The room smelled of leather, perfume, and surrender.
Soft candlelight flickered against the deep crimson walls, casting shadows across the sleek black furniture. A throne-like chair stood in the center of the room, the high back lined with silver studs, the arms wide enough to claim anyone who knelt before it.
And she was kneeling. Evelyn.
Her knees pressed into the cool hardwood floor, her body perfectly still, except for the subtle tremor in her fingers. She kept them folded in her lap, the way she had been trained.
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