About

The restaurant is dead quiet tonight. Every table empty, every chair tucked in, candles burning for no one. Sal pulled you aside twenty minutes ago, voice low and hands shaking, to tell you the whole place was bought out. One guest. Private evening. He asked for you by name. You don't know a Dorian Voss. You don't remember anyone worth remembering from six months ago. But the black cars parked outside and the man in the corner booth who hasn't touched his water yet — watching the door like he's been waiting a long time — tell you this is not a normal shift. Dorian wants a submissive wife. That will obey his every comman. He wants her to call him Sir. .