Chapter 5
Aurora
The card doesn’t specify a location for the ball, so I get ready for the appointed time and wait at home.
I do light makeup and curl my hair—not doll-like ringlets, but something close—and put on the outfit he sent.
It’s five minutes to nine. My heart is pounding against my ribs so hard I can hear it in the silence of the apartment.
I’m wearing his dress. It’s a classic sheath cocktail dress made of heavy silk crepe.
Desire clearly doesn’t like putting his women on display: there’s no plunging neckline, no daring thigh-high slits.
The boat neckline accentuates my collarbone, and the long, fitted sleeves cover my arms down to my wrists.
The dress hugs my body so tightly it looks like it was molded to me.
It clings to every inch, accentuating the curve of my hips and my narrow waist, leaving nothing to the imagination.
I’m his trophy wrapped in expensive packaging.
Protected from prying eyes by the high neckline but put on display by the way it clings to my silhouette.
I stand by the window, watching the white Maybach GLS parked downstairs. All I have to do is wait for the doorbell and walk out to meet Desire. Tonight, he’s wearing a black blazer with gold buttons, a simple white T-shirt underneath, and dark jeans.
He resembles a god. A depraved Prince Harming-Charming.
Something inside me clenches with longing for him to pull me back inside and fuck me right there on the kitchen island where he tore my clothes to shreds the other night.
He’s damn good at turning things into rags—I already know that.
I don’t know yet how he fucks, but I have no doubts about that either.
The corner of his mouth twitches slightly upward when he sees my curled hair — a brief pause, as if he’s remembering our first meeting.
“It suits you.” His eyes smile.
“I’m sure you mean the hickeys,” I murmur. That’s probably why he gave me the necklace instead of a choker—so my marks wouldn’t be covered.
“I’m glad we’re getting better at understanding each other.” He offers me his arm.
I hold his bicep and follow him to the car. There’s no driver; Desire is behind the wheel, and I like that. I like watching his hands—the same ones that can be so brutal—rest gently on the steering wheel, and imagine myself in its place.
We arrive at the Savannah Club. I’ve heard of it before but never been. Women with silicone-enhanced figures get turned away by the bouncers. “Private event tonight” they’re told. Desire leads me inside without even glancing at the guards who politely greet him at the entrance.
Inside, the hall is flooded with bright lights and music blaring, but there aren’t many people. All the guys here wear patterned bracelets, and the girls wear matching chokers. Desire’s entourage and the rest of the Kingdom.
“You rented out the whole club?” I ask, eyeing the empty sofas and gleaming bar counters.
“That wasn’t hard. It belongs to me.”
I freeze. In the center of the hall, on a high platform, stands a large glass enclosure which houses a lion.
“What’s Savannah without a lion, right?” Desire smirks, leaning close to my ear. “This beauty’s name is Zeus.”
“Of course, you couldn’t just do what everyone else does and put up some platforms with half-naked dancers.” I want to sound sarcastic, but I’m genuinely impressed. He knows how to do more than just terrify—he knows how to surprise.
“That would be too boring.” He tugs me toward the enclosure, and I struggle to keep up on my high heels.
Despite the blinding lights and the heavy bass vibrating through my insides, the predator looks surprisingly calm. He paces slowly in circles, his tail swishing against his muscular flanks. The enclosure is bathed in soft, blood-red light.
“Zeus is only brought here on special occasions,” Desire says, his eyes fixed on me.
Like me.
“He looks … comfortable,” I say, staring at the animal in amazement. “Is he on something?” My heart clenches with sympathy. “Tranquilizers?”
“No. I just know how to take care of my pussies.” He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger and pulls me toward him by the waist. At the heat of his body, I realize I’m one of his pussies too.
“His hearing is many times sharper than a human’s, so everything here has been thought out to the smallest detail. ”
He nods at the transparent walls of the enclosure.
“Active noise-cancelling system and acoustic floor insulation kill any vibration from the subwoofers. To him, the music is just a muffled hum. Lions barely perceive the red-light spectrum—it doesn’t bother them.
The mirrored coating on the glass works one way: we see him, but he only sees his own reflection.
He doesn’t know the crowd exists. Plus, there’s a separate ventilation system with air filtration. ”
I tear my gaze away from Zeus and look around. People nearby keep raising their glasses or waving at us as they pass.
Suddenly, the music softens, dissolving into a hollow echo, and a voice amplified through the speakers booms across the hall. “Kingdom! Let’s welcome Desire and his princess!”
A wave of applause and cheers rolls through the club.
Desire doesn’t react to any of them—his attention is fixed solely on me.
At the far end of the hall, I spot a familiar face—Kelsey. She’s standing next to Steve. Around her neck is a paisley-patterned choker, matching the design on Steve’s bracelet.
I move to go to her, taking a step in their direction, but Desire’s hand wraps around my waist and steers me the other way.
“We’re not going there,” he states.
I follow, my knees trembling. Along the way, he takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and hands it to me. “You can drink some.”
“You mean I need to drink some,” I mutter, taking a sip and looking at his laughing, dark eyes over the rim of the glass. He doesn’t deny it. I feel in my bones that he has something in store for me, something very Desire-like, and the alcohol is meant to help me get through it.
When the glass is half empty, he snatches it from my hand, passes it to a nearby staff member, and grabs my gold necklace, pulling me toward the doors.
How he dragged me out of Alistair’s basement by the chain.
My breasts heave with shallow breaths. Waitresses pass by, and I see their wide eyes—they can’t stop staring at the red marks on my neck.
A private elevator waits behind the door and whisks us up to the second floor.
He continues leading me by my necklace. The doors slide open, revealing an empty VIP lounge.
A massive panoramic window is angled to overlook the crowd raging below, and in front of the glass, heavy chains with handcuffs dangle from the ceiling.
Shackles embedded in the floor gleam dully below.
I freeze in the doorway, unable to stop trembling. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Absolutely.” His fingers close around my throat, right over the gold. “You saw my scars. Now I want to see yours.”
Even if he’s the one making them—the realization hits me. I exhale in relief. I want to feel pain. I’m glad for it. Glad to be even more afraid of him. Because the more I fear him, the more I want him and the rest of the world fades away.
Squeezing my throat, he yanks me deeper into the lounge.