Debt Paid in Flesh

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.”

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