CHAPTER 5 – A LATE NIGHT ENCOUNTER
Daisy
We stroll down a private corridor within Sanctum, located between the gym and the art gallery, all hushed marble and indirect lighting, a tunnel of luxurious silence.
Sophia’s heels tap in soft sync with mine as she leads me deeper, passing a closed door with a brass plaque that says Medical in unembellished caps.
She slows there, her hand barely grazing my wrist, and gives me an encouraging smile.
“Ready to see the doc?” she asks, and the words slither under my skin, more a dare than a question.
My heart is racing. Maybe it’s the way the air hums with a hidden tension, or maybe it’s that I can still taste the chlorine and sex from the pool. Either way, I nod and follow her through.
Inside, it’s not like a doctor’s office, at least not the ones I remember from childhood.
There are no plastic chairs or antiseptic stink, just the hush of filtered air and the clean, expensive smell of eucalyptus and mint.
A woman in blue scrubs and a crisp white coat greets us with a smile that’s more Vogue than urgent care, and I’m instantly on guard.
I can’t explain why, but the sterile serenity of the place feels more like an audition than a check-up.
Sophia introduces me. “Hey Dr. Celine. Daisy’s new to Sanctum. We wanted to get her checked out because she was in an accident of some sort, and still has some amnesia. Plus, we want to make sure she doesn’t have other injuries.”
The doctor doesn’t blink an eye at the word “amnesia.”
“Of course,” the woman says, her eyes kind and clinical. “We’ll take good care of you.”
She guides me to an exam room—cream walls, leather chair, a velvet-upholstered exam table that looks like it’s never seen anything as humiliating as a pap smear. I try to sit like a normal person, hands folded in my lap, knees tight together.
Sophia gives me a look like, You got this, then ducks out, closing the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Dr. Celine gets to work. Her voice is so soothing it almost makes me want to confess every bad thing I’ve ever done, starting with the dirty dreams I keep having about a certain faceless man with intense blue eyes.
“Your friend says you’ve been dizzy, having trouble with your memory?” she prompts, already checking my pulse with warm, slim fingers.
I nod, trying not to flinch as she shines a penlight in my eyes. “Just bits and pieces. Sometimes I get a headache, and then it’s blank.”
She hums, jots notes on an iPad, then asks me to follow her finger left and right, up and down.
“You’re sure you don’t remember how you got hurt?” she asks, pressing gently at my temples.
I shake my head. “No, I just woke up on the street. Maybe a car accident of some sort?”
She pauses, assessing. “I see. Well, we’ll keep it simple. Have you eaten today? Any trouble with your stomach?”
I say no, but my mouth is dry and my insides twist like a wrung out towel. Dr. Celine moves efficiently, checking my heart, blood pressure, the angry welt above my eyebrow. She examines my hands, my arms, then asks me to lie down on the table so she can check my reflexes.
Her touch is light, but I can feel the power behind it. She could snap my wrist in a second, but instead she just taps and tests, moving with the care of someone used to handling expensive things.
Finally, she offers a gentle, “Now, I’m going to check you for any injuries below the waist, all right? Sometimes in an accident, there can be trauma you don’t notice at first.”
I nod and stare at the ceiling, cheeks flaming.
The exam is awkward, and the air is charged. I have the weirdest urge to giggle, but also to run out and never look back. Dr. Celine asks if I’ve ever been sexually active. The question freezes me.
“Um, I don’t know,” I say, and the words come out high and cracked. “I can’t remember.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “That’s all right. Would you mind if I check?”
I don’t know how to answer, but I say yes anyway, and she’s gentle, explaining everything as she goes. The gloves are soft, almost warm. The exam itself is painless, just a brief, clinical sweep. The gloves are off in seconds.
“Thank you, Daisy,” she says, voice gentle. “You did perfectly.”
She steps out for a minute to fetch a glass of water, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but the faint scent of latex and the thud of my heart. When she returns, she has a printed report and a bottle of fancy electrolyte water.
“I checked you for signs of sexual activity, as a standard part of the intake. There’s no evidence of penetration or trauma. I would say that you are a true virgin, if that’s helpful to know.”
The words echo. “A true virgin.”
Why does that sound less like a diagnosis and more like a product description?
She must see the confusion on my face. “The club requests a full health and wellness check for all girls in situations like yours. They pride themselves on safety—and on discretion.”
I nod and take the water, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I say, even though I don’t mean it.
She tells me to rest, to call if I feel worse, and that she’ll update my club record for “VIP medical clearance.” When she leaves, I’m so dazed I can’t remember how to stand up. Eventually, I drift out, clutching the report and the water, and find Sophia waiting in the hallway with a little smile.
“All done?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m a clean bill of health. Like, capital-C clean.”
Sophia takes my arm and steers me toward the gallery, all casual. “That’s good. The club likes to know everyone’s safe. Did Dr. Celine tell you the thing?”
“What thing?”
Her mouth twitches. “You know. About your status.”
I flush, so hot I feel like my face is going to melt.
“She mentioned something about me being a true virgin, whatever that means,” I mumble.
Sophia leans in, dropping her voice. “That’s good, Daisy because rich men will pay crazy money for the chance to have a night with someone new and unspoiled. But only if the girl agrees, and most of the time she gets, like, a fortune for college or a condo in Paris.”
I almost choke on my tongue. “Wow.”
She shrugs. “You don’t have to do it. But if you’re interested, you should talk to Veronique. Or Hunter, because I know he’s bid at these auctions before.”
The name slams into my chest. It takes me a second to remember how to walk.
“Right,” I say, voice small. “Okay.”
Later that night, I have a rendezvous with Hunter in the gallery.
The space is cool and white, all hard lines and splashes of color.
Meanwhile, the alpha male stands alone, hands in his pockets, studying a massive abstract canvas that looks like a big splotch of red paint on a white canvas.
His suit is dark, crisp, and his black hair catches the gallery light in blue-black highlights.
I walk toward him, heels silent on the marble. He turns as I approach, and the tension in my stomach triples. His gaze hits me all at once, sharp and hungry, but his face is pure calm.
“How was your afternoon?” he asks, voice even.
I try to play it cool, but I can’t look him in the eye. “Fine. It was good. Sophia showed me some of the club, and took me to the doctor’s too. You know, just to see if I was banged up beyond the amnesia. No lasting damage, just a bruise or two.” I try a joke, but it lands limp.
He doesn’t smile. “Glad to hear it.”
I shift, arms folded under my chest, and stare at the painting because looking at him is too much.
“There’s something you should know,” I say, words tumbling out fast. “The doctor said, um… that I’m a… that I’ve never…”
I can’t finish. My face is on fire.
He steps closer, so close I can smell the starch of his shirt and the faint, expensive tang of his cologne.
“You’ve never?” he prompts, voice lower.
I bite my lip. “Never, you know. Done it. Been with a man.”
His eyes darken, a flicker of something raw passing through them. For a second, the gallery and the club and the whole world disappear, and there’s just him, looming over me, every inch the predator.
He leans in, but his voice is soft. “Is that supposed to be a surprise?”
I blink, caught. “Isn’t it?”
He tilts his head, blue eyes locked on mine. “I don’t know. Is it?”
I want to melt. I want to run. Instead, I whisper, “They said they check every new girl to ascertain if she’s a virgin because the club holds a special auction. For girls like me.”
He gives the smallest smile. “We do.”
I swallow, my heart beating out of time. “Sophia said I should consider being in it.”
Hunter’s eyes gleam, but then he shrugs, as if this is the most normal conversation in the world. “You’d make a lot of money, Daisy. Some girls make enough to never work again.”
The words hang between us, sticky and sweet and dangerous.
“Why would anyone pay that much for something so… stupid?” I blurt, instantly regretting it.
The alpha male watches me, but doesn’t judge. “Because it’s rare. Because it’s forbidden. Because some men will pay anything to be first, to own something no one else can have.” He lets that sink in. “And because you’re beautiful, Daisy. Surely, you know that.”
His compliment lands gently, making me flush with pleasure. My nipples feel tight and insides wobbly.
We stand there, staring at each other, the whole world electric. My hands are shaking. I can’t tell if I’m angry or turned on.
“I can’t do it,” I say, but my voice is weak. “The auction is too much.”
“You don’t have to.” Hunter steps even closer, pinning me with his gaze. “But if you wanted to, you’d be the star of the show.”
I look at him, really look, and I see something hungry, almost desperate behind the calm. He wants me to say yes. He wants to bid, buy and win my curves.
I want to say no. But I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to be the center of everything, to stand in a glittery spotlight as hungry male animals watch. To be touched by a man who looks at me like I’m made of gold.
“Would you buy me?” I whisper, so soft I barely hear it.