Following the man's directions, I moved down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. The further I went, the quieter it became, as if the sounds of the Vault faded into a low hum, leaving only the steady rhythm of my heartbeat in my ears.
At the end of the hall, I found a black door. Unlike the rest of the Vault, with its grimy walls and flickering lights, this door was oddly pristine—almost out of place. The wood was polished to a shine, and there wasn't a single scratch or scuff to be seen. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and reached for the handle. It was cold to the touch, and for a moment, I hesitated.
I pushed the door open.
Inside, the room had subdued lighting. The space had an air of understated luxury, though the details were hard to make out in the low light. A single overhead bulb cast long, dramatic shadows against the walls, hinting at a room far more impressive than it appeared at first glance. My eyes adjusted, and there he was—leaning casually against a desk, flipping through a notebook. The mystery man I had been following.
He looked up as I entered, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "Look who decided to pay me a visit."
I didn't bother hiding my surprise. I met his gaze head-on and asked, bluntly, "So, you're Oliver?"
He chuckled, closing the notebook with deliberate slowness, his eyes moved to the ticket in my hand. "Indeed," he said, setting the notebook aside. "And it seems you've brought me a little something."
I shifted on my feet, meeting his gaze head-on. "Yeah, I suppose I did."
Oliver's gaze lingered on me, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "Your name?"
I didn't hesitate. "Lux," I said, though I immediately felt foolish for using my real name. Still, I wasn't about to backtrack now.
Oliver's smile widened, clearly intrigued. "Lux," he repeated, savoring the sound of it. "A fitting name for someone so captivating."
I fidgeted with the ticket between my fingers, the faint stain on my skin catching my eye. Anxiety simmered beneath the surface, mixing with a strange cocktail of anxiety and thrill.
"I don't have cash," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "I didn't even have money to pay for the viewing, so I'm not sure how I'm supposed to pay off this ticket."
Oliver's eyes roamed over me, his gaze like a physical touch. "Pretty girls like you," he began, his voice smooth and unhurried, "normally pay off their debts by working for me."
I stiffened. "Working for you?"
He nodded, a lazy smirk forming on his lips. "You remember the room you followed me into earlier?" His eyes never left mine, watching every piece of emotion that crossed my face. The embarrassment of him knowing I was following him. "That's where they work. People pay off their debts through… services. Sex work, mostly, in case you haven't figured it out by now. It's the highest paying currency in the Vault."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You'd do well here," he said, his tone low and deliberate. "Clients would pay top dollar."
The words slithered through the air, wrapping themselves around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. His gaze was heavy, almost predatory, but calculated. "You might even enjoy it," he added, his voice a seductive whisper.
A part of me hated how my skin tingled under his attention. He had a way of drawing me in, that much was clear. And while the alarm bells rang loud and clear in the back of my mind, I couldn't deny the way he wielded his power with such ease, the allure of it.
His voice softening into a mocking whisper, "I'd make sure you were very… well taken care of."
His words were both a threat and a promise, and I was caught somewhere between fear and obsession. The room felt smaller, the air thick with tension. I knew I should say something, push back, refuse. But my mouth felt dry, and I was trapped in his gaze, waiting for his next move, his next word.
I kept my tone even, but firm. "I'm sure you would," I replied, letting just enough edge slip into my voice. "But I don't do business without knowing all the terms. And just so we're clear, I don't do sex work. If that's part of the deal, you can find someone else."
He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a dangerous low. "You misunderstand," he said, his words deliberate and cutting. "You already participated in the viewing. Now, clean business is clean business. Debts don't just disappear because you don't like the terms."
My mind raced for a way out. "I'm not saying I won't pay it off," I said quickly, forcing confidence into my voice. "But there's got to be another way. Let me work directly for you. There's plenty I can do in the Vault—things that don't involve… that."
His smirk widened, but his eyes stayed sharp, assessing me like prey. "Bold," he drawled, clearly amused but not entirely convinced. "But why would I do that? Your beauty alone could bring me significant profit without the hassle of personal dealings." He slowly walked towards me, brushing his fingers against my cheek. "What makes you think you're worth the trouble?"
He leaned in closer, his smile dark and knowing. "I'm intrigued by you, don't get me wrong," he whispered, his voice silky. "But it's clear you're new to the Vault. You don't quite understand how things work here, do you? Trying to weasel your way out of paying a debt—that's something only the street dwellers attempt. I find it rather amusing."
His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and disdain. "You've failed to prove you're worth much more than getting yourself into trouble."
I felt a hint of something—maybe anger, maybe excitement. He was baiting me, dangling a possibility just out of reach. "How do I prove it?" I asked, refusing to back down.
His grin widened, a malicious shimmer lighting up his features. "Work for me. Pay off your debt through the usual channels. Prove that you can handle the clients, and we'll see if you've got more to offer. You'll need to pay off your debt first, though. That's a non-negotiable. Maybe—if you're good enough—I'll let you have a taste of what you're really after."
He leaned back, studying me with a contemplative expression. "You know," he said, his tone shifting to one of dark amusement, "I can see it in people's eyes when they crave control and power. It's a rare thing, and not everyone has it. You've been easily manipulated so far, but the fact that you're still standing here with that snarky attitude of yours piques my interest."
His gaze softened, a hint of playful boredom in his eyes. "I'm growing weary of the usual games," he said, his tone taking on a teasing edge. "But a new toy? Now that sounds like it could be quite a delightful diversion. And from what I can see, you've got a certain spark that might just add a bit of excitement."
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So, show me what you're made of. If you can impress me, maybe you'll find more than just a way out of your current predicament."
I hesitated, a wave of revulsion crashing over me as I recalled the twisted scenes I'd witnessed. "I've seen enough of your operation to know exactly what kind of place this is," I said, my voice tight with disgust. "But let's get something straight—I didn't end up here by choice. I was set up. Had I known what that damn ticket meant, I wouldn't be standing here with it in the first place. How can you justify exploiting people like this? You're not half the businessman you think you are if this is how you turn a profit—trapping people in something they had no part in. Or is this the only way you can keep things running?"
Oliver's smile remained, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "Exploitation?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's an interesting choice of words. In this world, everyone is looking for a way to get ahead. Some choose to play by the rules, while others, like me, create their own. It's not about morality; it's about survival and power. You're in a place where those who adapt thrive, and those who don't… well, they're quickly forgotten."
He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "You know," he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, "it's fascinating. You act so high and mighty, but it's clear you're not here by accident. The very fact that you've ended up in the Vault suggests you've got a few twisted morals of your own. You wouldn't have made it this far if you didn't."
I stiffened, feeling the sting of his words. "So, what are you saying?" I asked, trying to mask the unease in my voice.
Oliver's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and cold calculation. "I'm saying that, deep down, you're not as different from me as you'd like to think. You've played the game to survive, just like everyone else here. It's just a matter of who's willing to admit it and who isn't."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you want to make it out of this alive, you'll need to accept that. Embrace the game, play by my rules, and maybe you'll find a way to turn this twisted world to your advantage."
Silence fell over the room for a moment.
I felt a mix of dread and a twisted thrill coursing through me. "So, you're saying I'm stuck here…" My voice was steady, but I could feel the bitterness seeping through. "I'll play your bullshit game, but on my terms. Truthfully, I wasn't in much of a hurry to get back to the streets anyway."
Oliver's expression shifted to one of intrigue. "Interesting," he said softly. "And what are your terms?"
"I want Nebula", a last-ditch effort to get something in return.
He chuckled softly. "I can make that part easy for you," he said. "Nebula can make the work more… bearable, even pleasurable. And I'll make sure you get the better clients, too. Someone with your looks? You'll bring in a lot of business."
I wasn't a stranger to the idea of sex work. I'd done what I had to on the streets to survive sometimes, but it was rare—desperation had a way of pushing you past boundaries you didn't think you'd ever cross. Even then, I was clumsy, inexperienced, and out of my depth, barely knowing how to navigate that kind of exchange. But this—this was something else entirely. The thought of sinking deeper into a world where exploitation was the currency and survival the only rule made my skin crawl.
Oliver's gaze didn't waver. It was as if he could see right through me. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my chin as he lifted it slightly, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "there's something about you. It's clear you're not just here to play it safe. You want something more. And I must admit, it's intriguing. You're not just interested in surviving; you're interested in winning, and perhaps, even in me."
I could feel the pull of his words. I hated how much he drew me in, the way his presence seemed to wrap around me like a silk rope. I was used to being the one men wanted, the one in control. But now? Now, I was the one yearning—and it frustrated the hell out of me that he could see it, knew it, was playing on it. This was new to me—this intense attraction, this desperate pull I felt toward him. And the worst part was knowing he had me figured out, even as I tried to resist.
His light green eyes, striking against the darker hues of the room and the intensity of his gaze, made it almost impossible for me to hold his stare any longer. I found myself struggling to keep my gaze steady, my own eyes faltering under the weight of his unwavering scrutiny. Yet, he never looked away, his eyes locked onto mine with menacing satisfaction.
My mind raced, weighing his proposition. There wasn't an easy way out—if I wanted to stay in the game, to get out of the Vault, or to get closer to him, I'd have to play along, for now. But I wasn't going to be just another pawn. I met his gaze once more, keeping my voice level, even as uncertainty twisted inside me. "Fine," I said, my tone firm. "I'm in."
"Good girl," he murmured, the words carrying an almost mocking undertone, but laced with an edge of approval.
Oliver led me deeper into the maze of the Vault. His strides were confident, like he owned the place—which, considering his influence, might not be far from the truth. Every corner we turned, every set of eyes that glanced our way, I could feel the weight of his presence. He had power here, and I was about to see just how much.
As we walked deeper into the Vault, his voice cut through the low hum of the underground market. "Stick close," he commanded, reaching out and grabbing my hand. The moment his fingers intertwined with mine, a shock shot through my body, sending a pulse of heat straight to my core.
It was like nothing I'd ever felt—an electric rush that spread from where his skin touched mine, radiating out in waves. His palm was soft and warm, and the faint sheen of sweat made our grip slick.
His scent hit me—rich, woodsy, with a hint of cigar smoke that clung to the air around him. It was like fresh cedar, deep and intoxicating. I felt it fill my lungs, seep into my head, as if I were breathing him in—absorbing him. The smell wrapped around me, mingling with the heat pooling low in my stomach. I didn't want to let go.
I stumbled slightly, trying to keep my pace steady and my thoughts from spiraling out of control. But it was hard when everything about him seemed to seep into my senses. I could feel his pulse through the palm of his hand, steady and strong, each beat aligning with my own. The sensation of his skin on mine was overwhelming, almost as if I were sinking into him.
I tried to focus on anything else—the flickering lights, the grimy walls, the endless maze of stalls and shops—but my mind kept circling back to him.
Oliver pointed out a shop on our right, a cramped place with walls lined with what looked like odd herbal concoctions and powders. "That's Livia's Herbs. She deals in potent stuff—aphrodisiacs, stimulants, things to make your skin crawl or your mind numb. She's reliable, but don't ever try to cross her." He glanced at me, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or me."
I nodded, unsure whether to respond. I kept my mouth shut, just watching and listening. The whole environment was so different from the streets above. It was confusing as hell, but there was a strange pull to it, an excitement that I couldn't shake off.
As we continued, we approached another vendor's stall. I caught a glimpse of the man behind the counter—a scrawny figure with darting eyes. The moment he saw Oliver, his face paled. Without a word, he reached up and pulled down the shutter of his stall, slamming it shut. The metal clanged loudly, causing a few people nearby to look over. I raised an eyebrow, glancing at Oliver.
"Don't worry about him," Oliver said with a chuckle, barely breaking his stride.
I watched the closed shutter as we passed, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. The power Oliver wielded here wasn't just about money or influence; it was about fear. He didn't need to threaten anyone openly—the mere sight of him was enough to make them shut down.
Further down, we turned a corner, and I spotted a stall that caught all my attention. The snuff vendor. A small, grimy place with a black curtain partially covering the entrance. It matched the description given to me by the guy in the alley. The one who wanted me to find it in exchange for information on Nebula. His stall displayed grotesque photographs and grainy videos playing on outdated screens, flickering with distorted images of suffering. Dark, framed posters displayed twisted scenes—faces frozen in agony, limbs contorted in ways that shouldn't be possible. A small table in front showcased macabre trinkets: vials of red liquid, hair tied in bundles, and other items that looked disturbingly personal. Every inch of the stall reeked of despair, of lives cut short and immortalized as commodities for the twisted. My heart pounded, a mix of fear and curiosity bubbling up.
I nudged Oliver, nodding toward the stall. "That's a vendor I was looking for," I said, my voice low. "The snuff vendor. A guy in the alley told me to find it. He said he'd give me information on Nebula."
Oliver stopped, turning to face me fully. For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a dark, humorless laugh. "And you believed him?"
I frowned. I felt naive. "I guess I should have known he was full of shit."
"Oh, pretty girl," Oliver said, his tone suddenly sharp, "this isn't a place for clean deals and honest trades. That guy in the alley? He doesn't know shit about Nebula. He was working with the snuff dealer to find new girls. He was likely leading you into a trap. You're nothing but currency bait down here." He shook his head, a slight sneer on his lips. "You need to understand something—dealings in the Vault are rarely what they seem. You're either the one taking advantage or the one getting taken."
A chill ran down my spine, and I looked back at the snuff vendor's stall, the curtain swaying slightly. It was a reminder of just how naive I'd been, even after all I'd seen. I wasn't in control here.
Oliver softened his gaze just a fraction. "You'll learn fast. You must if you want to stay above water down here."
We moved on, and I felt a strange mix of emotions. Anger, for being fooled so easily. Relief that I hadn't gone through with it. And a twisted sort of fascination, seeing Oliver's world up close. As terrifying as it was, I couldn't deny the pull it had over me. There was power here, dark and raw, and a part of me was hungry to understand it—to control it.
Oliver continued to show me around, his voice steady and confident, explaining the ins and outs of his network. I knew he was testing me, watching to see how much I absorbed, how well I handled the shock of this place. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.