My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Of all people, I hadn't expected to see John here. Someone familiar with my family, with me… someone who could easily inform Grandpa about the precarious path I'm about to tread.

  "I'll answer them as best I can," I lift my chin with a touch of defiance that feels brittle even to me.

  “Let’s sit.” John urges me back into the chair and takes the one next to it. “First and most importantly, are you here of your own free will?”

  "Yes, of course."

  He gives me a look like there’s no of course about this situation. “You walked in here with Lyra, so forgive the need for me asking.”

  “is she that dangerous? She’s helping me.”

  “Lyra doesn’t help anyone but herself.”

  I give a bitter laugh. “Says the man who works with Jianhua the Investor.”

  John opens his mouth and then shakes his head. “Okay, fair. But she’s not blackmailing or manipulating or forcing you in any way?”

  “No. You must have heard of my situation.” I observe his expression carefully.

  He nods slowly. “Does your grandpa know what you are about to do?”

  “You’ve seen my grandpa, what do you think?”

  He grimaces. “I think he's going to try to tear Beijing to pieces. And I think you’re making a mistake, Eva. If you are in trouble …”

  “No.” I'm already shaking my head. “I’m a grown woman, and I know what I’m doing. I promise.” I am lying through my teeth, but this is my only option.

  John hesitates for so long, I’m sure he plans to send me away. But he finally sighs. “In that case, let’s go through it.”

  He rounds the desk and rifles through the drawers with the ease of someone who's done it before. A few moments later, he hands me a stack of papers.

  “You’ll need to fill this out before we can continue.” I expect a contract, something to tie me in legal knots to ensure my compliance. I certainly don’t expect the several-page list of… preferences. I scan them, my eyebrows creeping higher with each line.

  “What is this?”

  “This is for your protection.” John explains, “and given who you are, the protection of the person who you’ll meet. They can't just throw you into a furnace afterwards, you know.”

  "Do they actually do that?" I ask, eyes widening in shock.

  "Rarely—the organs are too valuable to waste," John says with a grin.

  "Are you trying to scare me? Because it's not going to work." I say that, but my hair stands on end as I listen. What makes it especially disturbing is how casually John delivered those remarks.

  “Yes, I am. But it's also true. What do you expect from an authoritarian regime.” Then he pointed at the papers. “Only mark what you’re interested in. There will still be a safe word to stop things if you need to, but this… reduces the chance of crossing lines.”

  Heat creeps up my neck as I read. Some of these things, I’ve never even heard of. I can’t tear my gaze from the list.

  “And if I only want sex in the, um, vanilla way?” I ask, the word feeling awkward on my tongue.

  Again, that hesitation, like he doesn’t want to answer truthfully. “The people you are going to meet… they’ve seen everything, they have access to… a variety of beautiful women. They aren't interested in vanilla sex. If you’re serious about needing their help, I’d consider putting as much on the list as you’re comfortable with.”

  As much as I’m comfortable with. The very idea is laughable. But he’s right. If I’m doing this, I have to make it count. “Okay.” I accept the pen he offers.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “This may take a bit.” John looks like he wants to bundle me into a hug until I feel less shaky. “Take as long as you need.” I take a deep breath and settle in to read.

  The words swim before my eyes, a dizzying array of acts and positions and… equipment. Five minutes later, I raise my head, face flushed.

  “I need to Google some of these terms.” My voice catches in my throat. “And I don't have my phone.”

  He’s silent for a moment, and seems trying to make up his mind. Eventually, he asks “Are you tired?”

  I shake my head.

  “In that case, you can do this later. After you are physically and mentally prepared. ” He pauses, his expression almost apologetic. "I know it's a little weird, but there's a protocol for this. Think of it like a very niche spa package.”

  I try for a smile but my lips feel stiff and uncooperative. "Got to make the product look as expensive as possible, right?”

  “Something like that.” He sighs. “You can stop the process at any time.”

  “I won't.” That, at least, I’m sure of. I tilt my head, studying him. “Why are you so determined to talk me out of this? I’m sure there is some money in it for you.”

  John waves that away. “I don't care about the money. I care about you.” Then he quickly adds. “I consider you a good friend. The political elites in this country are ruthless and decadent more than you can imagine.”

  I frown. Maybe I really am getting into something that’s completely out of my depth. It truly is like a rollercoaster, the closer the climb to the release point, the more the dizziness and nausea rise within me.

  “Eva?” John takes a step forward, his hands outstretched as if he’s going to catch me if I faint. “Are you okay?”

  I manage a shaky nod. “I can handle it.” All I need to do is focus on the present, take one step at a time. But as I look down at the list again, I can't escape the feeling that I'm about to step off a precipice into the unknown.

  “Are you sure? Maybe you should see it first hand before you … commit. Give me a few seconds to make some arrangements. ” John retreats from the room before I can protest.

  Make arrangements to let me see it first hand? I marvel at the casual way he phrase it, as if he were simply setting up a dinner appointment. What kind of power does Mr. John Crawford wield in this country?

  John returns quicker than I expect. “Have you changed your mind?” He asks, his gaze searching mine.

  “No. And don't ask me again.” I inject steel into my voice, hoping it masks the tremor of apprehension I feel.

  “I figured you’d say that.” He huffs out a breath. “In that case, let’s get started.”

  He leads me out of the office and back towards the lounge which I only got a glimpse of when Lyra hustled me through.

  The movie star sits quietly at the bar, nursing a drink, but Lyra and Jianhua are nowhere to be found. Neither are those female bodyguards dressed in black.

  A small part of me wishes Lyra hadn’t abandoned me. As disconcerting as I find her presence, it’s reassuring all the same. She has a vested interest in seeing me follow through on this, so she’ll protect me in the meantime. Would, if she were here.

  It’s getting all tangled up in my head.

  I can’t trust her. I know I can’t trust her. But that doesn’t stop the flicker of disappointment I can’t quite extinguish.

  I find some reassurance when Shanshan returns my bag. Her smile remains perfect, but I catch a trace of sympathy in the corners of her eyes, as if John is leading me to a slaughterhouse.

  With practiced ease, John navigates the hotel's labyrinthine corridors, bypassing the main routes and utilizing hidden entrances and staff accesses. We're heading to the spa, supposedly on the third floor, yet we descend to the fifth before discreetly slipping through an unmarked door.

  We step into a realm of unparalleled pampering. Beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, a mesmerizing cityscape unfolds—its lights casting shimmering reflections that dance across the interior of the “Elysium Spa.” Within this sanctuary, orchids cascade gracefully above fountains that murmur in gentle rhythm. The air is laced with the soothing aroma of jasmine and white tea, and plush daybeds, swathed in silken throws, beckon with quiet indulgence.

  A graceful woman in a tailored uniform—a crisp, dove-grey tunic and slim trousers—glides towards us. She exudes an air of understated sophistication.

  "Mr. Crawford," she says with a warm smile that includes both of us, "this way, please.”

  We follow her into a room. To my surprise, it isn't a treatment room. This room is small and dark. In the dim glow emanating from LED strips on the walls, I can barely make out three sofas facing a wall concealed by a heavy curtain.

  John gestures for me to sit on the middle sofa. As I settle into the plush cushions, the woman smoothly draws back the curtain. My breath hitches in my throat, and a wave of heat floods my face.

  Behind the curtain is a large glass window. My eyes widen as I take in the scene on the other side. The room is dominated by a massive round bed, and in its center, two Asian women and two Black men are engaged in intimate embraces. They're completely naked, their bodies intertwined, their movements fluid and rhythmic. Along the walls, are shelves, filled with ropes, dildos, and equipments I don't recognize. Benches and metal frames are positioned strategically around the bed.

  "Don't worry," John’s voice low and reassuring, "it's a one-way mirror. They can't see you." He hands me that stack of papers again. "They'll be demonstrating everything on this list—anything you might want to consider. I'll wait for you outside. If you have any questions, just ask Jingjing." He gestures towards the woman who'd led us here. "And again, you can stop this at any time.”

  I'm speechless. My palms are damp, my heart races, and all I can think is, Wow. This is definitely much more informative than Google.

  /* The story, though sensational, is realistic. Epstein would not be a scandal in such a country. It is commonplace in the circles of power. */