I set it aside and grabbed the letter. Six words were beautifully scrawled across it.
Welcome to the Black Silk Society
Oh.
I read them again.
And again.
And one more time over as my mind struggled to process them.
At the start of the year, as a New Year’s Resolution, I’d submitted a request form to the Black Silk Society for a spot in their fantasy fulfillment program. I’d heard whispers of theSociety in the office and had managed to find my way onto their website after borrowing the login from Wyndham’s personal assistant. It was a silly, slightly drunken decision, but I’d stuck to it after sobering up.
The Black Silk Society was a secret sex club. At least, I was pretty sure that was what it was. It wasn’t like they advertised it. Their website was carefully vague, and there were no reviews. The whole place was shrouded in secret and intrigue. You couldn’t even find it unless someone brought it to your attention.
I had no interest in joining a sex club. I wouldn’t even know what to do in a place like that. I probably would’ve just stood there, overthinking the whole thing while simultaneously making it uncomfortable for everyone involved.
But the fantasy fulfillment program… that part wouldn’t leave me alone. It festered in the back of my mind until I obsessed over it. It wasn’t described in some mysterious, vague narration. It was explained simply as a curated and controlled way to bring your deepest fantasies to life—the ones you were too afraid to chase with others. You told them what you fantasized about, and they built it for you. Every step was carefully designed with you in mind.
And it wasn’t just sex or cheap thrills. It was meant to satisfy whatever needs you had. Whatever desires you couldn’t quite put into words.
Thathit a nerve for me. Because what I wanted wasn’t complicated. I just wanted to be wanted. To be seen. To not fade into the background of every room I walked into. I wanted to step into a space arranged with me in mind. Where the attention didn’t drift. Where I didn’t have to question the motives or drives. Where I didn’t have to worry about what others needed.
I never expected to hear back from them. Hell, I didn’t even know how much something like this would cost. And yet, I stillopened the letter. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but a handwritten letter wasn’t it.
Your presence is desired for an evening centered on you.
Every detail has been arranged with the utmost care and attention. A car will arrive for you on the last Friday of the month. Be prepared to be received.
I’m waiting for you,
The Conductor
The Conductor.
No name. Just a title.
A little thrill sparked across my nerves, making my skin prickle. That alone should’ve been enough to make me walk away from the invitation. To make me pretend as if I’d never seen it. There was something off about all of this—something dangerous. The fact that this Conductor had broken into my home to leave it for me should’ve sent me running to call the police.
I should’ve been more concerned. And I was concerned, but just not enough. Beneath the unease was something else. A curiosity for the potential within the words, and an excitement that the Conductor had gone so far as to break in just for me.
This whole thing was just for me. That notion overrode any logic I had as I picked up the rose once more. I breathed it indeep while I reread the invitation over and over until I had it memorized.
CHAPTER 03
Liam
Every day, a new rose found its way into my home while I was out. Always on my kitchen table, and always neatly tied with a black silk ribbon. The first flower had unsettled me.
By the third, I began to expect them at the end of my day.
By the fifth, it was the first thing I looked for when I walked through my door each night. It became a staple in my routine. And with every flower, my worries faded a little more. They still sat there, deep in my chest, but with each day, that feeling was replaced a little more with anticipation.
I told myself it was ridiculous—that I should’ve been more concerned about the fact that someone was readily breaking into my apartment every day. I should’ve changed the locks or called the police. Anything would’ve been smarter than justifying that I’d signed up for this while standing there with a rose in hand.
I counted the days in roses until finally the last Friday of the month arrived. I even took the day off. It should’ve felt like a break, but it didn’t. Not really. Mr. Jennings made sure of that as my phone lit up every hour with calls and messages about things that absolutely could’ve waited. I let it ring more than I answered and paced my apartment, picking up things just to put them right back down again. I checked the time, then checked it again five minutes later, like it might have changed more than it had.
I told myself I deserved the day off—that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I said it enough times that I almost believed it. Keeping busy didn’t help. If anything, that just made it worse. I tried cleaning. That lasted all of twenty minutes before I found myself standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing as my thoughts drifted right back to the same place.
