UNKNOWN POV
The room was dark.
Only the low hum of red lights glowed faintly against the walls, flickering across steel cuffs, ropes, chains, and other tools that hung neatly like trophies. From above, muffled music throbbed down through the ceiling, slow, heavy, sinful beats from the club upstairs.
I leaned back into the leather chair, the smoke of my cigar curling lazily toward the ceiling. Each drag burned through me, bitter and hot, but I welcomed it. The silence around me wasn’t silence at all. It carried whispers. Memories.
I let my eyes roam the room.
The padded table. The cuffs still stained with faded marks. The whips lined like soldiers, each one with a history, each one with a voice.
And in my head, they spoke. The cries. The moans. The way every woman I had broken eventua
