CHAPTER 4 – A TOUR OF THE CLUB #2
The doors open into what might be the world’s fanciest Roman bathhouse, rebuilt by people who have never once checked a price tag.
The air is warm and heavy with something floral—orchids, maybe, or just the general concept of money.
Marble floors and columns everywhere, real crystal chandeliers overhead, and the distant sound of trickling water.
The reception desk is manned by a woman with slicked-back red hair and chubby cheeks, wearing a soft blue suit and a smile that’s all efficiency.
Sophia leads the way, waving at the attendant, who gives me a once-over, then a knowing little nod.
“The spa’s open to members and their guests twenty-four seven,” Sophia says, guiding me past a row of private treatment rooms with frosted glass doors. “Most of the guys only come for a quick massage or a sauna, but you should try the hot stone facial. It’s like being born all over again.”
I peek through the glass at a woman in a pale tunic, kneading the back of a man who’s twice her size and radiates a kind of bored, predatory power.
She’s focused, professional, but something about the way she keeps glancing at him reads more personal than service-industry.
The whole place is like that—there’s something different about Sanctum, although I’m not sure what it is yet.
Sophia keeps talking, her voice dropping lower as she shows me the next room. “See the showers? There are five different temperature settings, and the towels are heated. If you want, they’ll even shampoo your hair for you.”
I give her a look. “Wow. That’s called service.”
She laughs, and the sound is pure sunshine. “I know, because this place runs on pampering. No one is allowed to feel ordinary here. Ever.”
“Isn’t that exhausting?”
Sophia shrugs. “At first, yeah. But eventually, it just feels heavenly to be waited on hand and foot. The scalp massage is divine.”
She leads me through a corridor lined with potted orchids and thick white carpet, past a small salon where two women—both younger than me, both as beautiful as young goddesses—are getting matching manicures and sipping champagne.
One of them looks up, eyes tracking Sophia, and gives a tiny, polite wave.
“Most of the girls are contractors,” Sophia explains, not breaking stride. “We come in, do our thing, and go home. There’s no drama. Everyone gets paid, everyone knows the rules.”
“What are the rules?” I ask.
Sophia pauses. For a second, her smile firmly in place. “Mostly? Don’t embarrass the club. Don’t make a scene. Always respect the privacy of the members. If you break the rules, you’re out, no questions.”
We walk in silence for a minute, the plush carpet swallowing our steps.
At the end of the hallway, double doors open into the gym: an expanse of pale wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and equipment so new it looks like a prop from a sci-fi movie.
There are two men working out, both insanely handsome, and looking like they were built from titanium and testosterone.
Sweat drips from their foreheads, muscles bulging.
“Wow, these guys are ripped. Is everyone here beautiful and athletic?”
Sophia isn’t fazed at the question.
“Pretty much,” Sophia says. “Sanctum’s about exclusivity, so they vet everyone carefully. But to be clear, only the men pay to join—women can only be here if they’re with a member, or if they’re on staff.” She gives me a sly look. “It’s very retro, in a way. Except nobody’s actually mad.”
“Isn’t that…” I trail off, searching for a polite word. “Isn’t that a little much?”
Sophia’s laugh is softer this time, almost like she’s genuinely amused.
“You’d think, but the men who can afford this place?
They like rules. They want to know that they’re getting privacy and discretion, and of course, that they can do whatever they want.
The girls don’t mind, because the money is insane. Like wowza, insane.”
I glance back at the gym. One of the men, a square-jawed blond, catches my eye and nods. It’s not sleazy, just confident. He goes back to his deadlifts like nothing happened.
I realize then: everyone man here is an alpha male. You have to be, to belong.
Sophia leads me to the edge of the gym, where there’s a juice bar manned by a woman who looks like she could be a supermodel or a pro tennis player, depending on which way she tilts her head. She wears a sleeveless top with the Sanctum logo in gold thread. Her smile for Sophia is real.
“Sophia, welcome back.”
“Hi!” Sophia says. “This is Daisy—she’s a friend of Hunter’s.”
The woman nods, gaze traveling over me in a single smooth scan. “Do you want a smoothie, Daisy? They’re complimentary.”
I feel like I should say yes, so I do. “Sure, thank you.”
She goes to work, hands flying over the blender and fruit, and I lean close to Sophia.
“Is everyone here this perfect? It’s honestly getting scary.”
Sophia doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, it’s kind of a theme. Don’t stress about it. You actually fit in really well, and again, everything’s fine. Hunter will take care of everything.”
I swallow and feel better because it’s true. The mere thought of Hunter McCarren warms me to my core and makes me feel protected.
I sip the smoothie. It tastes like pineapple and papaya, with a sweetness that almost makes my teeth ache. Sophia guides me to a pair of armchairs off to the side, and we sit, legs crossed, taking in the scene.
“So how do you know Mr. McCarren?” Sophia asks, voice casual but a little sharp at the edges.
I consider, then tell the truth. “I don’t really. I mean, I know him, but I don’t know how. He just found me, I guess.”
Sophia’s eyebrow arches. “That’s not the story I heard, but okay.”
My cheeks go hot. “What did you hear?”
She shrugs, watching the men in the gym. “That he brought you in because you were in trouble. That you didn’t want to go to a hospital. That you’re his type.”
“What’s his type?”
Sophia turns her green eyes on me, and for the first time since we met, I see sympathy behind the smile. “Girls who are beautiful. Girls who are young. Girls who are lost, and need someone to tell them what they want.”
I swallow hard, the smoothie suddenly a rock in my stomach. “Is that why you work here?”
She laughs, softer this time. “No. I work here because I enjoy the lifestyle, and I like being taken care of. And because the world outside is scary and huge, and we’re protected at Sanctum.”
She finishes her drink in a single gulp and stands. “C’mon. Let’s check out the dining room. I want to show you something.”
I follow, and we weave past the gym’s glass wall and into another corridor, this one lined with abstract art in primary colors.
At the end is the club restaurant: a sweeping room with leather banquettes, polished brass fixtures, and a view of the city that’s better than the one from my suite.
The place is empty except for two tables—one with a pair of older men in suits, deep in conversation, and another with a man in a black turtleneck, his attention fixed on a laptop.
The servers are all women, dressed in black, hair perfect.
Sophia leans against the bar, her posture casual, but her eyes on the men at the table.
“Notice anything?” she whispers.
I watch for a minute. The servers move with a choreography that’s both efficient and sensual, the little touches—hand on a shoulder, a smile held half a second too long, a napkin unfolded in a lap. The men are casual, but you can feel their attention, their ownership of the women, in the air.
“The servers treat the men like kings,” I say, my voice too loud.
Sophia nods. “Exactly. And in return, the men pay well. Some of them tip more in a night than an average person makes in a month. Some of them just want to talk, or listen. Some want…” She trails off, then gives me a look. “You’re not stupid, Daisy. You know what I mean.”
I kind of do, but ask just to be sure. “So is it like dating?”
Sophia’s laugh is bright. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s nothing at all. Just company, or conversation, or someone to play with for a while.”
I don’t answer, just watch as a server bends to refill a glass, her smile soft and inviting.
Sophia bumps my shoulder. “Don’t worry. No one here will make you do anything you don’t want. You’re a guest, not staff.”
I try to smile. “What if I want to work here?”
She gives me a sidelong look. “Then you talk to Veronique, and she’ll set you up. But honestly? I don’t think you’re like the rest of us.”
“How so?”
Sophia stares at me, really stares, as if she’s trying to x-ray my soul. “You don’t want to play. You want to know the rules before you join the game.”
I look away, back at the restaurant.
There’s a tension building inside me, an itch that has nothing to do with sex or money. I want to know why I’m here, who I am, and why I feel so at home in a place built for people like Hunter.
Sophia senses the shift. She nudges my elbow, her touch light. “Ready to see the pool?”
I nod, and together we walk down another hall, past more art, more closed doors.
As we turn a corner, Sophia stops and puts a hand on my arm. “Daisy?”
I look up. She’s closer than I expect, her green eyes softer. “If you ever want to talk, for real, just ask. I mean it.”
I nod, and she lets go, leading me toward a blue-glass glow at the end of the hall.
Whatever’s coming next, I’m ready for it.
The pool is in the basement of Sanctum, past a pair of locked doors and down a staircase that curves so gently it feels like you’re descending into a secret.
Blue light glows from somewhere below, staining the air in gradients of midnight and glacier.
My first thought is that it smells like heaven: a tangle of eucalyptus, citrus, and something else, primal and musky.