After a small discussion, she agrees to follow him to the library. Where the act all began.
Grey walked ahead of her, the wine glass in his hand steady, his stride long and unhurried. Lauren trailed behind, her own glass trembling so violently that the dark liquid threatened to crest over the rim with every step. Her heart was a fast drum against her ribs, beating out a rhythm of run, run, run, but her feet betrayed her. They followed him.
They entered the library. The storm outside had intensified, flashes of lightning illuminating the rows of dark books for split seconds before plunging the room back into amber-hued shadows.
"Sit," Grey commanded.
He didn't gesture to a chair this time. He pointed to the leather sofa that faced the far wall. It was low, plush, and positioned like a spectator's seat in a theater.
Lauren sat. She perched on the edge of the cushion, her knees pressed together, her free hand gripping the fabric of her skirt as if it were a lifeline. She took a large gulp of the wine. It burned going down, a chemically induced courage that she desperately needed.
Grey didn't sit with her. He walked to his massive mahogany desk that dominated the center of the room. He set his wine down and picked up a tumbler of amber liquid—something stronger, no doubt. He rounded the desk and sat in his high-backed leather chair, spinning it slightly so he wasn't facing his work, but facing the empty wall across from Lauren.
He looked every inch the master of his domain. He lifted his legs, crossing one ankle over the other as he rested his feet on the polished wood of the desk. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes locking onto Lauren's.
"You said you wanted to see the evidence," Grey said, his voice smooth and devoid of the earlier warmth. He was in analyst mode now. Cold. Clinical. Dangerous. "You said you couldn't defend what you hadn't seen."
"I did," Lauren whispered, her throat tight.
"Then watch. The original copy."
He picked up a sleek, silver remote control from the desk. He pointed it at the wall facing Lauren. With a soft mechanical whir, a panel in the wainscoting slid open, and a massive screen descended, filling the blank space between the bookshelves.
Lauren gripped her wine glass tighter.
Grey flicked a button. The screen flared to life.
It was the same camera angle as before—the high corner of the bedroom. The timestamp in the bottom right corner read 6:15 PM.
Lauren's breath hitched.
On the screen, Elara Vance was kneeling on the floor again. She was naked. Her skin was pale against the dark rug, her hair cascading down her back like a curtain of silk. Her hands were behind her back, bound at the wrists with what looked like a velvet tie.
She wasn't struggling. She was waiting. Her head was bowed in a posture of absolute submission.
Then, the on-screen Grey walked into the frame.
He was shirtless, just as he had been in the other clip, wearing only black dress trousers. The belt loops held a thick, black leather belt. He didn't rush. He walked around Elara slowly, inspecting her like she was a piece of art he had just commissioned.
Lauren watched, mesmerized and horrified. The intimacy of it was suffocating. It felt like she was spying, like she was witnessing something so private it burned her retinas.
On the screen, Grey stopped behind Elara. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of black cloth—a blindfold. He leaned down, whispering something in Elara's ear that made the woman shiver, before tying the cloth over her eyes.
"Trust," the real Grey said from his desk, his voice cutting through the silence of the library. "She cannot see. She doesn't know what I will do next. She only knows that I will not break her."
On the video, Grey stood up. He slowly unbuckled his belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops was audible even through the speakers. He doubled the belt over in his hand.
Lauren flinched.
The on-screen Grey raised his arm. He didn't strike with anger. It was a calculated, controlled swing.
CRACK.
The belt struck Elara's right buttock.
Elara gasped, her back arching, her head thrown back. A flush of pink bloomed instantly on her skin. But she didn't cry out in pain. She let out a low, keening sound that sounded confusingly like pleasure.
"Turn it off," Lauren pleaded, her voice shaking.
"Watch," Grey commanded.
CRACK.
Another strike. This one harder. Elara moaned, shifting her hips, offering herself to the sting.
Lauren's hand shook violently. The wine in her glass sloshed over the rim, splashing onto her hand, her wrist, and the fabric of her navy skirt. The cold liquid shocked her, but she couldn't look away from the screen. She was trapped in the loop of violence and desire playing out in front of her.
Grey hit the remote. The screen went black.
The silence that rushed back into the room was deafening.
Lauren stared at the blank screen, her chest heaving. She looked down at her hand, sticky with wine, staring at the dark stain spreading on her skirt.
"I… I spilled," she stammered, feeling foolish, feeling small.
Grey lowered his legs from the desk. He stood up, setting his tumbler down with a heavy thud.
"You didn't just spill, Lauren," he said, walking around the desk toward her. "You reacted. You felt it. You felt the shock of the belt even though it didn't touch you."
He stopped in front of her. He looked down at the stain on her skirt, then up to her wide, terrified eyes.
"And now," he said softly, "you are going to finish the scene."
Lauren looked up at him. "What?"
"The video ended," Grey said. "But the night didn't. You want to know if I killed her? You want to know if I lost control? Then you have to walk the path she walked."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver key. He dropped it onto the coffee table in front of her. It clattered loudly.
"Go to the guest suite," he instructed, pointing to a door hidden in the shadows of the bookshelves on the far right. "Inside, on the bed, is a box. Put on what is inside."
"No," Lauren shook her head, though the protest felt weak even to her own ears. "I am your lawyer. I am not… I can't."
"You are compromised," Grey said, his voice dropping to a hypnotic low. "You destroyed evidence for a drug dealer, remember? You are not the white knight you pretend to be. You are attracted to the darkness. Stop fighting it."
He leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of the sofa, boxing her in.
"Elara wore black lace that night," he whispered. "She wore it because she knew I liked how it framed her hips. If you want to understand the man who supposedly murdered her, you need to see what he saw. You need to become the object of his desire."
"This is madness," Lauren whispered, tears stinging her eyes.
"It's method acting," he corrected. "Go. Change. Or walk out the front door, and keep your curiosity hungry."
Lauren looked at the key. She looked at Grey. She saw the challenge in his eyes, but she also saw that hunger again—the hunger that made her insides twist with a heat she shouldn't be feeling.
She stood up. Her legs were shaky. She didn't say a word. She snatched the key off the table and walked toward the hidden door.
Her conscience was screaming at her. Run. He's crazy. This is a trap.
But her body… her body was humming.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the guest suite. It was a lavish bathroom and dressing area, lined with mirrors.
On the velvet ottoman in the center of the room sat a black box tied with a ribbon.
Lauren approached it like it was a bomb. She untied the ribbon. She lifted the lid.
Inside lay a set of black lingerie. It wasn't simple. It was intricate, expensive, and devastatingly sheer. There were garters. Stockings. A bra that was little more than structural lace designed to push and lift.
"Oh, god," she breathed.
She should leave. She should really, really leave.
But she thought of the video. She thought of Elara's arching back. She thought of Grey's eyes watching her.
Lauren began to unbutton her blouse.
She shed her lawyer skin layer by layer. The skirt with the wine stain dropped to the floor. Her sensible cotton underwear followed. She stood naked in the mirrors, looking at herself. She looked pale. She looked scared.
She put on the lingerie.