The Masked Billionaire

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.

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