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Chapter One

Elodie

P inky landing on the last key, I smile to myself as the silence encapsulates me, even if for only a moment. The jig is up when my piano tutor grumbles to herself in irritation, her thick Russian accent coming through as she scolds me.

“What on God’s green earth was that?” She yells as she points to the piano. My throat swells with sadness, my hands wringing under the key bed. “I have taught you for nearly twenty years, and each time I walk into this room, you give me another gray hair!” She points to her completely gray hair, and if I were bolder, I would tell her that her anatomy makes her gray.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Petrov,” I whisper, my eyes downcast at the black slippers on my feet. My father expects utter perfection from me at all times. Even when I am not allowed to leave the house, he doesn’t let me wear lounge clothes. Three pairs of pajamas are all I’m allotted unless my pen-pal Wini has anything to say about that, then she will discreetly send me lush items as I send her expensive clinical books for her psychiatry practice. All I know is that she deals with children who are going through a hard time mentally, something about being trafficked. I didn’t ask for a whole lot of details because it made my heart hurt thinking about those poor children. Ms. Petrov brings me out of my stupor by slamming her ruler on her thigh and motioning for me to raise my hands.

This is never the fun part. Shakily, I bring my hands to rest on the frame, just under where my sheet music rests. Rearing back, the crack of the ruler slams against my knuckles, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. It’s taken me years to internalize the hurt that I feel from each punishment, yet I manage it. She does it twenty-three more times, the number of my age.

Discipline is earned, my dear .

Satisfied at the sight of my bleeding knuckles, she spins on her heel and marches from the music halls. “Tomorrow, five in the morning,” she bellows over her shoulder. My chin wavers in frustration at another failed practice. Father must have lied to me because he said my playing was beautiful, said I was exquisite, and that I should be honored that I have such talent. Pushing the pain to the back of my head, I rub my hands over the soft frame of my sleek black beauty. My grand piano. Father got her when I was twelve years old, and I remember feeling like it was the best thing anyone could have gotten me. Learning on one of those flimsy keyboards is okay, but this creates crisp tunes and captures notes like the goddess it is.

Gently shutting the fallboard, I scoot off the bench and wipe my sweaty hands on my dress in an attempt to realign myself. It also smoothes the small wrinkles I procured while sitting on the bench, but pish-posh.

Chin lifted, I walk from the music hall and toward my bedroom, only to be stopped by one of the butlers. “A package for you, Miss Elodie,” Elton says softly as he winks at me. Back when Father was his most strict, I had to resort to begging for freedom from the wait staff. Thankfully they took pity on me and allowed me to use their tunnels for accessing the public. Father has done quite the job of keeping me hidden from the world, something about him having enemies in high places. On the other hand, if I’m so hidden from the world, then how would someone recognize me if they don’t even know me?

“Thank you, Elton,” I whisper back with glee as I stuff the small bag into the top of my dress. It’s not the greatest of disguises, but if I hunch over a smidge, I can pretend to not be feeling well. Walking quickly away, I dodge several staff members successfully before slamming my door shut behind me and locking it. A sigh of relief washes over me as I pull the bag from inside my top and immediately run to my closet. Moving a few of the hangers out of the way, I de-stash the other hidden items. A knife, a photo of a buff guy with tattoos who Wini calls “t-shirt guy”, and a few thongs. The T-shirt guy was coined because she and her friend met him at a bar nearby and all they remember was him being named after a shirt. She said they were too drunk to remember, just that she got banged like she never had been before. I told her that I wished I had that freedom, that my virginity is for auction to the highest bidder.

She didn’t like that answer.

Ripping open the bag, a thick manilla envelope falls out with a sticky note taped to the front of it.

Fill this out!

The next thing to drop out is an all white see-through slip thing. My jaw drops in shock when I can see my hand through the other side of it. A matching bra and thong are with it, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. This combination is way above my confidence level, but the fact that she’s so confident in me has me second guessing my own self-hatred.

Opening the file, my jaw drops when I read the first line.

DRENCHED IN SIN BDSM CLUB | SUBMISSIVE APPLICATION

The paper slams to my chest as the air in my lungs heaves out of me. Panic rises in my throat as I peek around me to make sure no one is watching me. Father has the ability to sneak up on you when you are at your weakest, like a predator, and I don’t want to be caught as his prey. Slowly peeling it away from me, I steal another glance, where I find an identical sticky note on the front of the paperwork, Wini’s neat handwriting on display.

Mail this to the below address when you’re done. They will know who to send the responses to.

Just below that is a local address, if not a thirty-minute drive from me with good traffic. Usually, I’m not allowed outside, but after hearing Father and his men over the years, I am pretty sure I know exactly where this place is. I don’t have access to the internet right now as Father caught me trying to text a male friend. He acts as though I’m not a twenty-three-year-old woman. To him, I’m a prisoner. His personal slave that will go to the highest bidder when the time comes. More choking sounds as I read the rest of the contract. I don’t know if I’m in panic, shock, or completely turned on. Maybe all three and add horror to the mixture as well. Do I seriously act so goody-goody that she has to get me to apply to a sex club?

With a semi-silent scoff, I put the stack of papers into the folder again and then shove it into the pile. There’s no way I can fill that out right now with the way my head is spinning and with the possibility of my father finding out…

I don’t think I will be able to sleep tonight.