Maxen had been Isolde's only client for a whole week—unlike the nights before, when not a single man was willing to pay to spend the night with her.
At first, Isolde was furious. Absolutely fucking furious when she saw Maxen waiting in Room 429. But Maxen didn't touch her. He didn't force himself on her. He just kept talking.
Every night, Maxen apologized over and over until Isolde was sick of hearing it—not ill of Severin, who showed up almost every night, but sick of herself because she had started hoping.
The way Maxen looked at her, eyes filled with guilt, the way he held her hand, the way he slowly lowered his head and kissed her lips so gently like she was breakable—it all chipped away at her resolve.
Isolde laughed at herself, bitterly and silently, laughing at how easily she melted with just a little tenderness. She knew her weakness. She'd grown up starving for affection, making her fall to her knees for anyone who gave her a taste of it, even if it was fake.
But what if Maxen was serious this time? What if he meant it? What if he could get her out of this hellhole? He kept saying he still loved her and would do anything for her. Right now, Maxen was the only hope she had left.
That was why, on the fourth night, Isolde stopped resisting his touches. Not just because she wanted to believe Maxen could be her escape plan but because she could also use him as a shield. As long as Maxen came to her, Severin wouldn't. And even if Maxen touched her, at least he wasn't as brutal, as sadistic, as Severin.
She was scared. Scared that if she didn't let Maxen touch her, he'd stop coming. And if he stopped coming, she'd be left with no clients again, which meant she'd have to serve Severin.
Isolde only submitted to Severin to survive, not because she enjoyed anything he did to her. She'd much rather "serve" Maxen than Severin if she had a choice. At least Maxen didn't slam her head into a table until it bled.
No matter how rough Maxen was in bed, he was never as brutal as Severin. Severin went further. Severin liked breaking things.
Isolde clung to Maxen, her arms wrapped around him as he moved above her, face buried in the curve of his neck, both of them panting, close to release. They were just about to reach it when a sudden knock came on the door of Room 429.
At first, Maxen ignored it. But the door opened anyway, and Nikhael stepped in with that blank fucking face of his and said Maxen had to leave. Severin was coming.
Isolde didn't care about the ruined orgasm. What made her stomach sink was knowing what might happen once Severin walked through that door.
She watched Maxen's face darken, and his fists clenched so tight they turned white as he dressed himself. She knew he didn't want to leave. But he wouldn't fight Severin. He never did.
Isolde scoffed quietly when Maxen finally stepped out behind Nikhael. He couldn't even disobey Severin. How was he supposed to get her out of this place?
She should've known. There was never going to be a way out. Not by becoming Severin's favourite. Not by using Maxen.
She'd been a prisoner here the moment she walked in of her free will—a life sentence, sealed by her own damn choice. The door to Room 429 opened again. Isolde yanked the blanket up to cover her naked body. Severin entered, smirking, eyes gleaming with the kind of mockery that burned straight through flesh.
"You really do look like a proper whore now," he sneered.
Isolde didn't respond. What was the point? He was right. She had become precisely that, a real whore. The very thing she used to despise, the very thing she used to spit on because her father's mistress had been one.
Then Severin grabbed her. He dragged her to the same post where he used to whip her every time she failed to please him properly with her mouth. Ah..., it looks like she was getting beaten again.
Isolde didn't resist as her wrists were shackled. She waited, waiting for whatever cruel thing Severin would do next to satisfy his twisted pleasure. But… nothing happened.
Instead, she heard his footsteps moving away. Her head lifted. She looked up to find Severin sitting on the sofa, staring at her with that same razor-sharp gaze. He sat there, calm and composed like she was some exotic animal meant to be observed in silence.
"Y-you don't want to touch me?" she asked, confused.
"You're covered in another man's saliva and cum. I won't mix any part of myself with that filth." For the first time in her life, Isolde felt grateful to have been touched by another man. Because it meant Severin wouldn't touch her.
But if he wasn't going to touch her… why the hell did he come? To watch her, naked and cuffed?
Isolde looked away, dropping her gaze to avoid his eyes, which felt like they were peeling her skin off. But when she glanced up again for just a moment, she froze. Severin had fallen asleep.
This cruel bastard of a man, he had come here to sleep? He had kicked out Maxen, who hadn't even gotten to finish so that he could nap. Severin… that man was impossible to figure out.
.
.
.
Severin would revisit her tonight, just like he had said the night before. Maxen looked pissed. He wasn't allowed to spend the night with Isolde this time.
He watched her jealously as Nikhael escorted her to Room 429 after her usual dance. His expression was sour, as if he couldn't stand the idea of someone else having her.
While dancing, Isolde kept catching Maxen watching her… and watching Severin, who sat in his usual seat unreadable. Something was brewing in Maxen's head. Severin, on the other hand, remained a cold blank.
Isolde was still utterly confused about what Severin had done the previous night, coming to her and doing absolutely nothing.
Maybe he was too disgusted to touch her because she still smelled like Maxen's sweat and cum. But why did he come if he didn't want to touch her if that was the case?
He knew damn well she'd been with Maxen. And yet… he came anyway. Why stay in Room 429 when Severin could've just left and returned the next day after ordering Isolde to ensure she was clean before he arrived?
Why did he sit on the sofa and fall asleep after staring at her with those cold, cutting eyes for what felt like forever?
If Severin were a puzzle, he'd be the kind you could never solve, the kind that broke you trying. Isolde took a long breath, then slowly let it out. Usually, whenever Severin came to her, she ended up bruised, cut, or worse from whatever he decided to do to her. It was never like that with Maxen.
Sure, Maxen liked it rough, too. But the most he ever left were marks from how tightly he held her. He used to whip her, too, back then. Still, it was always part of the play, something that turned them both on, unlike Severin, who only cared about his release and never cared if Isolde was in pain, bleeding, or barely breathing.
With Maxen, they had a safeword, something she could use if things went too far. But with Severin? A safeword was a fucking joke. If Isolde died while he was fucking her, he'd probably enjoy it more.
Ah… and the wounds Severin left on her last week had just finished healing. They were gone now, all of them, except the bruises on her wrists, fresh again after last night. Tonight's damage would be worse than before. Because tonight, Isolde no longer smelled like another man.
The door opened. Severin entered, his expression as unreadable as ever. Isolde was already kneeling, naked when he walked in and stepped toward her. He stood there long, looking at her with that same unknowable gaze.
Ah! He was waiting. How stupid of her. She had been in this place for three weeks and still forgot that Severin hated passivity.
Isolde moved her hands to his belt. This time, they didn't tremble like they did the first time she had to do this for him.
In her mind, she kept repeating the same warning, don't fuck it up. Severin hated mistakes. She couldn't make one if she didn't want to get hurt. But before she could even undo his belt, Severin grabbed her hand and yanked her onto the bed.
Damn it. Isolde cursed inwardly that she was late, and Severin was already pissed.
Isolde was shoved onto the bed, her eyes squeezing shut as she braced herself to be taken without preparation. It was going to hurt. Even though she wasn't a virgin, having something blunt forced into her unprepared core would still be painful. And Severin was… big.
But instead of slamming into her without warning, she felt the heat of Severin's breath against her neck, his hands roughly grasping her breasts, kneading them with no tenderness.
The way Severin handled her was brutal, his grip harsh, his teeth sinking into her neck. Not the teasing nips or light sucks meant to leave faint marks, but a real, vicious bite that nearly tore a scream from her throat.
Isolde choked back the sound, afraid that crying out would only anger him further. If Severin was displeased, he could and would get even rougher.
At least this wasn't as painful as when Isolde's head had been slammed against the table. Harsh as it was, Severin's touch still made her body react. Not because she enjoyed his roughness. No, this was just biology. The way her body responded, the wetness between her legs, it was all just a natural reaction.
No normal human could remain unaffected by this touch, even if forced. And that disgusted her because her body was betraying her heart and mind, which despised Severin's touch.
Severin's mouth, which had been at her neck, now trailed down to her collarbone, biting just as hard before descending to her breasts.
Strange. This wasn't the first time Isolde had been subjected to Severin's whims, but it was the first time he'd touched her. Before, he had always preferred to torment her, taking her without warning.
"Ugh." A pained gasp escaped her as Severin bit down on her breast, sharp, stinging, yet her nipple stiffened under his ragged breath.
Isolde let out a frustrated sigh when his tongue didn't follow when all he did was twist her nipple between his rough fingers.
Her eyes widened. What the hell just happened? Had she been disappointed that Severin hadn't lavished attention on her breasts the way she? No. Insane. She wasn't here to enjoy this. She was here to survive.
She bit her lip as Severin's large hand slid slowly downward from her chest, his calloused fingers tracing the curve of her stomach before reaching between her legs. His fingers stroked her wetness, and she could feel him smirk against her right breast as he bit down again.
"You're wet already." His whisper was dark before he pushed two fingers inside her without warning. Isolde closed her eyes as those rough fingers stretched her, working her open with deliberate cruelty.
Isolde bit her lower lip as Severin's fingers moved between her legs, two fingers thrusting in and out, twisting and stroking her inner walls, coaxing her wetness.
The faster his fingers worked, the more ragged Isolde's breathing became. The teasing friction below, paired with the sharp pain whenever Severin bit her skin, made her fists clench the bedsheets beneath her.
She felt the muscles in her lower body tighten. Her head pressed back into the mattress, and her lips parted in a silent gasp as her thighs clamped around Severin's wrist. Then, her body shuddered.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, and she barely had time to steady herself before Severin withdrew his fingers. Isolde shut her eyes as he pushed inside her, driving her into the bed with enough force to make the frame creak.
Even though she was wet, even though she'd already come before he entered her, taking all of Severin was still a struggle. His size, his rough movements, it was still overwhelming, still painful, even if he wasn't outright brutal with her this time.
Isolde was observing Severin as he moved, his eyes looking at the area between her stomach and where they were connected. She inhaled sharply when she traced his gaze. Every time he drove in deeper, stronger, the shape of his penis was raised against her belly, a visible sign of his unremitting speed.
"Ngh—!" She bit back a moan as Severin pulled almost out before driving back in with brutal force, his rough fingers pressing down on the spot where his shape strained beneath her skin.
Her grip on the sheets tightened as Severin's pace turned punishing. Her hips ached from the bruising hold he had on them, his rhythm growing more demanding, more ruthless. Her toes curled, her thighs trembling as the tension coiled tighter, her body teetering on the edge.
Then his hand locked around her throat just as the storm inside her broke. Her back arched, every muscle clenching as euphoria ripped through her, her climax squeezing around him. A growl tore from Severin's throat at the sensation, her body's vice-like grip milking his release.
Isolde could hear Severin's low growl as he spilt inside her. Her vision was still hazy, but she could feel the warmth, the fullness deep within her.
Before she could fully recover from the aftershocks of her climax, Severin abruptly pulled out and roughly dragged her off the bed, yanking her back to the same post as yesterday.
And just like before, he shackled her there. But he didn't reach for the whip to torment her this time. Instead, he returned to the bed, lying down as he watched Isolde, still panting, her eyes glazed over as the lingering tremors of pleasure refused to fade.
By the time her vision cleared and her breathing steadied, Isolde lifted her head to glance at Severin—only to find him already asleep, resting comfortably in bed.
…