Red Is the Rule

I get paid to fake date people, cry and laugh on cue, but I never take my clothes off and I've never touched anything with locks on it.

That was my rule. Until tonight.

I'd just slipped into my work uniform—simple black dress, short boots—when Elliot called me into his office. He closed the door behind us, his expression somewhere between serious and excited.

"Got something special for you, Lena." He settled into his chair, fingers drumming on the desk. "New client. Code name 07. Booked you one night. Paid in advance."

I reached for my water bottle. "Okay, what's his deal? Lonely businessman? Recent divorce?"

"Five times your usual rate."

My hand froze halfway to my lips. "What?"

Elliot slid a printed order across his desk. I scanned the details, my stomach dropping with each line. The amount made my eyes widen, but then I reached the special notes section.

"Emotion Dom service. Light restraint and humiliation allowed." I looked up. "Dom? Elliot, I don't do that."

"You don't have to know how. He'll guide you. Just play the part—be in control, keep your voice cold. He does the rest."

I stared at the paper, my mind racing. The money was real. More than real—it was life-changing. I thought about my bank account, the three-digit balance that had been haunting me for weeks. My landlord's increasingly urgent texts. The student loan payments I'd been dodging.

Elliot reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a check. He placed it in front of me with deliberate care. "That's half the payment. Up front."

My fingers trembled as I picked up the check. The number was printed in neat black ink, followed by all those beautiful zeros.

"This would cover everything," I whispered.

"Plus he signed a full liability waiver. Brings his own equipment. If you're uncomfortable at any point, you stop. You keep the money either way."

I took a shaky breath. The smart part of my brain was screaming warnings, but the desperate part—the part that was tired of eating ramen every night—was louder.

"I can... I can try it. See how it goes."

Elliot's relief was obvious. He reached for a black hard-shell case sitting on his bookshelf. "This came by courier this morning. Everything he needs for tonight."

We opened it together. The contents were arranged with military precision: black leather cuffs, a metal collar with a small padlock, several small devices I couldn't identify, a pair of thin metal clips, and a narrow leather strap that could only be a whip.

I stepped back instinctively. "I've never used any of this stuff."

"He'll tell you what to do. Just stay cold, in control. Think of it as acting."

I bit my lip, staring at the cold metal pieces. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but I forced myself to nod.

The walk to VIP room seven felt endless. The case seemed heavier with each step, its contents rattling softly. I stopped in front of the hallway mirror, trying to arrange my face into something that looked professional instead of terrified.

Just acting, I told myself. Play someone who's in control. Take the money. Walk away.

I gripped the door handle, my palm slick with sweat. Three deep breaths. Then I turned the handle and stepped inside.

The lighting was soft, warm. The man on the sofa stood as I entered—black shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair perfectly styled, eyes that were surprisingly gentle.

He stepped forward with an easy smile, extending his hand. "Hi, Lena. You can call me Cass."

I froze for a beat, then automatically reached out to shake his hand. The moment our skin touched, I realized my mistake. Wasn't I supposed to maintain distance? Authority?

I pulled my hand back awkwardly, clearing my throat and forcing my voice into what I hoped sounded like cool detachment. "Hello."

His eyebrow quirked up slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "First time?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. I set the case down on the coffee table, my movements stiff and uncertain. I had no idea how to "dominate" someone. Did I give orders? Did I threaten him? The whole thing felt absurd.

Cass poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table and held it out to me. "Don't be nervous. We can take this slow."

I accepted the glass, not trusting my voice.

"I know you haven't done this before," he said quietly. "Elliot mentioned it."

"Then why..." I started.

"Because I don't need a professional Dom." He moved to the center of the room, then slowly sank to one knee, stretching out his hands in front of me. Looking up at me with those calm, steady eyes, he continued, "I need someone who's willing to learn how to control me."

My breath caught in my throat.

"From now on, just follow your instincts. If I do something wrong, punish me. If you don't know what to do, I'll guide you."

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Tonight, I'm yours. Madam."

The word sent a strange shiver through me. I stood there, water glass trembling in my grip, staring down at this man who'd just put himself completely at my mercy. And for the first time since walking into that office, I felt something other than fear.

I felt curious.