Page 97 of Wicked Court

“It’s not that big a deal. If you ever feel uncomfortable, you can leave, no questions asked. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

Sasha’s reassurance is meant to comfort, but it also carries the thrill of the unknown. A thrill I’m starting to chase, if only to understand the cravings that have suddenly taken hold. It’s like I buried myself along with my brother, and I’ve only now clawed through the dirt and seen the sky again.

Yet, my fingers tremble as I hold the pen, the cool metal a sharp reminder of the choice I’m about to make. With each stroke of my name, I feel like Ariel from The Little Mermaid.

What more am I getting myself into? Sasha’s unruffled presence beside me is both a balm and a warning. I want to ask her if she’s playing Flotsam or Jetsam in this scenario, but one look from Mystery Man tells me to take this very seriously and shut my mouth.

His suit is immaculate, his demeanor impassive as if he’s seen this hesitation a hundred times before. But beneath his cool exterior, there’s a sharpness, an intensity that tells me he’s no mere chauffeur or assistant.

“Take your time,” he says, but it’s not a suggestion. It’s a command thinly veiled with courtesy.

I nod, not trusting my voice, but I do trust Sasha.

My hand steadies, driven by a purpose that feels foreign, yet empowering.

I read the block of text, noting nothing concerning. Standard language stating I’ll never breathe a word of what happens tonight to anyone unless I want to owe millions of dollars in damages.

With a flourish, I sign my name.

“Done?”

The young man’s inquiry pulls me back from the precipice of my thoughts.

“Done,” I affirm.

He plucks the contract from my grasp. Without missing a beat, he folds it with mechanical precision and tucks it away into an inner pocket of his blazer.

“Thank you, Miss Wraithwood,” he intones, his voice devoid of any emotion that might reveal what my signature truly means.

He produces something from his other pocket. The black silk gleams ominously.

He leans towards me, spreading out the covering.

I flinch back in my seat. “Is that really necessary?”

“Procedure,” he states flatly, his touch clinical as he ties the blindfold effectively plunging my world into darkness.

Losing sight sends a jolt of panic through me, but I force myself to breathe evenly, reminding myself I chose this path. I want this path.

“Remember, Elara,” Sasha says, her voice a tether in the engulfing void. “You’re not alone. I’m being blindfolded, too.”

Her words are meant to be reassuring. They’re really not.

“Let’s begin,” the young man says, a finality in his tone that makes my heart race.

The car hums to life.

Chapter 30

Cav

I stride toward the banister of Thornhaven’s mezzanine, every step deliberate. The cloying scent of multiple perfumes intermingles with the tang of sweat clinging to the air.

From my vantage point, I gaze down at the opulent foyer below, where the girls are being presented, blindfolded and on their knees, their breaths shallow and rapid.

They resemble porcelain dolls waiting to be brought to life. Disdain curls my lip at the charade.

“Ladies,” I murmur, my voice cryptic and detached above their heads. “Welcome to your downfall.”

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