Chapter 4: The Velvet Room’s Price

After the sudden rain, my skin was slick with sweat. Derek Shaw sat on the bed, buckling his belt. I rested my head against his back. He looked at me for a long moment in the moonlight. For a second, I almost understood why women fell for men like him—if you forgot what those hands had done.

My face was probably flushed, the look Madame Quinn called “afterglow.” She’d said women were never more alluring than right after.

Derek pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Rest early.” It was almost gentle.

I grabbed his wrist. “General, won’t you stay?” The words tasted like ash, but I made them sound sweet.

“No.” He paused at the door. “If you need anything, ask Lily.”

I nodded. When he was gone, I called Lily. My voice cracked.

She appeared fast, like she’d been waiting. “Can I get you anything, miss?”

“Draw water. I want to bathe.”

“Alright.”

She lingered, mouth opening and closing. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“No need.”

In the tub, I dumped half a bottle of lavender bath salts into the water and scrubbed until my skin burned, trying to wash his scent away. The water turned pink from the blood between my thighs, but I kept scrubbing. The lavender couldn’t mask the smell of him.

The mirror showed my rose tattoo—Marcus had held my hand as the artist worked, distracting me with stories. “Roses for beauty from ashes,” he’d said.

He pitied me and cherished me, never touching, never demanding.

At The Velvet Room, girls were ranked. The lowest could be had by anyone. The highest, like me, were investments—kept “pure” for the right buyer.

On my debut, Governor Blake wanted to buy me. He waved cash and gold coins, but everyone knew he was cruel. The last girl he bought left his house in a coffin. Madame Quinn hesitated, but money spoke.

Servants came to tie me up. I fought, but he raised his whip and stepped on me.

“No one refuses me, Natalie. Don’t be ungrateful.”

The whip left me bloody.

Madame Quinn pleaded, but her eyes were cold. “Natalie, just submit and enjoy luxury.”

She’d promised I could choose, but money always won.

“No!”

He beat me harder, then had me thrown onto the street. “I want you to know the consequences of not submitting.” He spat on me, his saliva mixing with my blood.

Rain poured down. Mud, blood, and filth soaked me. I couldn’t stand. The gutters overflowed, carrying garbage past me.

A man pushed my hair aside. “Isn’t this Miss Natalie from The Velvet Room?” His breath stank of gin and rot.

“Go away.” I recognized him—a regular, but not rich enough to buy me.

He dragged me into an alley. The alley stank of garbage and wet dog. His hands were greasy, his breath sour with gin. He tried to undress me, his mouth on my ear. I bit him, and he slapped me. The taste of his blood was almost satisfying.

“You’ve fallen so far and still act proud!”

As he leaned in again, a new voice cut through. “What are you doing?”