Chapter 2 Velvet Invitations

The next morning came in like a whisper

Lena lay in silk sheets, naked, her skin still humming from the night before. Sunlight leaked through the sheer curtains, and everything smelled faintly of sex and candle smoke. She stretched slowly, deliberately, feeling the ache in her thighs like a memory branded onto her muscles.

Sophia was already up. Lena heard the clink of glass from the kitchen and the low hum of music again - soft jazz now, like the city was still too hungover for anything louder.

She slid out of bed and found her underwear on the back of a velvet armchair, then padded barefoot into the living space.

Sophia was wearing nothing but a long white shirt, sleeves rolled, sipping an espresso and scrolling through something on her phone. She didn't look up.

"You made a mess of the guest sheets," she said casually.

"You invited it."

"I did. And I'm not sorry."

Neither was Lena.

She poured herself a black coffee and leaned against the counter, eyes on Sophia. Her friend looked smug, satisfied - but there was something deeper in her eyes. Possession? Pride? Maybe both.

"You always plan nights like that?" Lena asked, sipping.

Sophia finally looked up. "Not always. But when I do... I curate."

Lena laughed. "Jesus."

Sophia smiled. "You liked it, though."

It wasn't a question. It didn't need to be.

Lena's lips curved. "I liked not thinking."

"That's the point," Sophia said, moving closer. "You've been living with your shoulders up around your ears for years. Michael never touched the real you. I watched you disappear piece by piece."

"And now?" Lena asked, a little breathless from her nearness.

"Now you're back."

Sophia's fingers brushed Lena's cheek. "Stay."

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes."

⸻

By noon, Lena had showered, eaten, and claimed the spare bedroom as hers. Sophia handed her a fresh keycard like it was already decided.

That afternoon, Fredrick texted.

Fredrick:

Drinks. My rooftop. 9pm. Bring that mouth.

Lena stared at the message. No pretense. No games.

Sophia glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "Told you."

"I haven't said yes."

Sophia tilted her head. "But you're going."

Lena didn't argue.

⸻

Fredrick's rooftop was another world.

Private, high above the noise, dressed in dark stone and glowing lights. The sky was a deep violet, and the city looked like it was bowing down beneath it.

He greeted her with a low nod and a glass of something golden. She took it without a word.

Fredrick didn't touch her right away. He talked. About travel. About art. About wanting things you're not supposed to want. His voice was smooth, deliberate. He looked at her like a decision he'd already made.

Then he said, "You're not like her."

"Sophia?"

He nodded. "She performs. You... reveal."

It made something twist in her chest.

He stepped closer. "I don't want your act, Lena. I want the part you keep hidden. The part he never saw."

He didn't kiss her yet. He waited.

Lena set down her drink. "And what if I want the same from you?"

Fredrick smiled. "Then take it."

She did.

She kissed him like hunger - open, deep, messy. He pulled her tight, hand on her back, the other in her hair. No slow burn this time. No teasing. Just need.

They didn't make it to the bed. She was on her knees on the lounge chair cushion, dress hiked up, his belt undone. The city below, the sky above, Fredrick in her mouth - smooth, commanding, giving in just enough to lose his breath when she moaned around him.

After, when her lips were raw and her thighs trembling, he helped her dress again. No apologies. No promises.

Only a whisper at the door: "Next time, your turn."

⸻

Back at the penthouse, Alfred was waiting.

Not planned. Not invited. Just... there.

He was in the living room, a whiskey in his hand, legs stretched out like he belonged.

Sophia leaned against the window. She didn't look surprised.

Lena blinked. "What's going on?"

"I told him to come," Sophia said, casually. "Thought you two should talk."

Alfred stood, eyes locked on Lena.

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," Lena said, though her voice was a little hoarse.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat.

"You taste like him," he said.

She should've felt exposed. But she didn't. She felt lit up. Seen.

"And you care?"

"I want my turn," he said simply.

Sophia's voice cut in, soft. "Then take it slow."

Alfred didn't rush. He stepped even closer, and this time, his hand grazed hers.

"Let me take you apart."

Lena nodded. No words. Just want.

He didn't undress her. He sat her down and kissed her like he needed her to breathe. Long, deep, reverent. His fingers stroked her wrist, her jaw, her throat. He treated her like something sacred - not fragile, but holy. Like the pleasure he wanted to give her was a form of worship.

She trembled under him, coming undone slowly. No rush. No command. Just care. Patience. Heat.

When she finally moaned his name, his breath caught - and that, more than anything, made her fall.

⸻

By the time midnight came, she lay on the couch between them - Alfred on one side, Sophia on the other, their hands on her skin, her chest still rising fast.

None of them spoke. They didn't need to.

The invitation had been sent.

She had accepted.

Now the real game was beginning.