Chapter 5
I ’ve spent an two entire weeks training to be a high-end escort.
If I had told myself a month ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed—loudly, obnoxiously, probably while choking on my coffee. But here I am, standing in front of my mirror, dressed in a silk robe after another long day at The Black Ledger, assessing myself with a sharp, critical eye.
Because this isn’t what I expected.
Not even close.
When I first walked through those gilded doors, I assumed the job would be one thing—gorgeous women on the arms of wealthy men, playing the role of an adoring date. I thought maybe there would be etiquette lessons, some coaching on conversation and charm. Maybe even a little training on how to fake interest in old-money assholes who talk about their hedge funds too much.
And yes, those things do exist. But what I didn’t expect?
The depth of control these women have.
Because being a Ledger Companion isn’t just about being wanted—it’s about commanding attention.
The first few days were a crash course in poise.
How to walk into a room and own it. How to control body language in a way that draws eyes without even trying. How to sit, stand, cross my legs, tilt my chin—each movement deliberately designed to radiate confidence.
By week two, it had become something more intense.
How to read a man’s desires before he even speaks.
How to redirect power back to myself in every interaction.
How to command a room, not just be present in it.
Eve has been leading most of our training since Elena took on a contract the same day I walked through those doors.
She’s sharp, no-nonsense, and effortlessly elegant—a woman who moves like she already owns whatever space she’s in.
“You’re not here to be a pretty accessory,” she told us in one of our first sessions. “You’re here to be a luxury—an experience men pay for because they can’t have it anywhere else.”
She makes it look so easy.
The other women? Some are already thriving. Some, like me, are still finding their footing.
Because this?
This is so much more than I ever imagined.
I also didn’t realize just how impossible it is to gain access to The Black Ledger.
It’s not just elite—it’s untouchable.
You can’t buy your way in. You can’t apply. The men who hold Ledger contracts are hand-selected, their membership approved only after months of scrutiny.
No leaks. No scandals. No accidental exposure.
And that’s exactly why they pay millions.
Two new recruits leveled up to Companions already. It seems they had previous experience . Three others left so there are fifteen of us now.
I’m fine remaining in the learning phase, applying for jobs and getting my $10,000 a week.
I glance at my phone, pulling up my bank app. My second paycheck hit today, and the first thing I did was pay off one of my credit cards.
One down. Two more to go.
I paid my rent and added to my savings without even batting an eye and there is still plenty of money left for the week ahead.
I take a deep breath, staring at the numbers. The relief is undeniable.
If I just stick this out a few more weeks, I could have everything wiped clean.
Harper is back from vacation, looking ridiculously tan and far too pleased with herself when she plops down on my couch.
“So…” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Did you miss me, or were you too busy sexting your Italian-situationship, Adriano?”
Harper rolls her eyes, but the smile she tries to fight is telling.
“Oh, please.” She waves me off, pretending she’s completely unbothered—but I see the way she fidgets. “We were just talking. You know, casual. A little light conversation.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh-huh. Light conversation.”
She sighs dramatically, then finally admits the truth.
“Fine. Maybe Adriano texted me the entire time I was gone. And I might have replied… frequently.”
I grin. “Mmm-hmm. You like him.”
“He’s hot.” She takes a dramatic sip of her coffee. “He’s temporary fun. I’m not looking for a boyfriend anyhow. You know this.”
I raise a brow. “Suuure. And does your temporary fun know that? Because it kind of sounds like he wants to see you again.”
Harper glares, but she can’t hide the truth.
She’s smiling.
Not her usual predatory, man-eating smirk—a real, soft, I-might-actually-like-this-guy smile.
And I love it.
I lean forward, teasing. “It’s okay to admit you have a heart in there, Harper. I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”
She snorts, flipping me off before shoving her sunglasses back onto her face.
“Shut up and let’s talk about getting to the second item on your to-do list.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
She puts her hand up like a fake notepad and mimes holding a pen with the other.
“You were to have a job. Check.”
“That’s a partial check. For now, only.”
“Sure, sure. We’ll be sure to make a note of that.” She pretends to push up some nonexistent glasses before getting back to her pretend list. “So looks like all we have now is… ah, sex club time.”
I grin, but my cheeks warm instantly. “So, about that…”
Harper arches an accusing brow at me. “If you went without me already, Sienna, so help me?—”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “No! No, I swear.”
She huffs, clearly skeptical. “Good. Because if my best friend experiences her sexual awakening in a nine-story sex club without me there, I will never forgive you.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, lucky for you, one of my trainers is taking a group of the new girls to The Masquerade tonight.”
Harper perks up immediately. “Oh? Now that sounds like an event I need to be a part of.”
I snort. “I don’t think plus-ones are allowed.”
Harper smirks, reaching into her purse and pulling out two silver coins, rubbing them together between her fingers. “Oh, babe, don’t forget I’ve got my own access.”
I shake my head, trying to focus. “Okay, well, the thing is… Ledger girls get full access. To all nine levels of Hell.”
Harper’s jaw drops for a single dramatic second before she lets out a gleeful squeal. “You better get in there and go fuck the Devil himself. ” She clasps her hands together, eyes wide with mock reverence. “I hear he plays exclusively on the top floor.”
I snort. “Who do you hear these things from?”
She shrugs, completely unbothered. “Adriano, of course.”
Before I can protest, she’s already grabbing her phone, fingers flying over the screen. A second later, she gasps, lighting up like a damn Christmas tree.
“He’s free tonight!” she practically sings, bouncing in place. “He’ll meet me at the club. Level Two.”
I stare at her, barely processing how quickly she locked in her plans. “You just summoned him like a damn demon.”
“Damn right,” she grins, wiggling her phone. “And now, we get ready.”
* * *
T he Masquerade looms ahead, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the golden glow of its entrance, a quiet promise of indulgence and secrecy. The low thrum of music pulses beneath my feet, a heartbeat of something unknown waiting inside.
I’m dressed exactly as Eve instructed—all black. My dress is sleek, hugging my body in all the right places without being too revealing, paired with sky-high heels that make my legs look miles long.
Harper, in contrast, is a vision in white; the Level Two: Lust color code. A barely-there mini dress, her signature confidence accompanies her.
An incredibly tall, muscular and tan man is looking at us like we’re walking steaks until I realize it’s Adriano. I hadn’t seen him since that night on the rooftop party but I notice my friends smile grows.
She looks like temptation wrapped in a bow, and she knows it.
She smirks at me as we near the entrance. “Ready, babe?”
“Go have fun.” I tease and she flips her hair over her shoulder, looking back as me.
“Go do all the things I would do.”
When she reaches Adriano he wraps an arm low around her back and pulls her in for a toe-curling kiss.
Yeah, situationship , my ass.
Just beyond them, I spot Eve and two other trainees.
I swallow, glancing up at the looming club doors. Ready is a strong word.
Tonight, is about applying what we’ve learned in training—holding ourselves with confidence, commanding attention without demanding it.
Eve said our wristbands would be look, don’t touch for the night, a safety net for us to observe, to absorb, to ease into this world. But she said we shouldn’t worry about anyone approaching us anyhow.
No one will interfere with a black mask .
A guest can only wear a black mask by invitation from the Devil himself.
That’s what Eve told us during training. And yet, no one explained who he actually is. A figurehead? A myth? Or a man?
I guess I’ll find out soon.
Eve strides ahead with effortless confidence, leading us past the long line of eager guests waiting outside. The doorman clocks her immediately, nodding in recognition before pulling open the heavy doors without hesitation.
No words are exchanged.
No questions asked.
Just silent acknowledgment as we step inside.
Behind us, the line groans with collective frustration, but no one protests. The Masquerade has its own rules, its own hierarchy, and we’re apparently above the waitlist.
Inside, the first entrance is deceivingly normal—a dimly lit lounge with moody lighting and a slow, pulsing bass humming beneath the chatter of the evening guests. But we don’t stop there.
Eve leads us past a set of velvet ropes, where another level of security waits. Here, the shift in atmosphere is palpable. The air is charged, thick with exclusivity.
Two men stand beside the entrance to what I assume is the real club, both dressed in all black. One wears a sleek tailored suit, the other… a simple pair of slacks and a black leather collar that sits snug against his throat.
My gaze barely flicks toward him before I look away, my cheeks warming.
"Pick your poison," the suited man purrs, sweeping his hand across a red felt board lined with a selection of black masks.
Each one is different. Some simple and elegant, others more elaborate with intricate designs or embellishments. A few are animalistic—sharp, pointed fox masks, curved feline styles.
I reach for one with sleek black bunny ears.
Eve hums, a slow, knowing sound as she watches me fix it over my eyes, adjusting the elastic band beneath my hair.
“Oh, going for prey tonight, Sienna?” She fastens a delicate lace mask over her own face, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I do love being chased myself.”
I swallow, pulse kicking up.
Prey.
The word settles over me in a way that makes my skin prickle, but I square my shoulders, determined to play along.
“Maybe I just like the aesthetic,” I say, forcing a smirk as I meet her gaze.
Eve laughs, looping her arm through mine as she leads us toward the next set of doors. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “Aesthetic or not… the wolves in here will see you for exactly what you are.”
As doors open, and the Masquerade swallows us whole, I wonder for myself, what exactly that could be.