Seraphina curled up on her mother's couch, the glow of The Bachelorette flickering uselessly in the dark room. She had the television on as a desperate attempt to dislodge the memory that had lodged in her mind, a tragic obsession she could only manage to push down to third or fourth place on her list of worries.
She spent half the time staring through the screen, watching without seeing. Since it was on-demand, she constantly rewound, trying to process what her distracted mind refused to absorb the first time. How had she allowed herself to be so completely charmed by a man riddled with such weakness? Kyle let every passing thought derail him from the work he claimed to love. If he was this easily pulled away from his passion, how effortlessly would he drift from her after two, five, or ten years of marriage? She knew the truth: she couldn't marry him. She needed a man with relentless, unyielding passion—one that didn't shift every week.
Sera heard muffled voices outside, stood up to peer through the window, and then collapsed back onto the couch, instantly falling asleep.
The next day blurred by quickly. Sera spent much of the afternoon with her mother, Priya, and her latest partner. Priya, originally from Sri Lanka, had come to America after becoming pregnant with Sera, fleeing legal trouble concerning Sera's father. She had finished school while living with her aunt and uncle, and though she'd had a few boyfriends over the years, none had been serious enough to disrupt Sera's day-to-day life.
The new man, Eric, was white, and he possessed so many of the qualities Kyle lacked that Sera could only focus on wishing she could find someone similar. If her mother, who was certainly getting on in age, could find him, men like him had to be available. Eric worked as a political advisor to the challenger for the next gubernatorial seat. The candidacy hadn't been announced yet, but that didn't diminish his stress. Yet, Eric could shut off the professional pressure like a switch the moment he came home. If he took a call, he would handle his business, make his moves, and be right back with them. Sera knew the real race would consume more of his time, but for now, the stability was intoxicating.
When the sun finally sank, she found herself wondering about Kyle again, but she quickly forced her mind to shift. Having drunk a little too much wine with dinner, she passed out with minimal fuss.
Monday and Tuesday came and went, blending into the same hazy routine. Still no word from Kyle. Had he moved on already? Or had he gotten himself killed, running around like a child with adult abilities, recklessly pushing buttons he shouldn't touch?
After the sun set on Tuesday, the air turned cool, but the ground still radiated the absorbed heat of the day. Sera stepped outside and walked around her mother's property.
An old, waist-high iron fence separated the manicured lawn from the sidewalk. Two enormous trees flanked the walkway, their canopies so dense that they blocked the sun from ever reaching the soil. The lawn was less grass and more a thick moss, requiring mowing only three or four times a year, staying green year-round. Tall hedges on both sides of the property provided separation from the neighbors, and that was the only real yard work that needed maintaining.
Sera lit a cigarette—a lingering habit from high school she couldn't seem to fully shake. Since it was still early, she decided to take a short walk to finish her smoke before her mother could start nagging her. She stopped under a streetlight to take her last drag when a voice came from behind her.
"Do you have another one of those?"
She spun around quickly. She hadn't noticed anyone approach; it was as if he had materialized out of the dark. He was of average height but carried himself with such powerful stillness that he appeared much taller. His head was smoothly, almost perfectly shaped, framed by light facial hair, giving him a look that was simultaneously dangerous, strong, and safe.
She fumbled in her pocket, managing to pull out a spare cigarette and a lighter for him.
"Long day?" he asked. His brown eyes held an intense, focused interest, not the idle curiosity of small talk, but a genuine desire to know.
"Very long," she replied, silently wishing he would push harder.
"Let me take a stab. I'd say it's your mother, or maybe a boyfriend."
"Good guess," she conceded.
"Is he stepping out on you?" the man asked.
"No, nothing like that. Matter of fact, I don't even think he would know what to do with another woman if he was able to find a side piece."
The man gave her a slow, sly grin and stretched out his hand. "My name is Abraxas; most of my friends just call me Brax."
"Brax, that is a very unusual name. I am Seraphina. Everyone calls me Sera." Butterflies erupted in her stomach the moment her hand met his.
"Let me know if I step out of line here," he continued, his voice low. "But I think the real problem is that you don't think you deserve to have any fun. You refuse to let yourself relax when you're stressed out or after a bad day."
Sera's emotional defenses immediately stiffened.
Brax pressed on, "I know just the thing. There's this club just a couple miles up the road. I was heading that way—the girl I was supposed to meet here had a family emergency and had to cancel. Why don't you tag along? I bet it will be exactly what you need to clear your mind."
Sera looked him up and down, feeling the sudden, magnetic pull he exerted over her. She hesitated, then slowly shook her head. "I think I will have to pass."
"Yeah?" he prompted, allowing her a final chance.
"Yeah. I think I'm going to call it a night after this smoke."
"All right."
With his hand still extended, he made a business card appear out of thin air. He started to hand it to her but pulled it back at the last second. "If you ever change your mind, you can call me anytime. A lady as pretty as you shouldn't hold in this much stress. You might have an aneurysm or adopt a dog you don't even want."
Sera burst out laughing and lunged forward, accidentally spitting on his face. Her cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment.
"What was that?" he said, his voice ringing with genuine laughter. "See? That is exactly what I'm talking about. You've been holding so much stress you laugh and almost killed yourself."
Still smiling, she realized she had closed the distance between them without even meaning to. Brax began to walk away, turning back one last time. Pointing at her, he delivered a silent, potent message with his eyes: "Any time."
Sera glanced at her phone and saw a missed call from Kyle. She checked the voicemail. He was ranting about her responsibilities at home, claiming he'd found his sister, and that he wouldn't talk to her unless she helped him role-play. She slammed the phone shut before the message ended and yelled out, "Brax!… Anytime?"
He stopped, held out his elbow, and she ran to catch up with him.
They entered through the front door—the door typically reserved for the funeral home business. This entrance opened into a small entryway with two doors. The left led to the funeral home; the right opened onto a short hall that housed only an elevator. The buttons were marked: G-B1-2.
Brax pushed 2, closed the heavy metal gate, and the lift began its slow ascent.
"Before you walk in," he instructed her, his voice serious, "I want you to let go of all your emotions. Every single thought you've ever had about how you feel about something, I want you to release it. If you're going to enjoy yourself tonight, you need to see whatever it is you're about to see with new eyes. Can you do that for me, Sera?" His eyes were honest, carrying a strange, almost sad weight.
The lift stopped. The music instantly hammered their ears, so loud it felt as if the lift was still vibrating. He looked down at her over the top of his eyes and nodded, asking if she was ready to step out. Sera shook her head with the breathless anticipation of a child unwrapping a Christmas present.
She followed him out, reaching for his hand—a physical anchor against the emotional shock she anticipated. She grabbed the ornate rail that ran along the second floor of the club. Looking down, she saw a visceral, mesmerizing display: nude, semi-nude, and black-clad bodies locked in an orgy of freedom and celebration.
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes scanned the spectacle. She was paralyzed—a sickening mix of shock and shame seized her. She closed her eyes and recalled Brax's instruction. When she opened them again, she looked toward the bar, finding Sonya. Without even realizing it, Sera bit her bottom lip and began nervously rubbing her legs together.
Brax led her into his office. One wall was entirely glass, perfectly angled to give a panoramic view of the club floor. Sera stood there for a long time, her forehead and breasts pressed against the cool pane, as if her body yearned to feel the chaos unfolding below.
Brax approached from behind. He placed one hand on her hip and the other around her neck. Her eyes instinctively closed, and her head fell back, as if he were about to immerse her in a flood of emotional chaos. He gently turned her to face him, and her eyes snapped open.
They were full of courage and sudden determination. "I want to go down," she declared.
"You do?" he asked.
"I want to go down now. How do I get to the floor?"
Brax started to laugh. "All right, we are open all night. They're not going anywhere."
"Wait, this is your club? You're not just the manager or something?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
"This is not the kind of club where an owner can live another life and have someone manage it," he explained. "In a place like this, the owner must be part of the community. If I were to vanish for a while, the energy here would leave with me. I am this club, and this club is me." He walked back toward his desk. "Let me walk you down."
Sera felt a potent, almost nauseating energy surge up from deep inside her. Abraxas motioned for her to follow him out the other door. They walked past his special viewing seat and down the stairs. He signaled to security to keep an extra eye on her. They could clearly see she was new to this world, and while negative outcomes were generally unthinkable here, she had to be utterly protected.
Just as they reached the club floor, as the music seemed to touch her soul, Brax looked deep into her eyes. He reached into her mind and released a flood of oxytocin and dopamine throughout her brain.
By the time she stepped onto the floor and began to move, goosebumps and shivers raced down her spine, arms, and legs. The heat between her legs was so intense it felt like it could light a cigarette.
She ripped off her dress, revealing a matching black-and-purple bra and garters over black thigh-highs. She began molesting her own body to the pulse of the music. If you looked closely, you could actually see her legs tremble from the involuntary onset of climax. She was completely hooked. Abraxas had ushered