Chapter 6 Velvet Chamber

The Velvet Chamber bore no resemblance to the tech-heavy Neural Hub. It was a room designed to suffocate you with elegance. The walls were draped in deep crimson velvet, the floors were dark, polished oak, and at the center hung a chandelier made of thousands of crystals—hardened like frozen tears. There were no windows here. The only air you breathed was the scent of expensive lilies and the heavy, lingering aroma of old money.

“Poise is not just about how you stand, Proteges,” Tess’s voice echoed through the silent room. She stood at the front, her posture as straight as a needle. “It is about the gaze. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and in our world, you must never—never—let the client see who is inside.”

We were lined up, all fifteen of us. Dominique was at the front, her chin tilted at a perfect angle, while I remained at the back—Rank 15, the ghost in the corner.

“Tonight, we practice the Art of the Gaze,” Tess continued, her eyes scanning us with clinical precision. “To control a man, you must first learn to endure him. You must look at him without blinking, without flinching, and without revealing an ounce of your own thoughts. Madame V demands nothing less than an absolute emotional void.”

The heavy mahogany doors swung open. Julian Thorne walked in. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket today. He was in a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that looked as if they were carved from stone. His presence alone made the oxygen in the room feel thin.

“The Conservator will be your target,” Tess announced. “Five minutes. Pure eye contact. If you break, you fail.”

One by one, the girls took their turn. Dominique lasted the longest, but even she had to look away after four minutes when Julian leaned in closer, his gaze becoming too predatory. Lulu only lasted thirty seconds before she started to tremble.

“Rank 15. Step forward,” Tess commanded.

I walked to the center of the room. My bare feet felt the biting cold of the oak floor. Julian stood there, his hands behind his back, his gray eyes waiting for me. He looked bored, yet there was a flicker of something—darkness, perhaps—when our eyes finally met.

“Start the clock,” Julian said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to crawl up my spine.

The room went silent. I stared into his eyes. They were the color of the Vesperian sky before a storm—gray, turbulent, and cold.

One minute in. The scent of Julian’s sandalwood cologne began to fill my senses, trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But my mind fought back. The crimson velvet of the walls began to fade, replaced by the gray, damp stone of a prison cell.

Two minutes in. I remembered the last time I had seen a gray world like this.

FLASHBACK STING: THE VISITATION

A month after Papa’s arrest. I had to bribe the guards with the last of Mama’s jewelry just to get inside. When I saw Papa behind the bars, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was bruised and gaunt. His eyes, once full of life, were like burnt-out candles. He gripped my hand through the iron bars. His skin felt like paper.

“Margo, listen to me,” he whispered, his voice raspy—a mere ghost of the man who used to carry me on his shoulders. “The Thornes… they didn’t just take the company. They took everything. And Julian… Julian isn’t who you think he is, anak. Don’t trust the boy who promises you the world while his family is setting it on fire.”

Before he could say more, Captain Rios—the Thornes’ corrupt lapdog—dragged him away. I watched my father’s frail frame vanish into the shadows of the hallway. That was the last time I saw his heart beat. The next day, the news came: “suicide.” They found his cold corpse in that gray cell.

PRESENT: THREE MINUTES.

My heart was screaming, but my face remained a mask of porcelain. Julian leaned in, his face only inches from mine. I could feel his warmth, a direct contrast to the memory of my father’s cold hands.

“You’re still here, Eris,” Julian whispered, so low only I could hear. “Most girls would have cried by now. What are you seeing when you look at me? Revenge? Or regret?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t blink. I used the image of my father’s bruised face to stay frozen. I imagined the weight of the dirt on his coffin.

Four minutes.

Julian’s expression shifted. The boredom was gone, replaced by a raw, frustrated intensity. He reached out—a violation of the session’s rules—and let his hand brush against my cheek. His fingers were warm, tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that felt like a lie.

“Your skin is as cold as ice,” he murmured. “Are you even breathing?”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lean into his touch. To me, his hand wasn’t the hand of a man; it was the hand of the family that had signed a death warrant. I looked through him, not at him. I saw the monster, not the man.

“Time,” Tess announced.

Julian pulled his hand away abruptly, his jaw tightening. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching for a crack, a sign, anything. I gave him nothing.

“She passed,” Julian said to Tess, his voice clipped. “But she’s too stiff. Make her clean the chamber. Alone. She needs to learn that grace isn’t just about standing still; it’s about service.”

Tess nodded. “You heard the Conservator, Rank 15. Stay behind. The rest of you, dismissed.”

Dominique shot me a murderous look as she exited. Lulu lingered for a second, her eyes worried, before being ushered out. Soon, the Velvet Chamber was empty, save for me and the silence.

I was given a bucket of water and a silk cloth. They didn’t even give me proper tools. I was expected to scrub the oak floor on my hands and knees in my white silk training dress. This was the humiliation they wanted. They wanted to remind me that even if I could look Julian in the eye, I was still just a servant in his house.

I started scrubbing. The rhythmic motion of my arms against the wood was hypnotic. I worked my way toward the corner of the room, near the heavy velvet drapes.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

My fingers hit something that didn’t sound like solid wood. Thud. A hollow sound. I froze. I looked around to ensure the cameras weren’t trained on my corner. Most of the sensors in this room were focused on the center—the stage.

I used the edge of my fingernail to feel the gap between the oak planks. One was slightly loose. Slowly, I pried it up. Underneath the polished wood was a small, hidden compartment.

It was empty. But in my mind, it wasn’t.

I imagined a blade. A thin, sharp stiletto with a black handle. The kind that could slide between a man’s ribs while he was distracted by a kiss. I imagined hiding a wire, or a vial of the poison I had heard the senior mistresses whisper about.

This is it, I thought. My first secret within the Sanctum.

I carefully pressed the floorboard back into place and wiped away the dust. My heart was racing, but not because of Julian’s touch. It was because for the first time in three years, I felt like I had a weapon.

The door opened. A guard stood there. “Are you finished, Rank 15? Curfew is in ten minutes. Get back to the West Wing.”

I stood up, wiping my wet hands on my dress. I looked one last time at the spot on the floor.

“I’m finished,” I said, and for the first time since I entered Ivy Heights, my voice felt real.

As I walked back to the dorms, I passed the grand hallway where a portrait of Viveca hung. She looked regal, her eyes judging everyone who passed. Enjoy your throne, Mother, I thought, mimicking Julian’s address. Enjoy it while the floor beneath you is still solid.

Inside the dorm, the room was draped in shadow. Lulu was already asleep, but Dominique was sitting on her bed, her eyes glowing with jealousy.

“What were you and Julian doing in there?” Dominique hissed. “Why did you take so long?”

I didn’t even look at her as I climbed into bed. “I was cleaning, Dominique. Something you should try sometime. Maybe your attitude would get a little less filthy.”

“You think you’re special because you can stare?” she sneered. “Julian doesn’t like ghosts. He likes women who can entertain him. Next session, I’ll make sure you won’t like what you see in his eyes.”

I ignored her and closed my eyes. Dominique was a fly—annoying, but easy to swat. The real enemy was in the East Wing.

I thought about the hidden floorboard. I thought about my father’s voice in that prison cell. Julian isn’t who you think he is.

“I know, Papa,” I whispered into my pillow. “He’s the man who’s going to give me everything I need to destroy him.”

That night, I didn’t dream of the fire. I dreamt of the Velvet Chamber. But in my dream, the crimson walls were dripping with blood, and I was the one holding the blade I had hidden under the floor. Julian was there, too. He was kneeling, his gray eyes finally looking at me with the fear I had lived with for years.

“Rule Number Twelve,” I whispered in my dream. “Mistress until you cease to breathe.”

I woke up before the 5:00 AM alarm, my heart steady, my mind sharp. I was Rank 15. The lowest of the low. But I had a secret, I had a target, and I had the Art of the Gaze.

Ivy Heights wasn’t ready. Because the Jade wasn’t just coming back; it was coming back to break everything in its path.