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CHARLOTTE

T here’s a knock at my door the second I finish my sandwiches. I had to start with the chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne.

This all seems extreme to find a submissive for a year.

Especially when none of us seem to be willing participants. That isn’t the vibe I get from any of them.

Something doesn’t add up.

I bet Drago could have worked this out sooner. That last game has thrown me off. I don’t want to believe it’s him. Maybe I don’t want to face my past.

From the small interactions I’ve had with the girls, none of us are part of the BDSM world.

So why on earth would the ‘Master’ want us here to compete?

But there is one key between us all. One that Tara gave away. You can just tell by the way she carries herself and looks down on all of us.

Money.

This isn’t about us. This is about our families. That way in for them into Inferno as the contract stated.

I think we all come from powerful families, and I bet we’ve all been forced to sign these contracts.

And why are they putting us up in luxury rooms and providing three-course fucking lunches with champagne?

Even Richard is nice to me.

If this was Vlad, I’d be being dragged around by my hair.

Power has the potential to make men evil, especially over a woman.

Yet, here, that isn’t the case.

It’s all very orchestrated.

The guards haven’t touched us without consent inside the games.

This game had the potential to be ruthless. There are no laws or rules.

They could have done anything with us.

But we do it all to ourselves?

It. Makes. No. Sense.

Yet, I bet it makes perfect fucking sense to those who know the truth.

I finish the last bite and check myself in the mirror.

At least I look less exhausted after the nap. I freshen up fast and brush my hair. My hands are trembling, but I force them still.

They don’t hurt us.

But the losers... they’re shot.

The first time it happened, I flinched. Now, I flinch remembering it. That sharp crack of the gun. No hesitation. Just death.

This is the first time in my career I truly have no idea what I’m walking into. And somehow, that terrifies me more than any enemy I’ve ever faced.

Yet there’s power in surviving this long. A fucked-up kind of pride.

The door opens. I drop my gaze as Richard steps in.

I wonder what his real name is.

“It’s time for the next game. You ready?” he asks, voice smooth and low.

“I am,” I whisper.

He wasn’t the one who helped me in the last round.

I offer my wrist. He clips the strap onto the cuff, right over the scars. They’re raw and aching. The metal irritates them, but I ignore it.

He leads me down the corridor. My eyes dart over the floor, the walls. No blood. Clean. Sanitized. That doesn’t mean it’s safe.

Where do they take the bodies?

I don’t want to know. But I do have an educated guess.

Incinerators. It’s a fucking factory.

Clever.

Adrenaline surges, but it’s cold. Not the kind that sharpens. The kind that tightens your chest and clogs your lungs.

We enter the room. The door slams shut behind us.

Pitch black is what I’m greeted with.

My breath hitches. I can hear the girl next to me breathing, sharp and shallow.

“Welcome to hell,” the distorted voice crackles through the speaker.

Blinding lights slam on. I blink, then I freeze.

The walls are black. Splattered with red. Thick, dark paint, or blood? I’m not sure. I don’t want to be.

Three benches sit in the center. Each with a mounted saddle. A dildo rises from the middle—large, slick, and of course, purple.

Chains dangle from the ceiling.

The back wall is a gallery of torment. Whips, paddles, floggers. I want to throw up.

This isn’t just another game.

It’s a violation waiting to happen.

The girl beside me gasps. I want to comfort her. Tell her to breathe. But I can’t afford that right now.

Empathy gets you killed in here.

They made it this far for a reason. They’re survivors too. Sweet faces can still hide steel.

Tara should’ve been one of them. She was strong, extremely annoying, but strong. And now she’s gone.

The voice cuts through the heavy silence again.

“This room is your nightmares brought to life. A test of resilience in many forms. You will be pushed to your very limit. Over and over again. How much can you endure?”

My stomach knots. I swallow back the bile.

“This game has no set time. It goes on for as long as it takes for one of you to tap out.”

A tremor racks my body. My chest tightens. Breathe, Charlotte.

I force myself to remember my training. My instincts. But that old, soft version of me—she’s clawing at the edges.

I need the ruthless one now.

The one who killed to survive.

But the darkness, the restraints, the fucking dildo beneath me—it’s overwhelming.

Focus.

Remember why you’re here.

“The guards will help you into position. And then they will start the games. Remember, you need to survive hell to get a taste of heaven. The golden ticket is so close you can almost touch it. Two more rooms to survive. I’ll be seeing one of you very soon.”

The speaker cuts off. Silence follows like a scream muffled beneath a pillow.

The girl beside me yelps as she’s dragged to her bench.

Then Richard moves to me.

“Position yourself,” he says, motioning to the saddle.

I hesitate. But I climb up. Slowly. My arms do the work, my legs trembling. I lower myself onto the dildo, gritting my teeth. It’s slick, at least.

“Hold up your arms.”

I obey.

The cuffs snap onto the chains above, yanking my arms high. Cold metal bites my wrists. My shoulders scream in protest.

Pain radiates with every breath.

I am completely restrained.

Powerless.

Exposed.

There is no escape.

Just the hope that one of the others taps out before I break.

I won’t look at them. I can’t.

That’s how they get in. How you lose your edge. You make it personal.

The lights cut out again. The darkness swallows us whole.

I close my eyes.

Two more rooms…

Just two more.