The Velvet Room Conspiracy: Chapter Eleven
Velvet Shackles
Charlie
We lay there, tangled in the sheets. His arms are around me, and my head rests against his chest. His steady heartbeat is oddly soothing, starkly contrasting with the chaos swirling in my mind.
“Tell me more about yourself, Charlotte,” he says, his tone softer than usual, as if he’s trying not to scare me away.
I hesitate for a moment, then compel myself to meet his gaze. “I’m from the Upper East Side, but I spent a few years in London studying English.”
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “London, huh? Fancy. What about your family?”
I look away. “They’re dead. Have been for a long time.”
Wes’s expression shifts slightly, softening unexpectedly. “I’m sorry. I understand. My dad’s gone too.”
I nod, guilt tightening in my chest. I don’t deserve his sympathy. My mom is the only one who’s dead, and I never even knew my father. I grew up in Brooklyn and have lived there my whole life, but I can’t tell him that. Not yet.
“What about you?” I ask, deflecting. “Where are you from?”
“Long Island.”
“Long Island? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
He shrugs, leaning forward slightly. “That’s where the real wealth is. Long Island families don’t have to flaunt it. We have it.”
He says it plainly and is not boastful, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to come from that kind of background, to have wealth so deeply ingrained in your identity that it’s just… normal.
“Sounds like a different world,” I say carefully.
“It is,” he replies, his gaze flicking back to me. “And yet, here we are. Tell me, Charlotte, what brought you back from London?”
I pause, his question catching me off guard. “I… wanted to be closer to home while I write my romance novel.”
The romance novel is a guise for taking notes on him.
Wes studies me, and I wonder if he can see through the cracks in my story. Then, the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “A romance novel,” he repeats, his voice smooth, almost indulgent. “That’s cute.”
The way he says it makes my pulse hitch. It’s not condescending. Not mocking. But it lingers—like he’s filing it away for later.
For a brief moment, the tension between us feels different. As much as I hate lying to him, I know my real story isn’t one I can share.
If I’m supposed to trust him now, does that mean I get to ask more questions? Or is my silence the proof of that trust?
I turn to him, my voice level despite the twist in my stomach. “What does loyalty mean now?”
He exhales, rolling onto his side, fingers tracing lazy circles against my hip. “It means stability. Protection. You’ll never have to worry about money. Or safety.”
Safety? I was never unsafe until I met him.
I wet my lips. “And if I want to leave?”
His expression doesn’t change.
“You’ve seen too much, Charlotte. I can’t let you walk out that door.”
The air vanishes from my lungs. This was never about trust but containment.
I was never supposed to leave.
His warmth lingers on my skin, but it no longer soothes—it burns.
I shake my head, gripping the sheets like they can anchor me. “So that’s it? I don’t get a say?”
Wes props himself up on one elbow, amused. “Doll, it’s not a bad thing.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Not a bad thing? I have a life, Wes. People will notice I’m gone.”
He sighs like I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be. “Then tell them you moved.”
I stare at him. “That’s it? Just lie and pretend this is normal?”
He lifts a shoulder. “People do it all the time.”
Frustration knots in my chest, tight and unrelenting. He doesn’t see the problem or maybe he does, and he doesn’t care.
I press my fingers to my temples, inhaling slowly.
“You’ll have what you need, and your training starts tomorrow.”
I frown. “Training?”
He smirks, as he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You’ll be bartending at The Velvet Room.”
“Bartending?” I repeat, disbelief slipping out. “I don’t know how to bartend.”
“You’ll be trained,” he says smoothly.
I gasp. “Why do I need to bartend for you? Don’t you already have plenty of staff?”
“We’re short-staffed, and a position opened up. Consider it part of our arrangement.”
“Arrangement,” I repeat. “Right. The one where I can’t leave.”
“Exactly,” he says without hesitation. “You wanted clarity, and this is it. You’ll bartend for now and have everything you need in return.”
I blink. “Everything I need.”
“You don’t have to worry about anything except showing up when I need you.”
A slow breath escapes me. “And what if I say no?”
His grip tightens slightly, fingers pressing into my waist, firm but slow, like he’s testing how far I’ll let him go. “That wouldn’t be smart.”
My pulse kicks up, but I don’t look away. “You said this was about loyalty. Swearing it doesn’t mean giving up my life.”
He tilts his head smoothly. “You have to be around to be loyal.”
The words send a slow chill through me.
He lets the silence stretch before adding, “This arrangement is proof of it.”
Proof.
Not a choice.
A slow breath leaves me, but I don’t argue. I already know how this ends.
His thumb lingers at the corner of my mouth. “You’ll be a great bartender,” he murmurs. “But you’ll do more for me than that.”
He’s turning me into something useful for himself, keeping me busy and preventing me from scrutinizing him.“What else?”
“I need you to use your eyes and ears when certain people enter The Velvet Room.”
That catches my attention. “Why don’t you just use the cameras?”
“I do.”
“Then why me?”
“Cameras only capture so much. Bartenders engage. They overhear things. They ask questions.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “You ask a lot of questions, Charlotte. Let’s see if you can ask the right ones.”
The right ones are not about him, but about everyone else. He’s turning me into something useful for himself, keeping me busy, and preventing me from looking too closely at him. He’s not fooling me.
I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. “And what do I get in return?”
His grip on my waist tightens enough to remind me who’s in charge. “You get to stay.”
I exhale slowly, fingers grazing his chest before stepping back. If he wants me to watch others, fine.
But I won’t stop watching him.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, his warmth sinking into my skin.
As I close my eyes, I wonder if I’ll ever understand what game he’s playing or if I’m already too far gone to win.
© 2024 Scarlett Witherspoon. All rights reserved. This story is protected under copyright law.
“Arrangement,” I repeat. “Right. The one where I can’t leave.” I listened to this one, the attitude in this one line was read better than even I could read it. Charlette is spicy!