Page 65 of Hero Worship

The pat-down was exactly as expected: clinical, professional, focused entirely on finding recording devices rather than the kind of weapons we carried. I caught Ash's tension as another guard ran practiced hands over his jacket, but our careful . Not a single piece of our carefully concealed arsenal pinged their security.

"This way, please." Our escort appeared as if summoned. She was a tall woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She flashed an artificially white smile and gestured for us to follow her, her heels clicking precisely against marble as she guided us deeper into Roche's sanctuary. The foyer alone was breathtaking. Soaring ceilings dripped crystal while Renaissance masters gazed down from gilt frames.

"Quite the collection," Ash observed as we passed through a gallery where Da Vinci sketches casually mingled with Klimt's more erotic works. The discrete cameras tracking our movement were state-of-the art, their positioning exactly matching Xavier's intel.

"Mx. Roche believes beauty deserves preservation," our escort replied smoothly. Her smile was practiced perfection as she led us toward another security checkpoint. "Though their private collection is considerably more... intimate."

The music changed as we moved deeper into the mansion, classical strings giving way to something darker, more primal. Bass thrummed through the floors like a heartbeat whileviolin strings screamed in counterpoint. The artwork grew more explicit with each room we passed, with Renaissance nudes giving way to modern photography that left nothing to imagination.

The second security checkpoint waited at the top of a sweeping staircase. Their pat-down was more thorough than the first, but still focused primarily on finding recording devices. One guard's hands lingered slightly as he checked my legs, but Ash's possessive grip on my shoulder reminded him whose property he was touching.

"You're going to enjoy this," I murmured to Ash as we descended another curving staircase. The sounds from below grew louder, the music mixing with other, more intimate noises. "Roche's parties are legendary in certain circles."

His fingers tightened on my hip. "Just remember who you belong to," he growled, loud enough for anyone watching to hear. The possessiveness in his voice wasn't entirely feigned.

I turned in his arms, pressing close enough to feel his heart racing beneath designer silk. "Always, Daddy," I purred, letting real heat color my voice. Then I bit his lower lip sharply, a reminder that I could take care of myself. "Now let's go make some new friends."

The grand salon opened before us like a scene from a decadent Renaissance painting come to life. Soaring ceilings dripped crystal while priceless art covered every wall, but it was the living tableau that commanded attention. My breath caught at the sheer audacity of it, at the careful arrangement of beauty and power that spoke of Roche's particular aesthetic.

Beautiful people in various states of undress lounged on antique furniture worth more than most houses, their designer clothes discarded like petals around them. To my left, a tech billionaire famous for his AI breakthroughs reclined on a Victorian fainting couch while two models who'd graced thecovers of Vogue competed to see who could draw the prettiest sounds from him. Their Bulgari jewelry caught the light as they moved, diamonds winking like stars against bare skin.

Across the room, the French Minister of Culture had her hand buried in the hair of a famous actress, directing her with the same authority she probably used running cabinet meetings. The actress's wife watched from a nearby chaise, idly stroking the thigh of an Olympic swimmer everyone would recognize from cologne ads. The air was thick with perfume, champagne, and sex.

"Quite the gathering," Ash murmured against my ear, his hand possessive on my hip. The gesture wasn't entirely for show. I could feel the tension thrumming through him as he took in the scene. His fingers pressed into my skin just hard enough to remind me who I really belonged to.

"Just wait," I breathed back, letting real heat color my voice. "The night's barely started."

As if on cue, movement by the far door drew attention. A couple I recognized from a popular YouTube channel entered with a beautiful man who'd clearly been chosen as much for his face as his ability to sculpt abs. They moved with practiced grace toward one of the larger couches, already reaching for each other's clothes with elegant precision.

But beneath the veneer of hedonistic pleasure, darker currents flowed. I recognized the predatory focus in certain eyes, the way some guests looked at the beautiful young things like they were shopping for more permanent acquisitions. A tech mogul's smile held too many teeth as he watched the action by the fountain, while a fashion editor's perfectly manicured hands clenched her crystal glass too tight as she studied the curve of a model's throat.

"Darling!" Roche's voice carried across the space with practiced authority. They approached with liquid grace, wearinga piece from their upcoming collection. The suit's architectural lines emphasized their lean strength while maintaining an air of androgynous mystery. A Cartier watch worth more than most cars glinted at their wrist, the only concession to obvious wealth.

Behind them, Misha followed like a living doll, custom couture making him look both powerful and vulnerable. The suit was clearly Roche's work since it was all sharp lines and strategic reveals that somehow made him look more exposed fully dressed than the naked people around us. But it was his eyes that made my stomach turn.

Whatever they'd given him had hollowed him out, leaving just enough awareness to follow commands. His movements were too precise, each gesture forced rather than natural, like watching CGI try to replicate human grace. His feet never quite seemed to touch the ground, as though gravity itself had forgotten about him. The drugs had turned him into a beautiful automaton, every blink and breath choreographed by chemical strings.

"You look absolutely divine," Roche purred, air-kissing my cheeks. Their hands lingered possessively on my bare shoulders, fingers tracing the straps of my dress with intent. This close, their cologne wrapped around me like a physical touch, the scent something exclusive and French. "Both of you must join us. I have something very special planned for tonight's entertainment."

I let myself lean into their touch, playing my role perfectly even as my skin crawled. "You're too kind. Though I must admit, your current entertainment seems quite... stimulating already."

"Merely the appetizer," Roche murmured, their hand sliding lower on my back. Their fingers found skin through one of the strategic cutouts in my dress, touch proprietary in a way that made Ash's grip tighten. "The real feast happens in more private settings. Perhaps your spouse would enjoy getting betteracquainted with some of my other guests while we discuss... artistic possibilities?"

The suggestion crackled with dangerous possibility. Around us, the party flowed like extremely expensive wine, inhibitions loosening with each passing moment. The YouTuber couple and their trainer had attracted an audience, appreciative murmurs mixing with the classical music.

"I prefer to keep what's mine close," Ash replied smoothly, though I felt the tension in his grip. "Though we're certainly willing to... appreciate the view."

A flash of something dangerous crossed Roche's face before their practiced smile returned. "Of course. Such devotion deserves reward." They gestured and Misha drifted closer, his movements graceful despite the drugs clearly flooding his system. "Perhaps we could find a way to make everyone comfortable? Misha has such talented hands. The perfect way to ease into the evening's pleasures."

Misha's vacant eyes met mine as he reached for me with careful precision. Up close, I could see the needle marks hidden beneath his couture sleeve. His touch was feather light but somehow wrong, like he was following a script written in chemical oblivion.

"Go on," Roche encouraged, their own hand sliding up my arm to mirror Misha's touch. "Show them how skilled you are at making new friends feel welcome."

I forced myself to stay still as Misha leaned closer, his breath ghosting across my skin. This close, I could see how blown his pupils were, green eyes nearly swallowed by black. His lips brushed my throat with practiced grace, but there was no real desire in it. Just careful obedience to unspoken commands.

I fought the urge to clench my fists, fighting the rage boiling in my veins. Roche was the worst kind of monster. The death we had planned for him would be too fast, too good for him.

"Beautiful," Roche breathed, watching us with hungry eyes. Their fingers tangled in Misha's hair, directing him with casual possession. "Though I must admit, you both have qualities that intrigue me deeply. Such perfect bone structure. Like Bernini angels given flesh." Their other hand traced my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. "I would love to preserve you both. Keep you perfect forever."

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