I push myself off the door before I can think about it much more and move upstairs. My steps feel automatic, like muscle memory is carrying me through something I don’t want to feel. Ever since I realised that consent felt different, I’ve dreaded going back to the work I do. I just wish Father had put me forward as something else. For all the darkness, all the trauma and abuse, this is the one thing I don’t think I can forgive him for. I refuse to believe he didn’t realise this was a life sentence for me.
My room is exactly how I left it this morning. Roman’s shirt that I slept in is thrown haphazardly over the edge of my bed. I linger on it; it almost feels like I’m stepping into someone else’s life. Someone carefree and reckless, without responsibilities or jobs to do.
Someone better.
My gaze drifts to the top of the bed, to the imprint that hasn’t quite disappeared yet and my chest burns. Roman’s voice is still too close in my head, the way he groans my name, the way his hands feel like he is trying to learn my body rather than take something from it.
I swallow hard and force my eyes away.
That version of me doesn’t exist tonight.
I move to the wardrobe and pull it open as my fingers brush over soft fabrics that feel like they don’t belong in this harsh world. I push them aside until I reach exactly what I’m looking for. This black dress is my go to. It’s expensive enough to look like it belongs and revealing enough to invite attention, but not so much that it looks desperate.
My reflection watches on as I change into matching lingerie. I never realised how detached and clinical this process was for me. It’s as if I’m studying someone else instead of becoming her. I tilt my head, watching the way it softens my features, the way it makes me look open and approachable. I purposely soften my expression as I add the finishing touches to my make-up.
I realise with a jolt what this is. What it has always been. A mask. One I’ve worn so many times it almost feels natural now.
By the time I’m done, there’s nothing left of the Fae Roman has. I pick up my perfume, making sure to spritz behind my ears before collecting my clutch and phone as I head back downstairs. My focus is on the file as I walk to my car, letting my eyes skim over the details again. By the time I reach my car door, I already know exactly how this is going to play out.
The drive passes in a blur I don’t fully register. My hands move, my eyes track the road, but my head is somewhere else entirely. For the whole journey, I’m running through the file, through what I already know this night is going to ask of me, before my thoughts keep drifting back to the guilt about Roman. By the time I pull up outside The Black Briar, I don’t remember half the journey here.
The place is exactly what I expected. The dark glass and low lighting spill out onto the pavement. It’s the kind of bar that doesn’t need to advertise what it is because the people walking past already know. The place is suffocating in money and discretion. I smooth my hands down the front of my dress beforestepping out. The click of my heels against the pavement is sharp enough to pull me back into my mind. I take a deep breath to centre myself before nodding to the doorman.
He smiles and nods as he opens the door and I feel my spine straighten and shoulders drop as I step through to the bar. Inside, it’s warm and dim, the air is thick with expensive cologne and low conversations that blur into background noise. My eyes scan the room before landing on him almost instantly.
Daniel is sat back in his chair with a drink of what looks like whiskey in his hand. His posture is loose in a way that comes from being completely comfortable in places like this and I have to shake off the goose pimples threatening to cover my skin as his attention lifts to me. He’s attractive in that way that men are when they look after themselves. His dark hair is neatly kept and his blue shirt is tailored just right across his shoulders. As I get closer, I see a Rolex sitting heavy on his wrist as if he wants it to be noticed.
My stomach tightens at his smile. He has dimples so much like Roman that my steps falter slightly. Steeling my shoulders, I make my way over to him and he glides off his chair like a genie.
“Elara,” he says, like he’s testing it out in his mouth.
I let a small smile pull at my lips as I close the distance, letting him lean in first so I don’t have to think about it. His hand settles at my waist as he presses a kiss to one cheek, then the other, and my stomach rolls hard enough that I have to focus on keeping my expression steady instead of reacting.
“Daniel,” I softly respond.
He takes a step back just enough to look at me properly, his gaze dragging over my body in a way that makes my skin prickle.
“You’re even better than the photos.”
“Well, isn’t that the compliment? I’m sure they airbrushed me.”
I let out a quiet laugh, tilting my head as I move past him and slide into the seat beside him. He sits down, and I shuffle closer, forcing our legs to brush. His hand lands on my thigh like it belongs there, but I don’t flinch. I’ve done this dance enough times now to know how this will go. I move my hand to cover his as I lean in slightly and lightly trace my fingers over his wrist.
“What can I get you?” he asks, already signalling for the bar.
“Whatever you’re having, handsome.”
My hand wanders as his eyes roam over my body. Iaccidentallylet my pinky pull against his cock. His knee jumps up, as I wink at him and bite my lip.
“Naughty,” he leans in. I can feel his hot breath on me; it takes everything in my power not to spit in his face with repulsion.
“What can I say, I can be even more naughty than that.”
I uncross my legs and watch as he follows the movement. God, men are disgusting. It’s crazy when you think about it, whole case studies are done on how to honey trap a man and every single one of them falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. There’s no way people could be taught to seduce the whole female population, but for men? A quick flash of the knickers, a squeeze of your cleavage, a flick of your hair, and they are eating out of your palm.
My hand slides up to his chest as Daniel leans in to kiss me and I brace myself for impact. Just as his harsh mouth touches mine, a glass is placed in front of me and I pull back. Curling my fingers around it, I lift it to my mouth and pretend to sip. It was the first rule we were taught.
Never accept a drink you haven’t seen poured.