CHAPTER 01
Owen
The Black Estatesat nestled deep in the woods, where the trees grew thick enough to swallow the early afternoon light. Pine trees and ancient oaks stretched high overhead, twisting over the road I drove down. Only those with an invitation drove down this road because only those who were wanted here were allowed on the premises. Iron gates marked the threshold with thick black bars, and a high fence wrapped around the expansive property.
To the outside world, it was nothing more than a curious location with rolling landscape and a mansion that was significantly larger than it should’ve been from a distance. The closer one got to the architectural masterpiece, the more imposing it became, with its elegant lines, stonework, and shadow play built into the design. And it was supposed to. Insideits confines, the Black Silk Society operated where the rest of the world couldn’t touch it.
The Society was an exclusive club. They said once you were in, it could provide you with anything and everything you ever wanted—sex, thrills, indulgence. Those were the words people used more than anything else.
But that wasn’t what made the Society dangerous.
Those were surface-level desires used to fund something deeper. Something most people would never dare to touch, let alone understand.
Behind closed doors, the Society operated with a precision that bordered on the invasive. It fed on desire. Fantasies weren’t simply fulfilled. They were studied, reshaped, and explored in ways that our clients never anticipated. And those clients—the ones brave enough, desperate enough to chase something they couldn’t quite say outloud—didn’t just leave satisfied.
They left changed.
Because we knew what they truly needed, and we were never afraid to give it to them.
I eased my sports car to a stop next to the security booth at the gate and rolled down the window. The man inside was dressed as pristinely as I was. His black suit was neatly tailored to his strong body, matching the black dress shirt he wore underneath. The cut made it impossible to miss the compounded muscle he maintained. Dark hair was cropped short at his scalp, drawing attention to his stunning pale green eyes.
If I didn’t have a healthy respect for professional boundaries, I’d have him bent over his small desk already.
“Evening,” Lance said with an easy grin. The slight drawl in his voice screamed small-town in the South. He leaned against the door of the booth. I caught the way his gaze drifted over the interior of my car, giving it a quick once-over. We knew each other well enough for him to trust I wasn’t about tosmuggle contraband onto the property. “How are you tonight, Mr. Wells?”
He was one of three people who knew my real name here, and that was only because he was the head of security. To everyone else, I was simply the Conductor. Titles mattered here. Names did not.
Within the Society, I held the rank of Architect—an earned position that was not assigned lightly. We weren’t scheduled, nor did we keep regular working hours. We were summoned. Requested by design, chosen by reputation, called in only when we were required.
As the Conductor, I was known for orchestration. For balance. For total control over multiple bodies.
Once upon a time, I’d been a sought-after dance choreographer. I worked in theaters around the country. But I wanted more—different—which had led me to a job at the Society. I trained their dancers, teaching the art of seduction through motion, timing, and discipline. The Society paid far better than any theater ever had, and it demanded more in return. I gave them everything I had. Long hours and endless routines dominated my life for years, but I thrived in the challenge.
And someone noticed. Not just my impeccable choreography, but the way I watched. The way I adjusted. The way I anticipated. The way I controlled the dancers without ever breaking their illusion of freedom.
Thatwas how I was chosen.
The Society saw my true talents and rewarded me for them.
“I’m doing just fine,” I replied.
“Mr. Hemingway is expecting you,” he told me, as if I didn’t already know. It was formality, and I knew that. While he kept talking, he hit the switch to open the gates. “Take the left drive, and take it slow.”
I knew that as well. The gates swung open silently. Despite their age, they worked flawlessly.
“Thank you, Lance.” I eased off the brake and rolled forward. While the right was considered the main drive and led straight toward the mansion, the smaller drive on the left was for special employees only. It wove unevenly away from the gates and disappeared through a patch of trees toward the back of the property where a modest house sat in a grove. Thick patches of wildflowers took over the lawn, and a cobblestone path led to the soft blue front door.
Everything about the house contrasted with the expensive elegance of the mansion, but Vincent Hemingway was a modest man. He may have dealt in the expensive indulgences of others, but the only thing he wanted was peace, quiet, and his space away from it all.
The door opened while I climbed out of my car, and Vincent stepped out. He ignored me for a moment as his head tipped back, eyes sliding shut. I watched as he basked in the afternoon sunlight like a man starved of simple pleasures.
Vincent was an enigma of a man—one I’d stopped trying to understand a long time ago. On the outside, he looked the part of the man he played. His dark hair and beard were neatly tamed and trimmed, and it was clear he took care of his body. Even the linen dress shirt and white pants he wore were very much in style. But beneath that, he was soft-spoken and compassionate. He collected types of wildflowers instead of expensive items and donated to charities instead of investing.
It was almost as if the man he was within the Society was nothing more than a part he cultivated to appease others. Only the Architects were allowed to see him like this—to be a part of his quiet inner circle. We’d earned the chance to know him, and I truly believed none of us took that for granted.
He blinked, then immediately squinted as the bright light assaulted his light-brown eyes, making me chuckle.
“Turn your head away from the sun before you open your eyes, Vinnie,” I said with a chuckle.
