The staircase groaned under their weight as Elena led him away from the jazz and clinking crystal of the ballroom.
As they reached the upper landing, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The air here was thicker, warmer, and carried a heavy, cloying scent of sandalwood mixed with the sharp metallic tang of expensive gin.
Liam's eyes widened. This wasn't a hallway; it was a labyrinth of velvet curtains and dim, red-filtered lighting.
"Holy..." Liam breathed, his voice catching.
He passed a sign, polished brass with elegant cursive that read: The Sanctuary: Exploration Encouraged.
To his left, a worker in a white mask and a black vest stood perfectly still beside a heavy oak door, holding a tray with silk blindfolds and small, glass vials of lubricant.
Further down, he saw a woman arched over a leather chaise longue, her partner's trusting into her, while three other people in orange wristbands stood a few feet away, watching with clinical intensity.
