The night smelled of danger—cologne, rain, and desperation. Elena Russo tugged her trench coat tighter around her slim frame as the sleek black car pulled away, leaving her on the curb in front of the building she’d sworn never to enter. The gold-lettered sign above the door read simply: CLUB NOIR.

Her heels clicked against marble steps as she climbed to her fate, her heart punching against her ribs. This was for Luca. Her idiot brother, drowning in debt, who owed money to men who didn’t believe in payment plans. This was her only way out.

Inside, the lobby was drenched in darkness and velvet. Gold chains hung like art from the high ceilings. Masked patrons whispered in corners, champagne flutes glinting in low light. Lust wasn’t hidden here—it was the air.

“Elena Russo?” a voice purred behind her.

She turned. The woman was tall, pale, dressed in black like a funeral had collided with a runway. “Follow me. Mr. Wolfe is waiting.”

Mr. Wolfe.

The name made her spine stiffen. She knew of him—Damien Wolfe. Billionaire. Cold. Collector of debts and… other things. Rumors said he never touched the same woman twice. Rumors also said he didn’t like being told no.

She followed silently through red corridors lined with mirrors that made her look like prey in every reflection. Her guide stopped before a black door and knocked once.

“Enter.”

The voice inside was low, commanding, the kind that made you clench without understanding why.

The room was dim. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the rain-slick city. A single chair sat behind a massive desk. And in that chair—

He was sharper than his photos. Damien Wolfe didn’t just exude power—he wore it. Tailored black suit. Jet hair slicked back. Stubble that whispered danger. And eyes—grey and unreadable, like storms trapped in stone.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I wasn’t aware punctuality mattered in indentured servitude,” she replied before she could stop herself.

His brow lifted—just barely—but the amusement in his smirk was slow and dangerous. “Feisty. I like that. But let’s be clear, Ms. Russo. You’re not here to play games. You’re here to pay.”

He stood. Tall. Broad. Intimidating. He walked toward her, deliberate and slow, like a predator deciding where to bite.

“What exactly am I paying with?” she asked, breath catching.

He circled her like a stormcloud. “Your time. Your obedience. Your body.”

She flinched.

He leaned down, his mouth a breath from her ear. “Don’t worry. I never take what isn’t offered. But once you do offer... I take everything.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

He stepped back, eyes raking over her, and handed her a red envelope. “The contract. You’ll read it. Sign it. Or walk away, and Luca’s blood will be on your hands by morning.”

She stared at the envelope. Her fingers trembled.

“Seven nights,” he added. “Seven nights of surrender, and your brother walks free. Think carefully. I won’t ask twice.”

The envelope burned in her hand the entire cab ride home.

Seven nights. Seven. That was all he wanted. And in return, she could buy Luca’s life back from the wolves—literally, if the name Damien Wolfe held any meaning beyond metaphor.

Elena didn’t sleep. She read the contract three times. It was legal. Clear. Brutal.

Seven nights at Club Noir.

Total submission within the club's walls.

No penetration unless consented.

No marks without permission.

No contact beyond the agreement.

Clause 13 stood out in bold:

“At no point will the submissive know the true identity of the Dominant unless he chooses to reveal it.”

Which meant... the mask wasn’t just for kink. It was control.

By sunrise, her signature was on the line. She didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t afford to.

She stood at the door of Club Noir again the next night, no trench coat this time—just the dress they sent. Deep crimson silk. Backless. Short enough to make her thighs tense in awareness. No bra. No panties.

She felt naked, even clothed.

Inside, the club had transformed. The lights were lower. The people hungrier. Moans drifted like perfume, subtle and sinful. Eyes followed her, but no one touched. She was marked. Chosen.

“Room Thirteen,” the attendant said. “Mask on. Knees on the cushion. Wait.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

The room was dark, lit only by a single spotlight that illuminated a red velvet cushion on the floor. And on a pedestal: a black satin mask.

Her hands shook as she tied it on, blinding her to all but a sliver of sight.

She knelt.

The silence screamed.

Then… footsteps. Slow. Measured. Male.

He didn’t speak.

A hand brushed her hair back from her neck. Cool fingers. Confident.

She inhaled sharply as warm breath ghosted over her skin. Lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“You came,” he murmured.

His voice. Smooth as whiskey. And dangerous like it too.

“I signed.”

“I didn’t think you would.” A pause. “Most women don’t sign without reading the fine print.”

“I did.”

Another pause.

“You understood what you were giving me?” His voice dropped. “Control. Power. Pleasure.”

She turned her head slightly. “I didn’t come here to be handled with gloves.”

The silence after that was deliciously tense.

Then—he moved.

A whisper of sound. And suddenly, her wrists were gently bound with silk. Not tight. Just enough to say you belong to me now.

He circled her slowly, his leather shoes the only sound.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. “But I am here to break you. Piece by piece. Until you remember nothing but my touch.”

A blindfold slid over her eyes.

“I’ll be the only thing you see, even in the dark.”

Then he knelt behind her.

And whispered, “Let me show you what surrender really means.”

EP3 Teaser: Velvet and Steel

She thought velvet meant softness.

Luxury. Comfort. Safety.

But in Damien Wolfe’s world, velvet came with steel beneath it.

The kind that bound.

The kind that bruised.

The kind that whispered, you’re mine—even before he ever touched her.

Elena agreed to the contract.

She thought she could play the game.

But when he walks into the room, eyes dark with command, holding her first collar in one hand and a single-word command on his lips...

She realizes something she hadn’t dared admit:

She doesn’t want to win this game.

She wants to surrender to it.

The blindfold stripped the world from her, leaving Elena adrift in sensation.

Sound became everything—the soft drag of his breath behind her, the whisper of silk against skin, the deliberate scrape of something metal being placed nearby.

She felt him kneel in front of her, close. Heat radiated from him like a low-burning fire.

“Color?” he asked.

She blinked beneath the blindfold. “Color?”

“Your safe word. Green for go. Yellow for caution. Red for stop.”

“Green,” she whispered, unsure why her heart raced at saying it.

“Good girl.”

Two words. That was all it took. A tremble chased down her spine like lightning.

Then—touch.

His hands brushed her knees, parting them ever so slightly. His fingers were cool, precise, reverent… and maddening.

“This is velvet,” he murmured, running the soft fabric over her inner thigh. “Gentle. Like trust.”

The velvet slipped higher. Her breath hitched.

Then the texture changed—leather. Firmer. Less forgiving.

“And this…” His voice was darker now, the threat barely veiled. “This is steel. Strength. Control.”

A light tap. Not painful—yet. But enough to make her gasp.

He chuckled low. “You flinch beautifully.”

A new sound—click.

Metal against metal.

She was barely able to form the question before cold steel cuffs snapped around her wrists. Heavy. Ornate. Almost like jewelry, if jewelry had the ability to remind you how little power you held.

“Do you know what the most dangerous thing in this room is, Elena?”

She shook her head. Her breath came quicker now.

“Me? No. It’s you.”

He leaned in, lips brushing her temple.

“You’re what happens when innocence pretends not to crave corruption.”

He pulled her upright to her knees, tilting her chin with two fingers.

“I’ve seen women break from less than what I plan to do to you.”

“Then don’t waste time,” she whispered. “Break me.”

That did it.

He stood. There was a beat of silence—and then the sharp snap of a riding crop against her thigh. Not hard. Not cruel. Just a warning. A promise.

She cried out, the sound half-shock, half need.

“Green?” he asked, voice low, amused, aroused.

“Green,” she gasped.

The second strike came slower. Deliberate. Followed by his mouth at her ear.

“Velvet…”

His fingers grazed her breast.

“…and steel.”

The crop snapped again.

Elena had never been touched like this—so little contact, and yet she felt everything. Her body was awakening in ways that terrified and thrilled her.

She wasn’t sure if she was surrendering…

Or coming alive.

EP4 Teaser: The Rules of Submission

Elena thought she understood boundaries.

She’d read the contract.

Signed the NDA.

Agreed to the safe word.

But nothing on paper could prepare her for the way Damien Wolfe enforces his rules—

not with anger, but with unshakable control…

and a voice that makes her knees tremble with a single word: Obey.

This isn’t about pain.

It’s about trust.

And Damien is about to test just how far she’s willing to let go.

One rule at a time.

One breath at a time.

One command away from becoming his.