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Scrubbing a hand down my face, I slip my phone back into my purse. With Leo’s backpack over my shoulder and my purse slung across my body, I make a quick stop at the bathroom door.
“Hey, Dad?” I ask, hesitant. “Can you watch Leo tomorrow night? I have a job interview.”
There’s a pause, then a weak but determined voice. “Of course, darling.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Guilt claws at me, but I push it aside. “I hope you feel better.”
“Momma, you coming?” Leo’s voice rings out from the hallway.
“Coming, pumpkin!” I sing, rushing to catch up.
With a quick glance at my reflection in the hallway mirror, I gather myself and head out the door with Leo in tow.
Balancing motherhood, caring for Dad, and being the sole financial provider for our family is a juggling act that I can’t afford to drop. For Leo’s sake, and Dad’s, I have to keep going, even if it feels like I’m barely holding it all together.
This interview is important. I can feel it.
Maybe this is the first sign of things finally falling into place.
Chapter three
Cora
Standing outside a mega-mansionin Double Bay, I pull out the scrap of paper with the address Hailee provided, double-checking it against the towering gates in front of me.
Surely this can’t be right.
The mansion is enormous, like something straight out of an architecture magazine—modern with sleek lines. The windows are tinted dark and there are no signs outside, so the place looks uninhabited. My heart races as I stare at the long, paved driveway leading to the front door. The whole place screams exclusivity, and a prickle of unease winds its way through me.
I take a deep breath and make my way through the gates and up the driveway. Pressing the doorbell, nerves crash over me like waves against a cliff-face. As I wait, I smooth down my fitted, high-waisted black pencil skirt and adjust my cream-colored blouse, trying to look more confident than I feel.
It was a rush to get ready after tucking Leo into bed and ensuring Dad was well enough to watch him. I only just managed to curl my hair and paint my lips a soft pink. When my rideshare arrived, I slid on my black stilettos, gave Dad a quick kiss on the forehead, and dashed out the door. But now, standing here, I wish I’d taken more time to prepare.
I glance at my phone. Eight o’clock, right on time. At least they’ll know I’m punctual, even if it does feel weird to have a job interview on a Saturday night. Sucking in another deep breath, I plaster a big, fake smile on my face just as the door opens, revealing a stunning blonde woman dressed in a simple black satin gown that skims the floor.
“Hey,” she says with a warm smile. “You must be Cora. Welcome to Eden.”
She’s not at all what I expected. She looks my age, maybe a bit younger, with straight blonde hair that falls to the small of her back, flawless tanned skin and big green eyes.
She’s gorgeous. The kind of woman who belongs at Paris Fashion Week. She’s hardly wearing any makeup and a thin black ribbon tied around her neck is her only accessory.
“I’m Hailee,” she says. “Come on in, don’t be shy! Madame Sophia’s expecting you.”
“Thank you, Hailee,” I manage, her kindness reassuring me a little. I give her a genuine smile in return, relaxing slightly.
As she turns to lead the way, I notice she’s barefoot. I’m about to ask if I should remove my heels, but all thoughts vanish as I take in the interior of the mansion.
Everything is glass and black marble. High ceilings, sleek floors, and massive windows give the space a minimalist, almost exposed feel. It’s oddly sensual, though—soft lighting casts warm shadows, and erotic black-and-white boudoir photography lines the walls.
The loud click-clack of my heels on the marble echoes through the foyer as we walk down the corridor, passing multiple closed doors. The ambiance is both intimating and captivating, and I’m grateful that Hailee doesn’t expect conversation. I’m too busy trying to make sense of the place, my mind racing with questions I’m not sure I’m ready to ask.
We stop at a door, and Hailee gives me an encouraging smile before she knocks. As we wait, my gaze drifts to one of the photos on the wall—a striking image of a naked woman on her knees, her hands tied behind her back. She’s staring directly into the camera, her expression euphoric, her mouth open, with what looks like cum dripping from her lips. The raw intensity of the image makes my stomach flip, and I swallow hard.
What kind of club is this?
Before I can ask, the door opens.
A beautiful woman in her late fifties, dressed in a black cocktail dress that hugs her figure with precision, greets me. Her bright red hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her crimson lipstick matches her nails perfectly. She’s wearing at least eight-inch heels, and she towers over me.