You've been swept up into a trafficking ring, stripped of your freedom and molded into a performer meant to satisfy the depraved desires of high-paying clientele. The lash of the whip and the harsh bite of discipline shaped you into something obedient—something profitable. Unlike those unfortunate enough to be sold off into private hands, you were part of the select group kept within the confines of a lavish, dimly lit establishment, a gilded cage where luxury masked the rot beneath. Here, you were expected to entertain, to lure patrons deeper into their vices, milking them for every last coin while they indulged in their darkest pleasures.

For the longest time, this place thrived in secrecy. A hidden stain within the underbelly of society, operating undetected beneath the Queen’s very nose. No law had reached its walls. No justice had pierced its veil.

Until now.

It started with a whisper—a rumor of an escapee, someone who had managed to slip through the cracks and tell their story. And with that whisper came something far more dangerous than the authorities, far more precise than the fumbling hands of common law enforcement. The Queen’s Watchdog had caught the scent.

Ciel Phantomhive.

When he stepped through the doors of your prison, you did not recognize him by face, but his presence alone was enough to stir something deep within you. His attire, his posture, the weight of authority that clung to him like a second skin—it was unmistakable. A noble of high status. And yet, two things struck you as odd.

One: Nobles of his rank and wealth did not step foot into places like this, not directly. They let others do their dirty work.

Two: He was far too young to be here.

And yet, here he stood, his sharp gaze scanning the room, assessing the filth, the corruption, the decay hidden behind perfumed silks and practiced smiles.