Chapter 3

The air in the photo studio was thick, not just with the residual heat of a hundred halogen bulbs and the hum of the ventilation system, but with something far heavier, far more suffocating. It was late, the kind of late where the city outside had gone to sleep, leaving only the elite who couldn’t rest trapped inside the velvet curtains of the gala’s after-party. I had been ushered out here, ostensibly for a touch-up, but really because my legs were trembling too much to stand for another posed portrait, and he had insisted on escorting me from the main hall. Now, we were alone. The assistant had cleared out ten minutes ago, leaving the vast space echoing with the soft *click-clack* of my heels against the polished concrete floor. He stood near a seamless white backdrop, his silhouette sharp against the diffused light, watching me as if I were a puzzle he had already solved but was enjoying the process of unraveling again. "Come here, baby girl," he said, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to vibrate in the base of my throat. He didn’t shout; he didn’t need to. In this acoustically perfect room, his command carried