Julian followed her, his senses on high alert. The hallway led to a parlor dominated by a massive stone fireplace. But what caught Julian’s breath were the walls. They weren't covered in whips or chains, as the tabloids might suggest. They were covered in ledgers. Hundreds of leather-bound books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling.
A figure emerged. She was taller than he expected, dressed in a severe black suit that seemed to absorb the dim light. Her skin was pale, her hair a dark, slicked-back wave that framed eyes of piercing, unnatural violet. She didn't look like a dominatrix in the theatrical sense; she looked like a CEO of a very dangerous company. countess denica dominatrix