Esther's explanation was straightforward yet revealing.

  "It's another strategic distraction, really. Plus, you'd be surprised how many visitors come to the Isle specifically for that." Her words reiterated a calculated purpose behind every facet of this mysterious community.

  Nicolette added, "The women there are carefully chosen and trained for their roles. They're a different kind of servitor, dedicated to providing a very specific service."

  She meant sex, obviously. I didn’t have a problem or strong opinion on sex workers, but even with my limited understanding of things, I understood these women weren’t being paid for their services. I wouldn’t allow myself to think too strongly about how they wound up in such a position to begin with. I couldn’t exactly bust in and save them. And it was a given that some might not believe they needed to be saved at all.

  As we continued our stroll, my thoughts involuntarily drifted to Alexander, and a twinge of annoyance pricked at me.

  He seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my mind—and not entirely in a negative sense. The thought of him possibly visiting this Pleasure House nagged at me. I quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the stores we passed.

  I refused to acknowledge any feelings of jealousy. Admitting that would mean acknowledging a deeper connection to him, something I was not ready to confront. I was caught between detesting my captor and being drawn to him, his presence now a constant echo in the back of my mind. It was exhausting.

  Why couldn’t I hate him for what he’d done? Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I couldn’t say the tour of the town was largely insightful. It had been more frustrating than anything, highlighting more obstacles between me and freedom. But it also served as a distraction and break from Alexander’s estate. Even if it failed to distract me from thoughts of the man himself.

  As we continued our outing, we found ourselves in Celestial Crafts, a quaint store run by a trio of sisters who were known for their exquisite handiwork. The shop was filled with handmade crafts, including ornate tapestries depicting the Isle’s history, intricate lacework, and pottery infused with traditional motifs.

  Once we left there, it wasn't long before our little group made its way to a charming confectionery. As we stepped into Isla’s Sweets & Treats, the atmosphere shifted dramatically from the gothic allure of the craft store to a delightful, almost whimsical ambiance.

  The interior was a confectioner's dream, adorned with pastel colors and vintage décor that conjured images of a bygone era. Delicate chandeliers cast a soft, inviting light over the space, and the air was rich with the scent of freshly baked goods and chocolate.

  Around us, the tables were dotted with patrons, a mix of Isle natives and tourists. In one corner, a group of women from the Isle sat together, their dresses vibrant yet modest, their conversation a blend of hushed tones and gentle laughter, exuding a sense of belonging.

  It was a sharp contrast to the more tentative, wide-eyed tourists who seemed to soak in every detail of their exotic surroundings. Their voices carried a note of excitement and curiosity, a visual display of the Isle's allure to outsiders.

  As we found a table, I couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from both groups. I was neither a carefree tourist nor a settled native but something else entirely—a captive caught in the intricate web of Alexander's world. The juxtaposition of the quaint, cheerful bakery and my own tumultuous thoughts created a surreal feeling, as if I were observing a scene from someone else's life.

  Esther went to order for us, leaving me momentarily alone with Nicolette. She was quiet, her gaze occasionally drifting over the café's other patrons. I wasn’t sure what to say to her, so I said nothing.

  “The other day was a test. You passed, by the way.”

  I slowly turned and looked at her. Had she been speaking to me? I assumed so, but her attention was still elsewhere. Common sense told me she was being cryptic for a reason, which meant I couldn’t ask her anything.

  Esther returned, a tray of beautifully crafted confections in hand. She placed three elegantly prepared frappes on our table. One was a rich mocha, its cream swirls dusted with cocoa. Another shone brightly in strawberry, topped with whipped cream and fresh berries. The third, a classic vanilla, was sprinkled delicately with cinnamon.

  Beside them was an assortment of macaroons and neatly cut sandwiches, ranging from cucumber to smoked salmon and cream cheese. She handed me the strawberry frap and smiled knowingly.

  "I heard strawberry is your favorite.”

  I accepted it and tried not to grimace. One guess where that small detail had to have come from. Jesus. How much did he know about me? What part of my life hadn't he dissected and laid bare for his perusal? I wasn’t sure I’d ever have that answer. It was unsettling. He had spent so much time gathering the smallest pieces of me, just so he could hold them close and claim them as his own.

  I sipped the drink distractedly, its taste unsurprisingly perfect. Nicolette's voice pulled me back to them. "Is there any other store that caught your eye?" she inquired, her tone casual. “We could pop into one before heading to Chapel.”

  Esther chimed in then, her voice light and encouraging. "Don't worry about the funds. Whatever you desire can be delivered to the estate. Just say the word."

  "Just how wealthy is your brother?"

  Esther smiled and took a bite of a lemony treat before answering. "If he didn’t already own the Isle and you asked for it, he would buy it for you. And if you wanted a second one, he'd make that happen too."

  "Whatever you want, Lolita. If it can be bought by monetary means or taken with power, consider it yours,” Nicolette agreed.

  If I wasn’t imagining things. She sounded slightly bitter. It surprised me for the simple fact that I didn’t get the impression Alexander’s people did anything less than revere him. I already knew he had money, and power, but in my head, it was to a certain extent. Their explanations shed new light on that assumption.

  His money and influence weren’t the largest of my concerns, though.

  The reason I was here and why he had chosen me was far more pressing.

  Had he branded his other wives like he had me? And where were they? I sipped my drink and glanced around, noting some of the women from the back table were darting looks at me and then quickly looking away…blushing? What the hell was that about? My face heated in response to the not-so-subtle attention. I pretended I didn’t notice and looked out the shop windows.

  I locked eyes with a familiar figure across the street and immediately stopped drinking. My heart skipped a beat as I continued to stare.

  I knew him.

  I’d seen him the night everything happened. His intense gaze held mine, unblinking. There were only two reasons he’d be at this place. He’d either been taken too—or he’d belonged here all along.

  The latter was more likely, given his attire was similar to the few male servitors we had passed while out and about.

  Nicolette's abrupt grip on my arm interrupted our stare-down. Her fingers pressed into my skin with a warning that bore pain. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss. "Don't look at other men. It's the fastest way to get yourself killed."

  Her words sent a chill down my spine. Before I could ask, Esther interjected in an equally hushed tone. "Nicolette, not here," she cautioned, her eyes darting around the room. Her warning was clear: this was neither the time nor the place for such a conversation.

  I resumed sipping my drink, barely tasting it anymore. The man's gaze still lingered in my mind, a haunting reminder of the world I had been torn from and the perilous situation I now found myself in.

  “Don't look at other men. It's the fastest way to get yourself killed.”

  Was Alexander that twisted? Another question I didn’t have the answer to. A question I wouldn’t be trying to find one for, either. While I couldn’t say for certain, my gut told me that the man whose name was carved into my thigh wouldn’t hesitate to take my life if he decided I deserved to die.

  As we made our way back to the designated pick-up point, our steps echoing lightly on the cobblestone path, Nicolette's voice broke the stilted silence. Her tone was low, a hint of apology threading through her words. "I'm sorry about earlier," she murmured, her eyes scanning our surroundings with practiced vigilance.

  "But please, always be aware of where you are and who's around you. Diabolus sees everything."

  I glanced around, suddenly conscious of every shadow and every face we passed. Nicolette continued, her voice still a soft whisper. "The Isle…it's a citadel of surveillance and secrecy. Everywhere you look, there are eyes and ears. Cameras are embedded in the most obvious and most trivial places, capturing every movement."

  I felt a knot form in my stomach as she elaborated, and she wasn’t done.

  "Custodes Tenebrarum blend in with the crowd. And the tourists..." she paused, her gaze meeting mine, "they're monitored even more closely. Special devices, like mobiles or digital trackers, are given to them. It's all under the guise of convenience, but in reality, it's to keep track of their every step, especially if they wander too close to places they shouldn't."

  Custodes Tenebrarum—guards, I translated. That wasn’t surprising. None of it was when I considered the lengths Alexander and his people would go to in order to protect their home. That didn’t stop the meticulous scrutiny from being any less suffocating.

  I realized then that the sense of freedom I felt while walking through the town was an illusion. In this world, privacy was a myth, and control was absolute.

  "You're walking a dangerous path, Nicole,” Esther warned softly.

  They leveled one another with glares that had animosity crackling in the air. As we moved away from the ears of immediate onlookers, Nicolette’s voice dropped an octave lower. "She needs to know, Esther. She has to understand the stakes. Do you want her a Progenitor or at the Pleasure House?”

  I glanced around and felt like an idiot checking our surroundings as the two women went back and forth. There was no way for me to see where a camera would be.

  I couldn’t understand most of what they were talking about to have any relevant input, and I refused to side with either of them.

  Esther was beloved and family to half of the men at the pinnacle of power. Upsetting or alienating her would’ve been stupid.

  Nicolette, for all her brazenness, had been chosen to be by my side with her. That had to mean something. She was also the only one of the two willing to tell me things Esther seemed to want to keep quiet about, even at her own expense.

  I got the feeling Nicolette wasn’t entirely on board with the way things were done here. That could prove beneficial.

  So, naturally, I remained silent. I listened and took it all in, hoping they’d let something slip that could help me.

  “Diabolus would never force her descent,” Esther replied evenly, surprising me with how cold her voice had become.

  “I’m sure Clarice thought that too,” Nicolette volleyed back.

  Clarice?

  “That b—” Esther caught herself and sighed. “She betrayed our Diabolus, sealing her own fate.”

  Nicolette scoffed. “And Melanie? What did she do?”

  Both of those foreign names seemed to carry a weight of significance. "Who's Melanie?" I asked, but my question was ignored.

  Instead, Esther attempted to steer the conversation away from these dangerous waters, her voice soothing yet firm.

  "Lolita, there are things that you don't need to concern yourself with. it's not something you'll ever have to face."

  Nicolette, however, wasn't one to mince words. "Devote. Obey. Don't break the rules. That’s how you stay safe here," she stated bluntly, her hardened gaze meeting mine. "Melanie was here first. She failed and wound up at the butcher’s block.”

  No way. She couldn’t possibly mean the woman was literally sent to be butchered. I didn’t want to believe that. I couldn’t imagine it. But the look on Esther’s face gave me all the more reason to think it was true. I was pretty sure I’d just discovered what had happened to one of Alexander’s wives.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The drive to the Chapel was cloaked in silence, thick with unspoken questions and tension.

  The tightness in the air held my tongue. I was almost relieved when I caught sight of the cathedral, its grandeur magnified in the daylight. That relief was quickly dampened by the memory of my last visit. I’d never be able to look at this place without seeing myself branded before a room of masked sociopaths.

  After exiting the vehicle, Esther and Nicolette led me inside, our footsteps echoing against the stone floor.

  We passed by silent, masked disciples, their presence adding to the Chapel's ominous atmosphere. As we ascended a set of beautifully crafted wooden stairs to the far left of the first entry point, my eyes were drawn to the paintings that adorned the walls.

  Each was a vivid portrayal of the Impío faith's dark history, but what struck me were the recurring images of women, all depicted in various stages of undress and subservience. In one painting, robed figures donning masks encircled a bonfire under a moonlit sky. Among them, the women were all partially nude, expressions ranging from ecstasy to resignation. It looked to be some kind of ritual, where devotion and sensuality intertwined.

  Another canvas captured a scene of sacrifice, at its center an altar illuminated by candlelight. It was similar to the one I’d been branded in front of.

  A woman lay draped in sheer fabric that did little to conceal her form, throat slit from ear to ear. There was a mixture of fear and reverence frozen on her face. Around her, the congregation's fervent gaze seemed to venerate her sacrifice as much as the deity they worshipped. The most striking piece was titled and depicted The ascension of Diablo. At his feet, a single woman knelt in a clear act of submission.

  It was impossible not to notice that reoccurring theme. When I thought about it, I’d seen different versions of this playing out since I’d arrived. Women on the Isle were assigned specific roles, roles that seemed deeply entrenched in the fabric of this society.

  Submission seemed to be a crucial and non-negotiable part of their existence. It was an expectation and way of living I found myself instinctively resisting.

  At the top of the staircase, we walked past a few doors and then entered a room that was a contrast to the lavishness in Alexander's estate. Rows of cushioned chairs faced a grand, obsidian podium, creating an air of solemnity. A total of four women were in the room. The two standing I was seeing for the first time. The women sitting down were the other captives, both branded the same evening I was.

  “Matron Seraphine,” Esther greeted.

  The woman—Seraphine—pivoted towards us in sleek black heels, a bright smile spreading across her face. “Ah, you’re here!”

  She was stunning—in her early forties, if I had to guess. Her navy dress hugged curves that were accentuated by her poise and a striking presence that demanded attention. Her dark skin had a rich warmth to it, and her eyes held a depth that suggested wisdom and perhaps a hint of something more profound and complex.

  I couldn’t bring myself to return the enthusiasm, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  "Welcome, Lolita. I am Matron Seraphine, and this is Acolyte Selena.” She waved a manicured hand in the direction of the other woman. Selena’s eyes swept over me, but not in a judgmental way. It was more contemplative.

  She offered me a friendly but respectful smile, radiating a demure energy. “It is my greatest honor to serve you.”

  “As it is mine,” Seraphine agreed. “You aren’t expected to use honorifics with us, so feel free to call me Sera, and Selena by name. We have been very much looking forward to guiding you through your immersion of Stygian Isle and transition to Sponsa Diaboli.”

  It took a great deal of effort to keep my expression impassive. I didn’t want anyone to serve me.

  Esther's light touch on my arm brought a small comfort. "You're in good hands," she said softly. "Alexander will come for you later."

  The women bid goodbye to my tour guides, and then Seraphine gestured towards the other two captives in the room. "Please, take a seat beside your new sisters, Electi Pandora and Keres."

  I hesitantly moved to sit beside them on the maroon sectional, feeling both apprehensive and curious. They were dressed similarly to me, but Pandora was still wearing a silk blindfold, and an exquisite diamond choker covered her throat. Her long, auburn hair and light dusting of freckles lent her an air of innocence.

  Keres' presence was more striking, with her deep brown skin and contrasting silver-white hair. Her grey eyes were insightful, reflecting a strength that spoke of her own experiences on this Isle.

  "It's nice to meet you, Lolita," Pandora's voice was as soft as she looked, a small smile gracing her lips despite her inability to see me.

  Keres nodded once, her expression cautious yet not unfriendly. "Welcome to the club," she quipped, her tone carrying an undertone of solidarity in our shared circumstances.

  I returned their greetings, feeling a mix of emotions. Behind us, Matron Seraphine, with her commanding presence, closed the door and began the session without any preamble.

  "Today, we shall start with the basics," she announced, her voice echoing slightly in the room.

  "Understanding the hierarchy of the Isle is crucial." She walked towards the whiteboard, her movements precise and calculated. "As the chosen companions of the Isle's most esteemed, you are revered above all. Your role is to be a beacon of grace, submission, and loyalty."

  Her gaze swept over us, as if measuring our reactions. Keres leaned forward, a spark of defiance in her eyes that matched her assertive tone. "So, are we just supposed to accept these archaic roles? Not every woman dreams of bowing down to a man."

  She made a damn good argument.

  Seraphine smiled kindly and clasped her hands together at her waist. “You’re right. Many women abhor the thought of submitting to a man, but it’s different for us. There’s nothing quite like having someone protect, cherish, and provide for you and only wanting what we were always born to do in exchange.”