Claire sat in the plush leather chair of Morgan's office, the dim lighting casting an almost intimate glow across the room. The attorney's presence was commanding—poised, confident, and dangerously alluring. It was a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions still twisting in Claire's stomach.
Morgan leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other as she studied Claire with an unreadable expression. "Okay, please have a seat and tell me everything. Start from the beginning."
Claire took a deep breath, her fingers twisting the hem of her coat. "My name is Claire Carter, and I just found my husband, James, cheating on me with his secretary." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words making her throat tighten. "On our fifth wedding anniversary, no less."
She recounted the entire night—from the hopeful excitement of preparing dinner to the moment her world came crashing down in her husband's office. She left nothing out.
When she finished, Morgan let out a slow, irritated sigh, tapping her manicured nails against the desk. "So the bastard actually had the audacity to blame *you* for his cheating?"
Claire swallowed. "Yes. He said… he said our sex life was boring."
Morgan scoffed. "Now how can that be? A beautiful woman like you? Any man… or woman… would be lucky to spend the night with you."
Claire felt heat creep up her neck at the insinuation. "You see, Morgan,"—she caught herself, remembering Morgan had asked her to drop the formalities—"James is the only partner I've ever had. I've never been with anyone else, so I guess… I'm inexperienced. But I *would* have tried new things if he had just asked."
Morgan leaned forward slightly, her green eyes locking onto Claire's. "Inexperience isn't the problem, sweetheart. The problem is that he didn't respect you enough to talk about it. Instead, he went behind your back like a coward."
Claire nodded slowly, gripping the armrests of her chair. "So… do you think I have a case?"
Morgan's lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Oh, sweetheart, when I'm done with him, he'll wish he was never born."
Claire let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Morgan tilted her head. "So, what's your plan for tonight?"
"I guess I'll go to a hotel," Claire admitted. "I definitely don't want to go home and see him."
Morgan stood, smoothing out her suit. "Join me for a night out."
"I don't know…"
"It wasn't a question," Morgan said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
The authority in her tone sent a strange shiver down Claire's spine. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach—was she nervous? Or excited?
"I'd need to go home and change," Claire protested weakly.
Morgan waved a dismissive hand. "Unnecessary. I'll have my driver pick something up from Fifth Avenue."
Before Claire could object, Morgan had already placed the call.
A short while later, a discreet knock at the office door announced the arrival of Morgan's driver, Vincent. He handed over two garment bags—one for Claire and one presumably for Morgan.
Claire hesitated as she unzipped the bag, her eyes widening at the slinky crimson dress inside. It was stunning… and tiny.
"You expect me to wear this?" she asked incredulously.
Morgan smirked. "You'll look perfect in it. Trust me."
Despite her initial hesitation, Claire allowed herself to be swept up in Morgan's confidence. After changing, she followed Morgan out to the sleek black limousine waiting outside.
As they settled into the plush leather seats, Morgan poured herself a drink from the minibar. "You'll like this place," she said smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "It's the perfect distraction."
Claire tugged at the hem of her dress, blushing. It barely reached her knees, and she felt entirely too exposed. Meanwhile, Morgan had opted for another one-piece pantsuit, effortlessly exuding power and sophistication.
This must be her signature look, Claire mused. Then again, when you're the best attorney in New York, possibly the country, I guess you can dress however you want.
After a thirty-minute drive, the limo pulled up to an unexpected location. Instead of a high-end nightclub, Claire found herself staring at a massive, industrial-style warehouse.
She blinked in confusion. "This is… a joke, right?"
Morgan, noticing Claire's expression, simply chuckled. "Appearances can be deceiving, my dear," she murmured, taking Claire's hand and leading her toward the entrance.
Morgan knocked once. A small peephole slid open.
"Ah, welcome back, Ms. Pierce," the bouncer said before unlocking the heavy door.
Morgan stepped inside first. Claire followed cautiously, and the moment she crossed the threshold, her senses were overwhelmed.
Loud, pulsing music vibrated through the air, flashing neon lights illuminating the room in deep reds and blues. The crowd was unlike anything Claire had ever seen—young, wild, and rich. They moved like they owned the world, dripping in designer fashion yet shedding all inhibitions on the dance floor.
Morgan led Claire through the chaos to a private booth at the back of the club.
Almost immediately, a waitress approached.
"What can I get you, Ms. Pierce?" she asked, sparing Claire a curious glance.
Morgan answered smoothly, not even glancing at the menu. "I'll have a Suntory Hibiki on the rocks, and she'll have a Cosmopolitan."
Claire frowned slightly. "You just assume I'm a lightweight?"
Morgan chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart, I don't assume. I know."
The casual dominance in her tone sent another unexpected shiver through Claire.
After a few minutes, the drinks arrived. Claire took a sip, then glanced at Morgan. "So… how exactly is this supposed to help me?"
Morgan's lips curved into a mysterious smile. "This isn't what I was going to show you." She glanced at her watch. "Its time. Follow me."
Claire hesitated before standing, curiosity outweighing her nerves.
Morgan led her through the club, weaving past the crowd until they reached a large metal door marked **EMPLOYEES ONLY**.
Claire stopped short. "We… we can't go in there."
Morgan turned to her, eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, sweetheart, we absolutely can."
Before Claire could protest, Morgan pushed the door open and gently pulled her inside.
The sight before her made her jaw drop.
This wasn't some VIP lounge. This was an entirely different world.
The dimly lit room was filled with people in various states of undress, some bound, some kneeling, others wielding whips and floggers. In one corner, a woman straddled another, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. In another, a man was tied to a post, his back already marked with red from a firm hand.
Claire's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't just a club.
It was a BDSM dungeon!
Morgan leaned in close, her breath warm against Claire's ear.
"Welcome to the real New York, sweetheart," she murmured.