Chapter 4
NOVA
The word orientation had really undersold what awaited us behind that door.
Light streamed through stained glass windows across the spacious room, filtering out the harshness of the outside. Moody chandeliers hung above, their dangling crystals reflecting patterns of light on the carpets and people below.
And the people—they were all so beautiful, it was intimidating.
Groups mingled next to tables of hors d'oeuvres and tiny desserts, by the bar, or on plush couches and chairs arranged in a semi-circle. The way everyone was dressed—in silk, leather, evening wear, or simple black—made me feel like I’d missed the part of the disappearing website outlining a dress code.
Then again, Wes was in jeans.
I only realized I’d halted three steps inside the room when I felt heat on my back from Wes’s body behind me.
I snapped out of my daze and moved forward, and a man in black pants and a leather chest harness approached with a platter of champagne flutes. Around his neck was a collar with a lock.
Alrighty then. It would appear I was in the right place.
“Champagne?” he asked.
Wes was staring at me again, so maybe he didn’t understand consent after all. “No, thank you,” he said to the collared man without taking his eyes off me.
Words. I needed to speak words. My anxiety was back tenfold, telling me I didn’t belong here, that I was going to make a fool of myself and get kicked out of the sex cult before I’d even been invited to join.
“No, thanks,” I forced out.
The man smiled, bowed his head, and walked back to a different man in all black with a well-groomed beard standing near a food table.
The bearded man pointed to the floor, and the shirtless man knelt, setting the platter on the floor in front of him.
When the man in black—a Dominant, I assumed—found me staring, he winked.
I swallowed hard and looked away.
Wes chuckled. Again. “Nova.”
“What?” I snapped. “Stop laughing at me.”
This time, when I met his eyes, they were softer, two pools of green and brown flecked with gold. He opened and then closed his mouth, as if censoring himself. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay? Look out for yourself above all else. Trust your instincts.”
My eyes narrowed, but before I could respond, he gracefully abandoned me.
Maybe he was trying to be nice, but I found his read on me insulting.
Did he assume I was naive? Or that I didn’t belong here?
Or, more likely, both? If I couldn’t fool him, how could I fool this den of ridiculously hot, chains-and-whips enthusiasts?
As if on autopilot, I positioned myself closer to the safety of a table of food.
When I spotted a platter of caviar in a bowl with several kinds of chips and crackers surrounding it, my brows shot up.
To my right, a small huddle of people were laughing and chatting. A woman sporting pink everything—a satin pink dress, dramatic blush across her cheeks, nose, and eyelids, and pink-tinted lip gloss—broke off from the group and stepped slowly toward me.
“Hi! I’m Maisy,” she said, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind an ear.
“Nova,” I said, grateful someone was speaking to me so I didn’t have to weasel into a pre-established huddle.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?” She smiled.
“Isn’t that what orientation is all about?”
She nodded. “Well, yes, but there are active members here too. And I’m one of Jayne’s volunteers.”
“Are you a member?” I asked.
She looked around and leaned closer. “No, not yet.”
Why was her status a secret? Was that part of the cult ethos? Or was it a shameful truth to admit?
“How long have you been coming to… whatever this is?” I asked.
She grabbed a potato chip and spread a generous portion of fish eggs on top. “Only six months, but I’m really close to ascending.”
Six months? I fought hard not to audibly gasp. I was not about to suck up to a cult for six months in the hopes I may someday be deemed worthy of their overpriced swingers club.
“I’ve had a lot of basic fears I wasn’t ready to face before, but Jayne is helping me finally break free from all of that,” she said.
“Who’s Jayne?”
Her blue eyes widened, and she laughed softly, as if it was ludicrous I didn’t know who Jayne was when I walked through the door all but two minutes ago. “She’s the co-founder of The Circle,” she said, then quickly added, “Along with her husband, Archer.”
“I see. Is that good?” I asked, nodding to the caviar.
“No. I always hope I will acquire the taste for it, but I never do.”
“But you keep trying?” I asked with a bemused smile.
She shrugged. “Yep.”
If Maisy had been on the outskirts of The Circle for six months, then surely, she would’ve seen Lorelei by now. Lorelei’s bizarre behavior had really started to ramp up about five months ago, and she took off in the night three months after that. The timing lined up perfectly.
“You might know one of my friends, actually,” I said casually, loading up my own potato chip with beady fish eggs. Surely, they couldn’t taste that bad with such a hefty price tag. I lifted the potato chip to my lips, smelling fishy brine. I wrinkled my nose, but I tossed it back.
“Well?” Maisy asked.
I swallowed. “It’s all right, I guess.”
She laughed. “Who’s your friend?”
“Lorelei,” I said. “A few inches taller than me, blonde, wears big sunglasses and bigger faux fur coats—when it’s not one billion degrees outside.”
Maisy’s features twisted in consideration, her eyes blank. “I’ve never heard of her. She probably attends the members-only parties.”
Damnit. That was my fear as well. “And to get into those, you have to…”
“Ascend,” she chirped.
I blinked at her.
“Receive an invitation,” she added, as if that was a more helpful elaboration.
She wasted some rich person’s twenty dollars by throwing back another bite of caviar she clearly hated. And honestly, I respected that.
“I need to get in before the Midsummer party,” she whispered. “No one misses it, and I mean no one.” She grinned, as if we were sharing an insider’s secret I should’ve understood.
“When is it?”
“At the end of the month.” She ate another twenty dollars. “We have two opportunities to prove ourselves. Given you’re invited to the Step II soirées,” she amended, giving my body a once-over. “But look at you, of course you will be.”
Aw, we were now a we. But also, was she talking about my looks? I glanced down at my dress, which clearly didn’t fit into the dress code around here.
I refrained from pedantically pointing out that the end of July was not really the middle of summer. I assumed the party’s name was more vibes-based.
“So today, they’re just making sure you match the… aesthetic?” I glanced around, suddenly feeling like a slab of meat on a butcher’s block.
“Oh, no, of course not,” she said quickly.
“I mean, it helps.” Her pink lips curved up.
“But they’re assessing your mind and spirit as well.
They don’t want any vanillas infiltrating the space just so they can see their favorite celebrity get walked around like a dog, you know?
Or anyone boring or annoying or creepy.”
Was that what she meant when she emphasized that everyone went to the Midsummer party?
Celebrities and other wealthy socialites would attend?
I supposed if they were putting out caviar for anyone walking in off the street, they were clearly bankrolled by people with money—or at least, they wanted us to believe that was the case.
Fuck. In order for me to get to Lorelei, I had to somehow prove to these people I was one of them. Which I obviously couldn’t do. Because I wasn’t—I couldn’t be like them.
“A word of warning,” she said, lowering her voice. “I wouldn’t ask anyone else if they know your friend. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but people here are very concerned with—”
“Doxxing,” I finished. “Right. Sorry about that.”
She waved a hand. “You’re fine, girl, don’t worry. Come on, let me introduce you to some people. I met a man at my initial orientation who now pays my bills,” she whispered with a wink.
“Like, all of them?” I whispered back.
She only laughed in response as she pulled me into a circle of people. “Guys, this is Nova. She’s brand new.”
The way Maisy emphasized those words, paired with the slow grins and assessing eyes from other women in the circle, made me feel like that slab of meat all over again.
A woman stepped forward, and that icky feeling was swept under the wave of her magnetic pull.
Her eyes were such a unique shade, they almost appeared golden under the soft light from the stained-glass windows.
Her cheekbones were prominent, like a model’s, but the hollows of her cheeks retained a soft fullness.
Her plump lips were curved into an inviting, easy smile.
The makeup accenting her warm, light brown skin was minimal, effortless, and her perfect ringlets of black hair framed her like a halo.
“Nova… Latin for new,” she said, drawing each word out in a low, sensual tone.
Her smile was slightly crooked as she stopped to stand in front of me, eclipsing my view of anyone else.
“Or a star that illuminates space with a sudden brightness.” She inhaled deeply, her features suddenly serene, as if filled with holy bliss. “Are you going to burn for us, Nova?”
My mouth was dry, my mind blank. It took me a second to find my footing again. “I’m guessing you’re Jayne.”
Someone coughed, and a whisper followed.
“Fire play is a hard limit of mine,” I added.
She laughed, and the smooth, pleasing sound belonged in this beautiful space filled with these beautiful people.
I gained a sudden burst of confidence. I could do this. I knew enough to play the part—I wrote romance novels for a living, and I’d read hundreds more romance novels over the course of my life, in all different genres—erotica included. I would never be like them, but I could pretend I was.
In true cult leader fashion, Jayne inexplicably read my mind. “What do you do for work, Nova?”
“I’m an author.”
“Of what?”
“Romance.”
A couple of the women behind her made excited ooh sounds. Someone asked for an link, but Jayne ignored everyone but me.
She nodded. “Do you have a publisher?”
I was used to this question. “Nope. Indie published.”
“Ah,” she said, and something shifted in her eyes—as if she were calculating something. “Times are changing. Archaic structures are in decay, struggling to keep up with our new world. Good on you for forging your own path.”
I faltered, not expecting that response. Generally, people smiled politely when I told them I was self-published, or they gave me a well-meaning you’ll get there one day platitude, as if all indie authors desired to be picked up by a publisher. I did want this, but many of my peers did not.
Maybe it was childish, but I’d had this vision of my future since I first moved here at eighteen: the idyllic life of a successful author, a degree from NYU, a big New York City publisher.
I thought I’d be someone who wouldn’t have to worry about student loans or living with two roommates or negligent landlords or ever-changing social media algorithms.
I didn’t expect to be four years out of college still having to take odd jobs to subsidize an inconsistent writing income, not a single publisher knocking on my door. They didn’t even know about my door.
I didn’t want to be a #girlboss, but I knew Jayne was being kind and empowering, even if with ulterior motives. I also actively fought the pessimism I could feel creeping up again, shoving it away so I could focus on what I could control. The dream was still within reach. Just one more book.
Jayne’s face shifted, as if she’d read my mind for a second time, an omniscient guru in designer clothes who could read my every last desire and fear.
“Thank you,” I said quickly. “It’s a lot, but I love it. I feel super grateful to be doing what I love.”
She could see straight through me and my autopilot response. I felt naked, exposed, in need of escape.
She gently placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to walk with her. Her hand slid down my arm before returning to her side.
“What do you fear, Nova?”
I glanced around the room, realizing several men and women had stopped what they were doing to look at us.
Including Wes.
He stood with two other men, the glass of water from downstairs still in his hand. The other men looked like they’d just gotten off a train from Midtown, complete with expensive suits and receding hairlines.
His eyes narrowed; I hadn’t realized he’d been so close to me. I wondered if he’d heard our conversation.
I looked back to Jayne. “What do I fear?” I repeated.
I feared a lot of things, but what did she want to hear?
“Don’t think about what I want from you. I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”
Oh, she was good. “Public speaking.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My heart starts to race, my hands get clammy, and my voice shakes no matter what I do.”
She stopped walking when we got to a private alcove next to a wooden door and turned to me. “When did you first know you were different, Nova?”
My mouth clamped shut. Jayne smiled, seeing something in my eyes I never wanted any of them to see—and she saw it within five minutes of knowing me.
I was so fucked.
“Answer me truthfully, and I will send you the invite to the soirée next Friday evening. If you want your journey to end here, that is your choice.”
Panic clogged my throat. I wasn’t playing a part anymore. Her question had unlocked something too close to home—a home I would never return to.
I was taught from a young age to hate difference. In others, but, most importantly, in myself.
And no matter how far I’d run from the community that raised me, some wounds refused to heal.
I looked at the floor. I saw a familiar face in my mind’s eye, a charismatic man who preached about purity and sin and the end days.
Jayne placed her hand on my shoulder again. “You are here for a reason, Nova. The Circle doesn’t find you. You find us.”
I met her eyes. Lorelei wasn’t like them. She wasn’t like me. She’d slid backward into the trauma we’d barely escaped, and she’d isolated herself from the only person who could remind her of what we left behind.
Jayne waited. And waited. I saw the precise moment her once bright features dimmed with bored disappointment. My stomach twisted.
“Scooby Doo,” I blurted.