Chapter 30
Liam's POV
The atmosphere on the second floor was entirely different from the first.
If the first floor was a pot of boiling water—chaotic, noisy, with everything thrown into it—then the second floor was deep water with undercurrents beneath a layer of ice. Much quieter, but also much more dangerous.
The hallway was carpeted with thick rugs that absorbed almost all footsteps.
On both sides were tightly closed doors, each hung with a small brass plaque engraved with different words. As I passed by, I caught glimpses of a few—
"Confessional."
"Beast Pen."
"Birdcage."
Some doors weren't fully closed, with light and muffled sounds seeping through the gaps.
Passing by a half-open door, I heard the sharp crack of a belt striking skin, immediately followed by a muffled grunt—not one of pain, but a strange, trembling gasp mixed with something else.
From another door came the sound of chains dragging across the floor, clinking rhythmically, slow and regular, like some kind of countdown.
The air lacked the strong alcohol smell from downstairs, replaced instead by something fainter yet more persistent—leather, candles, and some unknown incense that made one feel drowsy.
Elise followed behind me.
Her footsteps remained steady, neither quickening nor slowing. But I could sense her body stiffening slightly—the kind of rigidity that comes from tensed muscles, like a caged animal ready to bolt at any moment yet locked in place.
The man in the red devil mask walked ahead, leading us through the corridor and stopping before a door at the very end.
This door was different from the others.
The entire surface was black, with no brass plaque, only a silver handle that gleamed coldly under the warm yellow wall lamps.
"This room is called 'The Cocoon,'" he said to me in a lowered voice, his tone carrying a salesman's enthusiasm. "Perfect for newcomers. Not too intense, but enough to make sure she remembers tonight."
I said nothing, reaching out to grip the door handle.
The cold touch of metal traveled up from my fingertips.
I glanced back at Elise.
She stood one step behind me, watching me through her mask. Those eyes remained hollow, like a mirror that reflected nothing.
"Go in," I said.
She did not resist.
Pushing open the door, inside was a small but meticulously arranged room.
The walls were deep gray, the floor covered with black rubber mats. In the center against the wall stood a metal frame—stainless steel, shaped like a cross, hung with a complete set of restraints: wrist cuffs, ankle shackles, fixing straps. On a small table beside the frame lay various items arranged neatly: a ball gag, a blindfold, a feather wand, a small bottle of lubricant.
Everything was black.
The lighting came from spotlights on the ceiling, focused around the metal frame, while the other corners of the room remained hidden in shadow.
The man in the red devil mask followed us in, swept his gaze over the room's arrangement, and nodded. "Do you need help? I can—"
"Get out," I said.
He paused for a moment, then smiled and backed out, closing the door behind him.
Only Elise and I remained in the room.
Along with those silent tools, waiting to be used.
I walked toward her.
Her chin lifted slightly—not from pride, but because she no longer looked down at anyone. Behind the mask, her eyes were as calm as a pool of stagnant water.
"Take off your clothes."
I said.
My voice was calmer than I had anticipated.
Elise didn't move.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Then her hands rose.
Her fingers touched the shoulder straps.
The movement was slow, without any hesitation or trembling, as if she were doing something ordinary that she did every day—washing her face, brushing her teeth, changing into pajamas.
The silk dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her waist.
Then came the underwear. Then everything else that remained.
She stood naked under that spotlight, her skin so pale it seemed to glow, the black mask making her neck and collarbones appear especially fragile.
I looked at her, my throat tightening.
I wanted to call it off. Wanted to take off my jacket and wrap it around her. Wanted to tell her "that's enough, let's go home."
But I didn't.
I walked over and picked up the ball gag from the table.
The spherical kind, made of silicone, with a strap at the back.
"Open your mouth."
She opened it.
I pushed the gag into her mouth and fastened the strap behind her head. Her lips were forced to stretch around the sphere, causing the corners of her mouth to turn up slightly—making it look like a distorted smile.
Then came the blindfold.
Made of silk fabric, it covered the entire upper half of her face. The world disappeared from her view.
Finally, I took her wrist and led her to the metal frame.
I raised her arms and fastened the wrist cuffs. Click.
I spread her legs apart and locked on the ankle shackles. Another click.
Her body was fixed in a spread-eagle position—arms raised high and stretched to the sides, legs also spread and fixed to the base, her entire weight distributed between her wrists and ankles. She couldn't move, couldn't cover herself, couldn't escape whatever might happen to her.
I stepped back and looked at her.
Bound to the wall, gagged, blindfolded.
Completely exposed. Completely helpless. Completely mine.
Was this what I wanted?
Yes. This was exactly what I had always wanted.
An Elise who was completely obedient, unable to resist, at my disposal.
So why did I feel no joy at all?