The Velvet Room Conspiracy: Chapter Six

A Desperate Escape

Scarlett Witherspoon

Jan 16, 2025

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 Chapter 5 | Table of Contents |  Chapter 7

Charlie

The sound of the shower turning on snaps me out of the haze. Wesley stands without a word, and walks toward the bathroom. He doesn’t look back, his posture calm and unaffected. The room feels stifling, like the air has been sucked out, leaving only silence behind.

I curl into a ball and hug my knees to my chest. Shame washes over me. I feel used and discarded.

A question circles in my head, mocking me. How can I get him to respect me after this? I should leave, but I don’t move. My legs feel like lead, and my thoughts are a mess of regret, confusion, and frustration.

Later, when he comes back, he stops in the doorway while drying his hair.

“You’re still here?” he asks.

The words feel like a slap. I sit up and fumble for a response. “Sorry, I still need—”

“Sorry? No need to say sorry. You offered a service, so how much do I owe you?” The air leaves my lungs. He just offered to pay me for sex.

“I’m not a prostitute.” I slide off the bed, grab my dress, and pull it over my head. My hands tremble as I look for my shoes. Is that all I am to him? A transaction? The humiliation burns in my chest, but I can’t let him see it. Not now, not ever.

“Then why do you have my key?” Wesley’s voice cuts through the tension.

I freeze as my thoughts scramble. “Key? What key?” The memory of that woman—her cryptic smile as she pressed the key into my hand—flashes through my mind. Was it deliberate? Was I set up? My pulse quickens with every unanswered question.

He crosses his arms and watches me closely. “It means you’re meant for me. So how did you get it?”

The realization hits like a punch to the gut. That’s what it meant?

My throat tightens, but I force the words out. “Someone gave it to me. It was random.”

Wesley shakes his head, and his jaw tightens. “Things aren’t random here.”

By now, I press my lips together as the walls close in around me. “Well, this was. So, about my—”

He cuts me off, and his voice grows colder. “Who are you?”

I blink, startled by the question. “Now you’re asking me that? After this?”

“Yeah, I am.”

My pulse races as I realize I can’t lie my way out of this anymore. He won’t let this go.

For a moment, I look him dead in the eyes, trying to think of a response. “Who I am isn’t the issue here. What matters is what answers I need from you.” I pause and let the tension ease.

His brows lift, breaking through his otherwise calm expression. “Answers? You’re not like the others, Charlotte.”

Others? I can’t let his tone or his words rattle me. “Do you know of any missing women who came into your lounge?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, his expression doesn’t change. Then, without hesitation, he says, “No.”

The answer is so quick it feels rehearsed. I wonder how many times he’s been asked the same question.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m looking for someone, a friend. She was last seen here.”

“Look, Charlotte. I’m sure plenty of people go missing after coming here. That doesn’t mean it has anything to do with the lounge.”

It’s a PR-ready response, perfectly constructed to avoid any fault or blame.

My jaw tightens, but I push forward. “Can you check the cameras?”

He laughs. “No. Charlotte, I’m a busy man.”

“Clearly not.” I gesture to the suite.

His amusement fades. “I’m a busy man,” he repeats, and his tone hardens. “And for every person that supposedly goes missing after coming here, we can’t help. So unless you have an officer standing outside with a warrant, I suggest you find help elsewhere.”

By this point, my frustration with him and his evasiveness bubbles to the surface. “I know she was here. Why won’t you help me?”

Wesley shrugs as his posture shifts. It’s colder, more guarded now. “I can’t help everyone. But did you ever consider that this person might not want to be found?”

The detachment in his voice sends a chill. This man is a stranger, one who hides behind charm to mask the predator underneath. The contrast is stark and jarring, terrifying me. This is the man Jules warned me about, the one written in Bianca’s journals—cynical, unfeeling, someone who takes what he wants and leaves you exposed and empty-handed. He won’t forget this and will use it against me somehow.

He straightens, and his gaze bores into me. “Anything else, Charlotte?”

At this point, I glance down while my thoughts blur. I have no leverage, nothing to hold over him. He knows it, and worse, I know it too. Maybe if I bring up one of Bianca’s conspiracy theories, then he might work with me.

I meet his gaze, and my mask slips. “No.”

“Great. Now—”

I don’t wait for him to finish. I need to get out of here, so I grab my bag and head for the door.

“Leaving already?” he calls after me, his voice calm and almost amused. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” I reply, not looking back.

“You can’t,” he says, and the words stop me in my tracks. Panic flares, but I shove it down. If I let fear take over, he’ll win. I need to think, to lie, to stall—anything to get out of this room with whatever scraps of dignity I have left. “Not until you tell me how you got in here.”

I turn to face him, feigning confusion. “I saw some people come and go, and I walked in. It wasn’t that complicated.”

He takes a step closer, and his eyes narrow. “No. You’re looking for someone, and you already knew this place existed. Try again.”

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag as I search for the right words. He knows I’m hiding something—his gaze says as much—but I can’t let him see me falter.

“My missing friend told me about this cool lounge,” I say, hoping my voice stays steady enough to sound convincing. “We were supposed to go together, but I was sick that night. I haven’t seen her since, so I came to see for myself.”

Wesley’s expression doesn’t change, but the silence that follows is awkward. I resist the urge to look away and force myself to hold his gaze.

“You’re very curious,” he finally says, and the faintest trace of a smile tugs at his lips. “But curiosity can get you into trouble, Charlotte.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned that already.” I hold his gaze. “Is that a sufficient answer, Wes?”

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Now come back to bed.”

“Absolutely not.”

He tilts his head with a smirk. “Are you seriously going to walk out that door and never see me again? As if I’m nothing to you.”

I laugh, sharp and dismissive. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ve done it plenty of times before. Regardless, you’re no use to me. Bye, Wes.”

I stride toward the door, grab the handle, and twist it, but it doesn’t budge. My stomach sinks. I try again, harder this time, but it’s still locked.

“Something wrong?” Wesley’s voice comes from behind me, casual, like he enjoys this.

I turn to glare at him. “Unlock it.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the edge of the bar. “Not until we finish this conversation.”

“Finish what? I told you everything. You said that was enough.”

He smirks again as if this whole situation is funny. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

The heat rises in my chest, and my frustration builds. He’s wasting my time. “You can’t keep me here.” My voice rings out, stronger than I feel. I meet his eyes and refuse to back down. “And you certainly can’t buy me.”

“Charlotte, you came here willingly. You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do. I paid for the night, Charlotte. With all your questions. So no, it’s not enough.”

My breath hitches, and my frustration finally boils over. “Paid? What the hell are you talking about? You gave me nothing.”

“No, but you certainly took advantage of my time and generosity,” he says as he takes a slow step forward.

Took advantage? He has turned this around on me, and it gives me whiplash. Now I’m tempted to turn it around on him. By exposing anything I know. It’s a risk, but it’s a calculated one.

“Unlock it,” I demand, my voice sharp.

Before I can reply, he is in front of me, his hand curls around the back of my neck as his lips crash against mine. I gasp, and the protest on my lips is swallowed by the heat of his kiss. It’s insistent, unyielding, and pulls me under before I can think straight.

I raise my hands to push him away, but they falter, caught between resistance and the pull of the moment. His other hand grips my waist, draws me closer, and for a split second, I let it happen, let him take the control I should fight against.

But then clarity snaps back, and I tear my lips from his and shove him back. “Stop it!” I snap, my breath uneven, as my heart races.

Wesley steps back slightly, his gaze steady, and the smirk still lingers. “Stop lying to yourself, Charlotte. You don’t want me to stop.”

“You don’t know what I want. Unlock the door. Now.”

“Give me one good reason I should.”

“A lot of people go missing here, Wes. Like Sullivan Gray.”

He instantly goes on the defense, his expression cold, and his eyes darken. “What did you just say?”

“Sullivan Gray went missing here, correct?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wes, I think you do.”

He exhales and takes a slow step back toward the bar. “You know what, Charlotte? I’m keeping you here,” he says, and his tone is almost dismissive.

He’s keeping me? He thinks he can control me? He has no idea who he’s dealing with.

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Charlotte, think carefully about what you’re going to say next because I don’t forget anything.”

I have no words. I’m on his radar, and I’m not leaving it anytime soon.

Just as the silence in the room feels suffocating, a sharp ring cuts through the air. Wesley’s eyes dart to the nightstand where his phone buzzes. He glances at me, and a flicker of annoyance crosses his face before snatching up the phone. “I have to take this,” he says, and his voice is clipped. “Get comfortable. You’ll be here a while.”

He steps out of the bedroom; the phone is pressed to his ear, and the door clicks shut behind him. He whispers, but I creep closer, my bare feet silent against the plush carpet. I press my ear against the cool wood and strain to hear.

“She’s a threat. She needs to be neutralized.” Neutralized? My breath catches. Do they mean… killed? My thoughts spiral. Every worst-case scenario I’d tried to push aside now feels horrifyingly real.

Neutralized? My blood runs cold. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the doorknob for support. Are they going to kill me?

“I could take her underground, but she could be useful to us. I need more time to decide.” He pauses, and I imagine him running a hand through his damp hair, the way he did moments ago. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.

He paces, and his voice is a low rumble. “If she wasn’t so beautiful, I’d send her underground.”

Underground? Nausea washes over me. Do they keep people prisoner here? Is that where Bianca is?

A pause, then a decisive edge to his voice. “I do know what I’m doing next. She will be at the auction tomorrow.”

Auction? The questions swirl in my mind, and a sickening knot forms in my stomach. Will they auction me off? I have to leave. I have to find Bianca.

My eyes dart around the room and search for an escape. The windows have been sealed shut, leaving no obvious means of escape. I’m trapped. Panic claws at my throat, but I force it down. I can’t let fear paralyze me. I have to think.

Wesley’s words echo in my mind: She will be at the auction tomorrow. What does that mean? What kind of auction? Images flash through my mind—caged women, leering men, and a gavel slamming down.

No. I refuse to let that be my fate.

I glance around the room again, and desperation grows. My eyes land on the bathroom door, the one Wesley disappeared through moments ago. Maybe there’s something in there, a window, a hidden passage, anything.

I slip into the bathroom, and my heart pounds. It’s luxurious, with marble countertops and a massive shower. I scan the room frantically. No windows. No escape routes.

Then I notice it—a small, almost invisible door set into the wall. It’s disguised so well I almost miss it. Could this be it? A way out?

My fingers tremble as I reach for the handle. It’s cold, metallic. I turn it slowly, and hold my breath. The door swings inward and reveals a narrow, dimly lit staircase.

Relief floods through me. This is my chance.

I take a hesitant step onto the stairs, and the darkness swallows me whole.