XV. Valued Commodities
Within The Hollow's confines, a palpable disquiet reigned. Ivo watched with unease as children and adolescents hurried toward the refectory, softly speculating about the impending events.
The air hung heavier with an ominous atmosphere. Of course, The Hollow had never been a place one would call welcoming. Yet, this time, it felt unusually gloomy to the young boy. Something menacing loomed, stirring a sense of dread that twisted his stomach into knots.
With hesitant steps, he trailed the others into the refectory, absently fiddling with a small lighter in his pocket, swiped from a daydreaming passerby on Diagon Alley.
"What's this then?" Kitty had queried, intrigued after their swift escape down the shopping avenue. She had scrutinized the item from every angle. "What's it for?" she had probed.
Pressing the top button of the device had yielded no result. Kitty, visibly disappointed, had handed the lighter back. "This thing's worthless," she had remarked dismissively. "It's mere copper; doubt anyone would be interested."
Ivo chose to keep the faulty item. He was not even certain of its purpose as a lighter. Occasionally, lost in thought, he would rotate the object between his fingers for comfort. He was particularly intrigued by the intricate inscriptions on its end, which remained a mystery despite his attempts to decipher them.
Kitty had taken it upon herself to teach him reading. Although Ivo had made considerable progress, he had not managed to recognise the engraved words. Kitty's derisive laugh had echoed when he showed them to her. "Still toting that useless item?" she had mocked, her eyes rolling dismissively.
She, too, had failed to decode the engravings. "Latin," she noted dismissively, eyeing the lighter. "Might as well be gibberish to me."
Upon entering the crowded refectory, Ivo's gaze quickly fell on a familiar blonde girl seated near a window. Kitty, a respected figure in the Hollow and an old-timer, had shielded Ivo from trouble since she took him under her wing. His newfound prowess in 'catching dinner,' The Hollow's slang for thievery, likely contributed to his safety. Approaching the table, Ivo realized Kitty was engaged in conversation with an unfamiliar young girl.
"You're new around here, right?" Kitty inquired of the girl. "What's your name?"
The girl, clearly nervous, nodded. "Ruby," she replied hesitantly. "I've been here a week."
Ivo observed her with interest. Around Kitty's age, she was striking, with pale, smooth skin and long Venetian blonde hair flowing almost to her waist. Her delicate aura caught his eye. Ivo couldn't help but notice the intense interest Kitty showed in the newcomer. This reminded him of the day in the refectory when she had come to his rescue, after he had once again suffered unfair treatment at the hands of Jacobus Cloyd - the owner of The Hollow. She had displayed similar interest in Ivo.
"I'm Kitty," she introduced herself. "And this lad here is Ivo," she added with a wink towards Ruby.
Ruby managed a timid smile, her eyes surveying the increasingly crowded room. Soon, all the seats were taken, leaving latecomers to resort to leaning against walls or sitting on the floor.
"What's going on?" Ruby asked, her voice tinged with anxiety. "Why have we been called here?"
Ivo was glad she formulated the question he had been eager to ask.
"Ah, you haven't been here long enough to witness a raid," Kitty observed thoughtfully.
"A raid?" Ivo echoed, confusion evident in his voice.
Before Kitty could answer, a thunderous crash resonated through the refectory, immediately silencing the chatter. Ivo stretched his neck to see Jacobus Cloyd, the Hollow's daunting owner, marching across the room. He halted at the centre, where a crude stage had been assembled from decaying wooden pallets.
"Quiet!" Cloyd barked, his gravelly voice cutting through the hush as his dark, penetrating eyes swept over the room.
The command seemed unnecessary; the room had already fallen silent. Every child in the Hollow harboured a deep-seated fear of Cloyd, a man whose very presence exuded menace. His imposing stature and muscular arms suggested immense strength, reinforcing his reputation for cruelty and unpredictability. He sent shivers down Ivo's spine, who made it a point never to cross his path.
Ivo's early days at The Hollow had been challenging, frequently finding himself at the receiving end of Cloyd's wrath. Kitty's intervention, however, had brought a significant change in his fortunes.
"I'm disappointed, I am," Cloyd began, his tone feigning sorrow. "Disappointed to see that a few o' ya here are still takin' me kindness for granted."
Kindness, Ivo thought incredulously. Such a word seemed incongruous with a man like Cloyd.
"I've welcomed each an' every one of ye into me home, with open arms. The rule's simple: I give ye shelter, food, protection, and a community in exchange for one thing—yer contribution," he continued. "And yet, a good number o' ye fail to stick to me rules."
Cloyd paused, letting a weighty silence fill the room, his eyes methodically scanning the assembled crowd.
"Let me remind ye, The Hollow ain't no charity. I ain't here to be helpin' no ungrateful lot," he growled, his tone thick with displeasure. "So, it's time I remind some o' ye who's in charge 'round here."
Cloyd turned to a supervisor—an overweight woman with her hair always in a tight bun, patrolling the corridors with a metal stick in hand. She readily employed it as a disciplinary measure on any youth she deemed to have 'crossed the line.' The supervisor handed a scroll to Cloyd, who unfurled it slowly, adding a touch of drama. Ivo knew many of the youths were holding their breath, apprehensive about what was to come.
His voice resonating, Cloyd began calling out names. Those summoned had to step forward, their faces etched with fear and despair. Ivo watched, his heart racing, as each youth reluctantly approached the centre of the room.
"Ruby," Cloyd's gruff voice suddenly called out.
Ivo's eyes widened in shock, turning to the girl beside him. Ruby seemed frozen in place, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. She cast a desperate look at Ivo and Kitty before reluctantly rising to join the others.
A wave of anxiety washed over Ivo. The thought of his own name being called filled him with dread. He shut his eyes tightly, his mind racing with silent prayers, hoping against hope not to be on that dreaded list.
Finally, to his immense relief, Cloyd stopped.
"Unfortunately, ye've violated the community's rules, so ye can't stay in me home," he declared to the assembled group.
The crowd exchanged glances of confusion and worry, uncertain of what awaited them.
"As I'm a kind-hearted man, I'll be sendin' ye to a place where ye can keep earnin' your keep," he said, his tone dripping with false complacency, as if bestowing a favour.
"Follow me," the supervisor commanded, striding towards the large doors of the refectory.
Ivo watched with a hint of sympathy as the youths followed her. His gaze lingered on Ruby, who seemed on the verge of tears. After their departure, the refectory buzzed with lively conversations. Some spoke animatedly about the event, others breathed sighs of relief, and a few exchanged congratulatory gestures.
"It's over, kiddo," Kitty said brightly, pulling Ivo from his thoughts.
Ivo looked at her, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Kitty's unflappable demeanour never ceased to amaze him; she appeared fearless in the face of everything.
"What's going to happen to them?" he whispered, his voice anxious.
Kitty hopped down from the table, sitting next to him on the bench and glancing around to ensure privacy.
"Remember your first day here?" she asked in a low voice.
Ivo nodded slowly, recalling that cold, rainy night when he first arrived at The Hollow, standing drenched in front of Jacobus Cloyd. The man had scrutinised him as if he were mere merchandise.
"You signed something that day, didn't you?" Kitty pressed.
Ivo had hastily signed a scroll brimming with incomprehensible words, a condition for his acceptance into The Hollow. Out of desperation and fear of another night on the streets, he had scribbled his name, the only word he knew how to write. He had never really understood what the document entailed.
"That paper means you owe Cloyd. You gotta work to pay it back," Kitty said.
Ivo's expression turned to one of bewilderment.
"Thing is, you owe him big. And that paper says he owns you, can sell you off if he wants," Kitty gravely continued.
She leaned her back against the edge of the table, sighing.
"If he reckons it's not paying off, he flogs the contract to someone else. That's the fate awaiting those poor sods," she explained, nodding towards the door the selected individuals had recently passed through.
"They're going to be... sold?" Ivo echoed, his voice trembling with shock.
"That's right. I've heard rumours about what happens to them, though nothing's certain. And I'd rather not find out for myself," she said, grimacing.
"Where do they end up?" Ivo asked, half-dreading the answer.
"Down in the Goblin-run mines, slaving away day and night, digging for gold for Galleons," Kitty detailed. "They say it's like hell down there. Most don't make it 'cause it's so awful. They even bury folks right there. Never see daylight again."
She said this with a shudder, as if the very idea frightened her. This was enough to panic Ivo. Kitty never seemed afraid of anything, yet seeing her fear for the fate of the unfortunate cast out from The Hollow showed him just how serious it was.
"When Cloyd boots someone out of the Hollow, he doesn't really leave 'em on the streets like he says. Usually, he just sells them off to those Goblin mines," Kitty concluded.
Ivo hugged himself, seeking comfort. Noticing his worried look, Kitty added, "As long as you keep catching dinner, you won't end up there. But be warned, Cloyd is sneaky. The debt's so big, you can't ever clear it."
"How much?" Ivo asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"10,000 Galleons," Kitty revealed. "And the interest piles up every month."
Ivo's eyes went wide. Ten thousand Galleons - an unimaginable sum for orphans in their position.
"Your only out is to square up with Cloyd or get him to hand your contract over to someone else," Kitty stated.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, say someone takes an interest in your contract. They could negotiate with Cloyd, maybe offer a price to take it over. It's often a better option than him dumping it in the mines. Word is, he practically gives those contracts away," she explained.
"But why would anyone want to buy orphans?" Ivo wondered, baffled.
"You'd be surprised," Kitty replied, her laugh devoid of any real humour. Ivo mulled over her words.
"What about you?" he ventured.
Kitty looked quizzically at him. "What about me?" she responded.
"You said once you live elsewhere but return here out of nostalgia," Ivo reminded her.
A reflective smile crossed her face.
"Good memory, kid," she acknowledged. "I'm not tied to Cloyd anymore. My contract's been picked up by someone else."
"Who?" Ivo asked, curiosity piqued.
"That's my secret, little one," Kitty retorted playfully. "Maybe I'll spill the beans one day."
Ivo's curiosity intensified, but Kitty offered no more details.
Standing up, she stretched casually, like a cat.
"I have things to sort out," she announced. "I'll catch you later, kiddo. Don't hang about waiting for our usual outing."
Ivo watched her leave, confusion etched on his face. His eyes widened as he saw her approach Jacobus Cloyd, who was ensconced at his usual desk in the middle of the mess hall, deeply engrossed in the hefty ledger sprawled before him – the accounts book. Under Ivo's watchful eyes, Kitty and Cloyd exchanged a few words. What could she possibly be discussing with him? Cloyd gave a nod, apparently granting permission. With a confident stride, Kitty headed towards the exit of the mess hall.
This peculiar interaction occupied Ivo's thoughts for the remainder of the day. He found himself distracted by his usual tasks in Diagon Alley, preoccupied with thoughts of Kitty's mysterious activities. She was an enigma; periodically disappearing for days, only to reappear as if nothing was amiss. Clearly, there was more to her life than what met the eye, and Ivo was eager to uncover it.
However, he hesitated to probe too deeply, wary of overstepping his bounds and jeopardizing her goodwill. After all, he was fortunate to have her guidance and to benefit from her training.
Upon returning to The Hollow after a day on the streets, Ivo was surprised to find Kitty near the entrance, standing beside a carriage. His curiosity deepened when he noticed she wasn't alone. He noticed Jacobus Cloyd and an unidentified woman, her face hidden beneath a large, black hood, turned away from him. To his astonishment, the fourth figure was Ruby, the girl they had just met. Hadn't she been sent to the Goblin mine?
Kitty, Ruby, and the mysterious woman stepped into the carriage, which then swiftly disappeared from view. Noticing Jacobus Cloyd approaching, Ivo quickly retreated inside, fearful of being caught observing their clandestine meeting.
/
Scarlett was the type of woman many men fantasized about having in their beds. Nature had blessed her with an exceptionally alluring physique and breathtaking beauty, causing heads to turn wherever she went.
She quickly learned to leverage these natural gifts to her advantage, turning them into her livelihood. Scarlett devoted her time to powerful and wealthy men seeking the company of a woman of her calibre. This arrangement was mutually beneficial: Scarlett earned a substantial income, while these men relished the presence of a stunning woman for hours, and in the most fortunate cases, the entire night.
Scarlett loathed the derogatory terms typically associated with women in her line of work. She never viewed herself as a prostitute; rather, she considered herself a provider of unique experiences. When a man met Scarlett, he was aware that such an opportunity with a woman of her calibre might never come again. She was the one who chose her clientele, a privilege she hadn't always enjoyed.
Scarlett wasn't her birth name but an alias, a stage name in her line of work. Over time, she came to view this name as more fitting and had permanently discarded her former name, symbolising an end to her previous life. In essence, Scarlett was a persona she created as a shield to cope with the implications of her controversial lifestyle.
She had never truly appreciated the person she was before she transformed into Scarlett. She had had a difficult childhood: an absent father who left too early for her to remember, and a mother, struggling as a single parent, who remarried. Scarlett became aware of the prolonged looks her stepfather directed at her. These looks evolved into inappropriate remarks, repulsive hints, and unsuitable gestures. The situation escalated when, at sixteen, he aggressively forced her onto her bed, pressing against her and touching her inappropriately. Scarlett's desperate struggle and her use of a lamp to fend him off led to his false claim that she had instigated the encounter, a lie her gullible mother believed. Realizing she was no longer safe, Scarlett made the difficult choice to leave, her security irrevocably compromised.
Survival entailed using whatever assets she possessed. Thus began her path of using charm to secure favours from men. Each encounter eroded her self-respect, as she traded her intimacy for galleons. And thus, Scarlett was born. Her journey since then shaped her, with experiences both uplifting and harrowing, moulding her into the woman she had become.
Scarlett drew her luxurious Puffskein fur coat tighter around herself, the click of her stiletto heels echoing crisply on the polished street. District Thirteen, the bustling, urbane heart of the capital, was renowned for its vibrant nightlife. The area was teeming with taverns, upscale lounges, and elite clubs, their doors open until the wee hours. The venues used various tactics to draw in the revellers: striking window displays, tempting drink offers, and for the more exclusive spots, pleasingly dressed employees at the entrances to entice passers-by.
Stopping outside such a venue, Scarlett lit the cigarette perched on her vivid carmine-red lips, which she knew accentuated her striking features. She exhaled a final spiral of smoke, then crushed the cigarette beneath her chic stiletto heel, proceeding to the queue with confident steps.
Upon entering the softly-lit lounge, she noticed its sparse crowd. Not unexpected for a midweek night, she mused. This was precisely why they had chosen this evening for her visit. After leaving her coat in the cloakroom, Scarlett approached the bar. She could feel the covetous glances as she moved. Her body-hugging attire and high stilettos lent her an air of both sensuality and sophistication. It was her first time visiting to the establishment, said to be quite the hotspot. Scarlett hadn't ventured into District Thirteen for some time, given its status as rival territory.
"A lemon sparkling water with a shot of ice-pure vodka, please," she requested of a young bartender, who promptly obliged.
Scarlett spent the next few moments surveying the lounge. Her gaze settled on a secluded area, guarded by a stocky bouncer. After receiving her drink with a distracted thanks, she glanced at her rose gold watch. An hour to go, she thought. She finished her drink quicker than usual, feeling an inexplicable nervousness. Despite her vast experience, tonight's task seemed to unsettle her. She was there to ensnare a high-profile target, well within her capabilities. Scarlett was adept at captivating the interest of demanding, affluent men – the crème de la crème. They sought a woman who personified class and elegance, one who could engage in sophisticated conversation while looking the part in designer garb and lavish perfumes. Gradually, the place filled up, yet it remained comfortably busy, a typical scenario for a midweek evening.
Just past midnight, Scarlett glimpsed the very reason for her being there. A group of about five or six men confidently strode into the establishment moving with a familiarity that set them apart from the typical newcomer. They walked purposefully, subtly forming a protective circle around one among them, not blatantly obvious yet significant. Scarlett, ever observant, didn't miss this detail. Her keen eye for subtleties was part of what made her exceptional in her profession.
They headed towards the club's VIP area. The bouncer there stepped aside, allowing them access. Scarlett watched as they relaxed into the sumptuous sofas, a waitress promptly attending them with trays of premium bottles floating alongside her. From her vantage point at the bar, Scarlett had an unobstructed view of the group, particularly the individual at the centre. He was positioned in such a way that he could easily notice her, a strategic placement as per her instructions. She instantly recognized him from numerous photos – Blaise Zabini.
Surprisingly, the Zabinis, part of the Sacred Thirteen, had entered the Coven seven years ago, breaking away from the norm of the typically ancient British dynasties. The family's lineage wasn't native to the UK but traced back to two other pureblood nations. Richard Zabini, a former Brazilian diplomat, had married Amara, a Nigerian business magnate, and together they had built a substantial empire in London over two decades, owning numerous lucrative entertainment outlets.
However, unbeknownst to the wider public, these ventures often doubled as covers for underground, albeit equally profitable, operations. Reigning as underworld figureheads, the Zabinis dominated a spectrum of illicit activities within the regime, including various forms of trafficking, sex trade, illicit substance distribution, money laundering, and discreet mercenary operations.
Scarlett, with her keen insight into human nature, understood well the shadowy aspects often hidden from public view. In a society teeming with human complexities, such activities always found their niche. The Zabinis, ruling this concealed world with stringent control, ensured that this underworld realm stayed distinct and undisturbed. Under their rule, mishaps were rare.
Her intelligence gathered on the family revealed that Amara, known in the underworld as the Viper, was the clan's iron-fisted matriarch and a Governor amongst the Sacred Coven. Richard, her husband, kept a low profile, while their son, Blaise, actively managed their various illicit operations, ensuring the Zabinis' commands were enforced across their territories.
Blaise Zabini oversaw a network of lieutenants who managed different areas and rigorously enforced the family's mandates across these shadowy sectors. Having a Governor overtly entangled in these covert dealings wasn't prudent, hence Blaise's pivotal role in maintaining their discreet yet firm grip on these underground activities. Their reputation for daring enterprise and savvy business acumen was widespread, leaving many wary of overstepping into their domain.
Scarlett took a leisurely sip of her drink, maintaining an air of nonchalance as she scanned the room. When her gaze met Blaise's, she held it momentarily, gave a subtle smile, and then purposefully looked away. A short while later, she felt the presence of someone beside her.
"Pardon me, miss?" a woman's voice gently inquired.
Scarlett turned to see a club employee, clad in a black uniform emblazoned with the establishment's logo.
"The owner has extended an invitation for you to join the private booth," she relayed, indicating towards where Zabini and his group were situated. Scarlett redirected her gaze, her eyes meeting Zabini's. He acknowledged her with a raised glass, a distant salute. Returning a genuine smile to the staff member, Scarlett stood up.
She was escorted past the doorman, who allowed them access to the secluded area. Scarlett immediately noticed Zabini's focused attention on her. As she navigated through the room, her arrival drew the attention of others, momentarily diverting them from their lady companions. Undeterred by the immediate interest she sparked, Scarlett's purpose remained clear. She made her way to take a seat beside Zabini.
"I hope my invitation isn't untimely," he spoke, his voice smooth and resonant. "I'm Blaise."
Scarlett, having seen his photographs, was already aware of Blaise's handsome features. Yet, in person, his allure was even more striking. With his high cheekbones and perfect symmetry, he appeared almost sculpted. His attire, consisting of a classy, perfectly fitted white shirt of apparent Italian high quality, offered a stark contrast to his dark complexion. His eyes, a unique coppery gold, were captivating. The subtle viper tattoo on his hand did not go unnoticed by her.
The whispers of Amara Zabini's Veela heritage appeared to be confirmed in her son. His aura was magnetic, momentarily ensnaring Scarlett. His fragrance, rich with sweet and woody notes, suggested an air of expensive taste. She momentarily lost herself before regaining composure as he kissed her hand, an act stirring an unusual attraction in her.
"Scarlett," she introduced herself, her tone soft yet captivating. While appearing to survey the surroundings, she was, in fact, consciously averting being charmed by his intense scrutiny.
"I understand you're the owner here?" she queried, refocusing on him.
Blaise's subtle smile grew as he nodded.
"Then, may I offer some feedback on your establishment?" Scarlett suggested, her voice pleasant yet edged with sharpness.
Blaise's response was a warm smile, revealing flawless teeth. "We value our patrons' input to enhance our service," he replied, intrigued by her approach.
"Well, for starters, your drinks selection could be broadened," Scarlett observed.
"Tell me what you fancy, and it's yours," Blaise offered, his gaze unwavering.
Scarlett didn't overlook the way he had scanned her. She always had this effect on men. It was, however, rare for it to be mutual, like tonight.
"Does that extend beyond just drinks?" she asked, subtly shifting her posture, fully aware of his lingering gaze.
"Try me," he replied, a hint of challenge in his tone.
Blaise signalled to the waitress, and Scarlett specifically requested a rare ice-pure vodka not on the menu. The waitress acknowledged and departed.
"How do you find my club? It's your first visit, if I'm not mistaken," Blaise ventured.
"What makes you say that?" Scarlett countered, casually sweeping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
"I'm quite certain I would have remembered if you had been here before," he replied confidently.
Scarlett offered a discreet smile, acknowledging his indirect flattery. Throughout their conversation, she found Blaise Zabini to be a suave conversationalist. His manner of showing interest was subtly flattering yet never crossed the line. He seemed keen to impress her with tales of his achievements and wealth. A satisfied smile appeared on his face as the waitress returned with the exact liquor Scarlett had requested.
Scarlett remained cautious with her alcohol intake. She avoided the loss of control that alcohol could bring, needing to stay sharp for her plans. Despite the unique circumstances, she kept a professional demeanour; her work didn't mix well with alcohol. Over time, she had mastered the art of appearing tipsier than she was. Feigning greater intoxication, she became more tactile with Blaise, laughing at his remarks and adopting bolder gestures.
Two hours later, as Blaise rested his hand on her knee, an involuntary shiver ran through her. She noticed the yellow gold signet ring adorning his little finger. Leaning closer, he softly suggested they continue their evening in a more private setting, to which Scarlett agreed. An attendant retrieved her coat, and Scarlett took Blaise's extended hand. As he stood, two of his security detail followed suit, escorting them through a staff-only door into a grand office. A large fireplace dominated the room, into which Blaise led Scarlett.
They flooed into an apartment, its décor a harmonious blend of elegance and opulence in white and beige, complemented by solid wood furnishings. A grand brass chandelier took centre stage in the living room, surrounded by a collection of various artworks. Scarlett's gaze wandered the room. She saw Blaise converse briefly with his two associates, likely giving instructions she couldn't overhear. Pretending to admire a painting, she stole glances in their direction. Below the artwork, she noticed a phrase elegantly inscribed.
- In Risk, Lies the Path to Triumph -
The men eventually left the apartment, affording Blaise and Scarlett some privacy. Concealing a smile of victory, Scarlett recognized the opportunity to enact her plan more easily. The task had proven to be simpler than she had initially anticipated, a realization that thrilled her.
"Is this your place?" she asked casually, wandering around the room, lightly touching an armchair draped in curly fabric.
"This is one of my secondary residences," he replied, moving towards the bar. "Would you like a drink?"
Scarlett noted that he had left his wand on a glass table, artistically crafted to mimic a polished olive tree trunk. Earlier, the guards had taken hers in the name of security. Approaching the bar, Scarlett accepted the drink Blaise offered, feigning a sip before setting it down, fully aware of his intent gaze upon her.
Seizing the moment, she upped the ante. Boldly, she guided Blaise against the wall and initiated a kiss. Blaise's hands began to roam over her. Slyly opening one eye, she spied the wand on the table, tantalizingly within reach. Closing her eyes again, she deepened the kiss while stealthily extending her hand towards the wand. Her fingertips brushed against the smooth wood. Almost there, she thought, a rush of excitement coursing through her.
Before Scarlett could grasp the wand, her wrist was suddenly encircled in a firm grip. Startled, she opened her eyes to confront Blaise Zabini's intense, copper gaze, charged with cold anger. Struggling to free herself proved futile as his grip only tightened, causing a sharp pain. Wordlessly, she was forcefully thrust against the wall, immobilized. A gasp of surprise and pain escaped her as she found herself unable to move. How had he done that? she wondered in astonishment. He had not even reached for his wand, which still lay on the edge of the table.
Blaise casually adjusted his shirt, his lips curling into a mocking smile. He appeared undisturbed, as though he had anticipated her actions.
"In my homeland, we use magic without wands. They are but a European novelty, a mere trinket I retain solely for my amusement," he jeered, his voice smooth yet taunting, as he closed the distance between them, with Scarlett helplessly fixed against the wall.
He surveyed her intently.
"Did you think I wouldn't recognize a whore when I see one?" he asked, his voice dripping with derision. "I control London's underground, with almost every sex worker in the area under my influence, one way or another."
Scarlett's mind raced with worry. How long had he been aware of her scheme? Blaise held her face firmly, making sure she couldn't look away. Tears welled up in Scarlett's eyes as the gravity of her situation dawned on her. She knew all too well the fearsome reputation of both Blaise and his family. What were his intentions?
"But you're no ordinary whore, are you?" he murmured seductively into her ear. "I personally know every high-end escort in my territory. That means you must be working for someone else."
Fear engulfed Scarlett as she realized that Blaise had allowed her to get close to him as a ploy to glean information about her employer.
"Now, Scarlett, I want to hear it all," he pressed on, his tone ominous, eyes alight with a sinister intensity. "Who sent you?"
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts. The next chapter will feature the ball. See you soon.