CHAPTER 03
Liam
Every day, a new rose found its way into my home while I was out. Always on my kitchen table, and always neatly tied with a black silk ribbon. The first flower had unsettled me.
By the third, I began to expect them at the end of my day.
By the fifth, it was the first thing I looked for when I walked through my door each night. It became a staple in my routine. And with every flower, my worries faded a little more. They still sat there, deep in my chest, but with each day, that feeling was replaced a little more with anticipation.
I told myself it was ridiculous—that I should’ve been more concerned about the fact that someone was readily breaking into my apartment every day.
I should’ve changed the locks or called the police.
Anything would’ve been smarter than justifying that I’d signed up for this while standing there with a rose in hand.
I counted the days in roses until finally the last Friday of the month arrived.
I even took the day off. It should’ve felt like a break, but it didn’t.
Not really. Mr. Jennings made sure of that as my phone lit up every hour with calls and messages about things that absolutely could’ve waited.
I let it ring more than I answered and paced my apartment, picking up things just to put them right back down again.
I checked the time, then checked it again five minutes later, like it might have changed more than it had.
I told myself I deserved the day off—that I wasn’t doing anything wrong.
I said it enough times that I almost believed it.
Keeping busy didn’t help. If anything, that just made it worse.
I tried cleaning. That lasted all of twenty minutes before I found myself standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing as my thoughts drifted right back to the same place.
Tonight.
What would it be like?
What would they expect?
What would I do when I got there?
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I obsessed. I’d signed up for this, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. And yet, I refused to be controlled by the anxiety I combatted daily.
By mid-afternoon, I gave up pretending that I could focus on anything else and started getting ready.
I wasn’t even sure I could call it that.
My entire closet ended up on my bed. Nothing looked right.
It was either too casual or too formal—too much or not enough.
I had no idea what I was supposed to wear for something like this.
What did you wear when you were walking into a fantasy someone else had built for you?
Eventually, I gave up and went shopping. I told myself that it was the practical thing to do. I ended up with a new navy sweater and a pair of fitted jeans. It was simple but well put together. It felt like the smart and safe choice. At least, I hoped it would be.
At seven, a sleek town car rolled up in front of my apartment. My stomach tightened anxiously. This was it.
The driver stepped out and met me at the back door with a polite, almost knowing smile.
“There is chilled champagne waiting for you, Mr. Baker,” he said softly as he held the door open for me. “The Conductor invites you to enjoy a drink to ease your nerves on the drive over.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I mumbled and climbed inside. As the driver shut the door, I added, “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Baker.”
The door clicked shut, and I was left alone on my side of a partition.
The space was quiet and clean. Soft instrumental music filled the car—something piano-heavy and slow.
It was the kind of music I listened to every day because I loved piano music.
Was that something the Conductor had learned about me?
Or was it purely coincidental? Some twisted part of me hoped for the first.
As promised, a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice beside me, condensation beading along the glass.
A single flute waited next to it. The label was unmistakable and expensive.
It was the kind of drink I’d only ever seen poured at Mr. and Mrs. Jennings’s social events. It was the kind I could never afford.
I poured a generous amount and downed it all too fast, barely tasting it as it burned a warm path down my throat. I didn’t pace myself or even savor it. I just needed something to ease the tightness in my chest.
It didn’t.
If anything, it only amplified it all. The quiet. The music. The fact that I couldn’t see the driver. That I didn’t know where we were going. It was all a lot to process.
I shifted in my seat and glanced out the window while the city passed by in a blur of lights, my leg bouncing of its own accord. I pressed my hand down against it like it’d help. It wouldn’t. My anxiety was a little too rampant for that.
I could still tell the driver to turn around. I could knock on the partition and tell him that I’d changed my mind. That this was a mistake. No one would blame me. No one would even have to know.
Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to do it because, beneath all the nerves and never-ending questions, I wanted this. It wasn’t a mistake or a poor choice. It was just an unknown variable that I had to work through. It’d get easier once I was in the moment and not stuck in my head. That was all.
The car slowed to a crawl and then a complete stop, and I rubbed my palms on my thighs.
I could do this. The engine idled a heartbeat longer than necessary, like it was giving me a second to catch up or maybe giving me one last chance to change my mind.
I forced myself to wait until the door opened for me instead of rushing out like an eager child.
When the door finally opened, I stepped out without hesitation.
Cool air slid across my skin as I stood on the sidewalk and sent a shiver down my spine.
A tall building loomed overhead, its dark glass reflecting the glimmering city lights.
The foundation of its design was beautiful, albeit intimidating.
“Have a good night, Mr. Baker,” the driver said quietly as he shut the door. I nodded slightly in his direction, only vaguely aware of the words he’d said.
A gorgeous woman smiled the moment I walked inside.
The warm lighting in the foyer played up the pink tones in her strawberry-blonde hair and brought out the haunting hues in her pale green eyes.
A black pencil skirt hugged her curves while her emerald blouse and heels tied the whole outfit together.
I stopped and stared at her. I couldn’t help it.
Was she the Conductor? While I was bisexual without a preference, I’d built this image in my head about the Conductor, and she wasn’t it, starting with the fact that she wasn’t a man.
“Mr. Baker,” she greeted cheerfully. She walked toward me, her heels clicking on the pristine marble beneath us. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Elena.”
“Are you … the Conductor?” Saying the words out loud sounded ridiculous. Just the Conductor. Nothing else.
“Oh, no.” She let out a small laugh. “I’m your handler.”
“My what?”
“The Black Silk Society always assigns a handler to applicants for the fantasy fulfillment program,” Elena explained.
“My job is to assist your transition into your fantasy environment. In your case, we have a beautiful penthouse upstairs set up for tonight. You’ll be spending the entire night with the Conductor and his guest, and you’re welcome to take your time in leaving tomorrow morning. ”
Oh. The whole night. That was more than I was expecting, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what I was expecting.
“Before we go upstairs, I wanted to ask how much this is going to cost?” I asked her quietly.
That was the biggest thought weighing heavily on me.
While I wanted this, I wasn’t sure I could afford it.
I was paid decently well as a personal assistant, but I had a tight budget.
An entire night was probably too far out of my budget range.
“Oh,” her smile widened, “I think you misunderstood, Mr. Baker. Our fantasy fulfillment program runs strictly on donations from anonymous benefactors within the Society.”
Anonymous benefactors?
“So I don’t need to pay anything?”
“No,” Elena said. “All you need to worry about is breathing and feeling. Just let yourself take it all in. Immerse yourself wholly in tonight’s experience.”
“When you say anonymous benefactors,” I cut her off. “What are they getting out of it? From me. What are they getting out of it from me?”
No one did anything for no reason. I knew all about ulterior motives and secret agendas. My mind ran a little too rampant with possibilities. What if this whole thing was taped for their amusement? What if there were pictures? Or blackmail?
“May I?” She held out her hands, motioning for me to take them.
I did, and she stepped closer. Her heels and my slightly shorter height meant we were eye to eye.
Her expression was full of compassion and soft things that I couldn’t quite put words to.
“It’s okay to be nervous about tonight, Mr. Baker. ”
“Liam,” I corrected without thinking.
“It’s okay to be nervous, Liam,” Elena repeated gently. “Everyone always is. You are safe with us.”
My chest tightened hard enough for me to punch out an uncomfortable breath, and she squeezed for reassurance.
“There are no secret motives here. Any benefits given to our program’s benefactors do not come at your expense. The Society’s owner works all of that out separately. It’s never something you have to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” I replied a little stupidly.
“You are wanted here, Liam,” she told me, her voice dropping a little further. “Just you. Not for your money. Not for your experience outside in the real world. And not for anything else. Just you. We want you here tonight as you are.”
Just me. As I was. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. I was far too used to having to bring something to the table to be wanted—personally and professionally.
“Now, we’re going to stand here until you’re ready,” she continued. “If it takes an hour, then it takes an hour. The Conductor is patient, and so am I.”
“What’s the Conductor like?” I asked. “I think it’s… I don’t know what to expect.”
“He’s brilliant,” Elena said. He. So, the Conductor was a man. That little piece of knowledge thrilled me. “And his attention to detail is impressive. You’ll be in very, very good hands tonight.”
“Promise?” Maybe it was a stupid thing to ask of her. I didn’t know her, which meant I shouldn’t have trusted her, but some part of me did. There was something warm and comforting about her that I wanted to lean into.
“I promise.”
“Okay.” I gave her hands a light squeeze as I blew out a deep breath. The nerves didn’t vanish, and I didn’t think they would any time soon. But they were manageable. I squared off my shoulders and glanced at the elevator doors over her shoulder.
I wanted this. No matter how crazy it was that this whole thing had come about, I did want this. I wanted to meet the Conductor. I wanted to let him take my fantasy and, for one night, show me what it’d be like to be truly wanted. There was nothing shameful about that.
“Okay,” I repeated a little louder. “I’d like to go upstairs now.”