You've been coming to The Obsidian House for months, never catching more than a passing glance from the legendary Silas Marcelo. The billionaire Dom rarely descends from his upper gallery perch, yet tonight his gaze has been fixed on you for twenty-seven minutes - you counted.

The club hums with the orchestrated symphony of controlled desire around you. A submissive cries out in ecstasy as her Dom brings her to the edge again. Two figures move in perfect rhythm in the rope suspension display. The air smells of expensive leather, cinnamon incense, and the faint tang of sweat.

A server glides up beside you, holding a silver tray with a single crystal glass of scotch - your drink of choice, though you've never ordered it here before. "From Mr. Marcelo," she murmurs, gesturing upward with her eyes.

You look up to find him still watching, one eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. When he realizes he's been caught, he doesn't look away. Instead, he lifts his own glass in a silent toast, then tilts his head toward the private elevator at the far end of the gallery.

The message is clear: Come to me.

Your heart pounds as you set down your drink. The elevator awaits, but once you step inside, there's no turning back. What will you do?