Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

It was, of course, a lie. Spending one night with him had already been too unremarkable.

He was the last one. I’ve been dissatisfied for a long time now, and I realised after that night that I should stop. It was all a waste of my time.

I cut out all my random escapades a few days before the official engagement with Ronan. I wouldn’t call it that official, though. People know about it, but it’s not announced vastly, and I refused the ring until we’re at least out of school.

Not that this game will go on until then.

The reason I stopped the encounters has nothing to do with the engagement and everything to do with me.

It’s been more than a week since that dinner at the Astor mansion. Ronan still lives his life as if nothing happened, and I get to live mine the same.

After all, it’s just a contract, a convenience, a link between our families and a thread to my plan. Nothing more or less.

I meant it — he can bring it. Nothing will sway me, and there’s no way in hell he’ll have me abandoning what I started.

Holding the acceptance letter between my fingers, my insides hum with excitement as I follow the girl down the hall with red carpets and walls covered in black flowery wallpaper.

It’s the theme of the club, La Débauche. As its name suggests, it’s for debauchery, depravity and…fantasy.

I first discovered it in my trips through the dark web. Then I found one of its members on Tinder and hooked up with him that night. That meeting got me my entrance recommendation.

Since then, I’ve been coming here to be part of the Audience Society, the voyeurs who watched the titillation of the human mind through their bodies.

It was fascinating. It was the first time I thought of something as that in…forever.

Watching those girls fall to their knees in front of stronger, bigger, and older men always had me rubbing my thighs.

I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never once had an orgasm or gotten wet enough to make the experience pleasurable. I’ve always chosen older men, at least fifteen years older than me and experienced, and still…nothing.

I was starting to think I was broken beyond repair and that I’d never feel the ecstasy Elsa and Kim keep talking about. I thought the feeling was foreign, just like me.

La Débauche’s scenes brought back some of that faith and the possibility of more.

That’s why I applied to be ‘Debauched’. One night, one stranger, and that’s it. I was rejected two times, but today, I received my acceptance letter.

The greatest policy here is anonymity. The reason I found Richard on the dark web is because he posted a shot of the invitation card in his public profile.

Here, no one knows who you are or where you came from. There are no names, just numbers. No faces, just black masks like the ones from costume parties. All women wear black satin gowns, and all men wear black trousers.

That’s it.

That’s all that’s needed.

As soon as they confirm you’re over eighteen, the sky’s the limit.

I have no idea how they accept people here, but it seems to be a tight process. I don’t even know how I got in. Even with Richard’s referral, it seemed so farfetched at the time, but I still threw in my letter anyway, hoping for something different.

That’s all I’ve been doing my entire life, wishing the shadow weren’t a normal state of mind and that different didn’t actually mean crazy.

Different just means…special.

That’s what Knox and Dad tell me, but the problem lies in believing them.

This club is different. It’s more than different; it’s an open door to many things I never thought were possible.

And now, I won’t only be watching — I’ll participate.

Not exhibition-style, though. I applied for a private session because, well, I might like to watch, but being watched is a different thing altogether. It means being bare, and I don’t like that.

The attendant, wearing a maid’s outfit and a mask, motions at a room. “Through here, Ms 115.”

I walk past her. The room has the same black wallpaper and red carpets. There’s no window like the other rooms I participated in, no bed or sofa, not even a chair.

The attendant reaches her hand out. “Have you filled out the form, Ms 115?”

“Uh…yeah.” I finally release the acceptance letter that has the form attached to it from between my sweaty fingers.

The form is a checklist about what I won’t allow and what I’m good with. I’m not good with anal, flogs, crops, any extreme pain, or being tied down, and that’s it.

I wanted to ask for a thirty or forty-something man, but they didn’t have an age option. However, all I’ve seen so far is older men who know how to handle a woman. La Débauche attracts a specific type of dominant males who have been in this depravity game for far too long.

“Do you want to review it one last time?” she asks.

“I-I’m okay.” Shit. Why the hell am I stammering? I wanted this. It’s my last chance at normal before I pass the point of no return.

She hands me a black blindfold. “As you requested.”

I take it from her with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”

“Please wait for Mr 120 on your knees.” I nod, and she smiles. “I wish you a lovely night.”

And with that, the door clicks closed behind her.