Page 59 of Bad Girl Dilemma

And we’re running out of time.

CHAPTER 15

Dahlia

Icatch myself in the mirror of the penthouse’s elevator, my breath catching at the reflection. Me, in sheer black latex, a corset that laces tight up the back, long gloves that reach past my elbows, and the delicate line of the leather collar gleaming around my throat. No underwear. No escape.

The collar feels heavier tonight. Not in weight, but in meaning.

Dante stands behind me, tall and sharp in his obsidian suit, dark eyes locked on mine in the glass.

"Color?" he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

I whisper, "Green."

He kisses my temple. "Good girl."

My stomach knots. I don’t know if it’s dread or desire.

Maybe both.

Because tonight, we walk into the belly of the beast. The Gilded Cage—where names don’t matter, only power. And we’re going hunting.

The head of the Vesper Syndicate, the ghost behind a thousand ruined lives, is here. Dante confirmed it hours ago, combing through private networks of the sex club, triangulating locations. And if we don’t make our move now, the trail will go cold.

But what I didn’t expect—what I hadn’t counted on—is the weight in Dante’s voice. The way he watches me like this might be the last time. The desperation under his dominance.

It scares me more than the mission.

Dante

I shouldn’t have broughther.

But the second I thought about leaving her behind, I imagined her going off-script, hacking in without backup, putting herself in danger. Again.

She’s under my skin. Under my fucking soul.

And tonight, if things go south, there’s no telling how far the Vespers will go to silence her.

Under different circumstances, I would’ve saved her first real-life visit for when the concrete version of The Club was finished in San Francisco. But even that speaks to a future that widens the cracks inside me.

Focus.

The doors to the members-only club in Lower Manhattan open to us like a heartbeat—dark, throbbing, seductive.

Red velvet walls, bodies in motion, skin slick and glistening under strobe light. Eyes track Dahlia the moment we step in. Her tits press against the corset like a fucking invitation. But she’s mine.

Tonight, everyone will know.

“Stay close,” I say, voice low but firm.

“I always do,” she murmurs, slipping her hand into mine.

I should feel in control. Instead, I feel like I’m losing it.

Dahlia

I expected the sex club—sinceI was a submissive—to make me feel small. To feel overwhelmed by leather and leashes, the pounding bass of want echoing off the walls, the collective hunger in every look.

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