutely aware of every curve of my body.
When we arrive at our destination, which turns out to be the Ravenwood, the surge of people at the entrance swallows us whole. The casino is a cacophony of sounds—laughter, clinking glasses, the rhythmic clatter of roulette wheels. I’m swept up in the tide, Xavier’s arm closing around my wrist, pulling me through the crowd. I stiffen, uncomfortable with the attention, every eye drawn to him, to us.
"Mr. Ravenwood," a voice calls out, smooth and booming.
Xavier turns, his smile wide and inviting, but there's a sharpness in his eyes that makes me realize how much of a performance this is. The man who approaches is middle-aged, with a cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes roving over me before settling on Xavier's face.
"Back in the game tonight?" he asks, slapping Xavier on the back. The sound is loud, jarring, and I flinch, earning a quizzical glance from Xavier.
"Just here to enjoy the evening," he replies, his voice smooth as velvet. But there's a tension in his stance, a coiled readiness that doesn't match the easy smile.
The man nods, but his eyes linger on me, making me feel like a specimen under a microscope. "And who might this be? A new... friend?"
"Everly." Xavier’s voice is clipped, a clear dismissal. The man's smile widens, but he takes the hint, backing away with a raised glass and a knowing glint in his eye.
As the night wears on, I'm introduced to a parade of faces, each more polished and predatory than the last. Xavier moves through them with ease, a king in his domain, his charisma a force that draws people in. I watch him, fascinated despite myself, trying to reconcile this side of him with the man who stood in my bedroom and ordered me to wear a dress that feels like a second skin.
But with each passing minute, the evening presses down on me. The constant attention, the subtle touches from strangers who think they have the right, the stifling heat that clings to me like a shroud. I want to escape, to slip away from this glittering nightmare and find a quiet corner to breathe.
Then, the inevitable happens. A woman with a smirk and a dress that hugs her body like a glove sidles up to us, her eyes narrowing as she takes me in.
"So, this is the new toy," she says, her voice laced with venom. "I didn't know they were letting in the local church mice these days."
Xavier's arm tightens around me, and I feel a surge of adrenaline as he steps forward. But to my surprise, he doesn't lash out. Instead, he tilts his head, a slow smile unfurling on his lips.
"Careful, Aja," he warns, his voice light but with an undercurrent of something sharper. "Some things are worth more than you think."
Her smirk falters, and for a moment, I see the flicker of fear in her eyes before she masks it. "Oh, I'm shakin' in my boots," she snarls, but she backs away, melting into the crowd.
Xavier watches her go before turning to me.
"Shall we?" he asks, low and smooth, but I can see the edge of tension in the way he holds himself. I nod, mute, following him as he navigates the throng with ease, leaving the woman and her catty remark in the dust.
The remainder of the evening blurs together in a haze of sounds and faces, each more forgettable than the last. I drink a glass of wine, the taste sharp but comforting, and try to find a footing in this maze of social politics. Xavier stays close, his presence a strange kind of anchor in this sea of strangers.
When we finally leave, the cool night air is a relief, slicing through the artificial warmth of the casino. I wrap my arms around myself. Xavier notices, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder, the touch grounding in a way I didn't expect.
Back at the mansion, the quiet envelops us. I pause in the living room, hesitating, but Xavier catches my hand before I can retreat.
"A minute," he says, his voice carrying a command I can't ignore. I nod, following him to the lounge, the room dim but for the soft glow of a single lamp.
The door closes behind me, and I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my ears. This whole outing has been about wearing a mask, presenting myself in just the right way. But for the first time, I let my emotions flow.
"Why tonight?" I bark, surprising even myself. "What was that all about?"
He leans against the desk, watching me. "You needed to see," he says simply, like that's explanation enough. "Needed to understand."
I take a step forward, boldness spurring me on. "Understand what? That you’re the king of that place? That people there don’t care who they step on to get what they want? I already knew that."
A flicker of emotion crosses his face, but he quickly masks it. "Understand me," he corrects, his voice soft but with an edge. "I'm trying to show you a different part of me, Everly. This is who I am."
"But why drag me into that world?" I press, my voice shaking now, the reality of my situation hitting me with full force. "Why make me go through that?"
He straightens up, pushing off from the desk with a fluid motion. "Because you should know the world I belong to. You should know how close you are to it. And you need to know how much attention you'll attract."
His words catch me off guard. I feel a surge of confusion. It's like this was a test somehow. He knows I'd hate that kind of environment, this kind of dress. So is he challenging me to leave? Punishing me? Why?
I step closer, my heart a wild thing in my chest, and meet his gaze. "Yeah, I guess I should be aware of that. I attracted your attention, after all, and look where that's gotten me."
Even though I'm trying to provoke him, he says nothing, his eyes locked on mine. Then, slowly, he nods.
"Yes. You have attracted my attention."
With that, he turns away, leaving me alone in the glow of the lamp, the weight of his words settling around me like chains.
Or maybe wings.