Returning to The Vault felt like walking back into a dream that had rewritten Dean’s entire existence.
Three weeks ago, he had entered the heavy steel door in frantic, blind anonymity, desperate to escape himself. Tonight, he walked in beside Kellan.
He didn't wear a silk blindfold. He wore his black leather jacket, dark jeans, and beneath his fitted black t-shirt, the heavy leather day-collar locked securely around his neck. He walked two paces behind Kellan’s right shoulder, his gaze respectfully lowered to the polished hardwood floor, his pulse humming a low, steady rhythm against his throat.
The club was hosting an exclusive, invitation-only equipment showcase for its highest-tier Tops—a private evening in the upper lounge where bespoke leather artisans and specialized dungeon craft
