CHAPTER 301: CHAPTER 301 ORGY

Boss’s voice echoed from above, firm and theatrical.

"Ladies and gentlemen... the hour has come. Enjoy."

Liam’s head slowly lifted, eyes locking on the bastard standing atop the balcony with that smug expression on his face. He still wore the eyepatch, and from the way he grinned at the crowd below, it was clear he believed himself a god. Liam’s lips curled into a cold smile. It wasn’t joy—it was something else. A calm, deadly storm bubbling beneath the surface.

Then the massive doors at the end of the mansion creaked open, the loud groan echoing through the room like a warning bell.

And what followed left Liam speechless.

Dozens of women began entering—half-naked, some fully nude, their bodies gleaming under the soft golden lights of the hall. Some smiled seductively, others laughed softly, whispering to each other as they walked in barefoot, like sirens in some twisted dream. Their movements were graceful, deliberate, unapologetically sensual.

Vanessa stood stiff beside Liam, her breath caught somewhere between shock and disgust. "What the hell is this?" she whispered, inching closer to him.

Liam didn’t answer immediately. His eyes tracked the women as they made their way into the center of the room. Then came the men—just as bare, some muscular, some lean, all seemingly proud of the way they carried themselves. And just like the women, they weren’t hesitant. No shame, no awkwardness—just pure, confident exposure.

It hit Liam like a wave: this wasn’t just some elite party. This was something else.

Vanessa’s hand clutched the sleeve of his suit as she whispered again, this time more urgent. "Liam... can we leave?"

Liam’s jaw clenched. He looked around. The crowd wasn’t disturbed—far from it. Many of the guests were already smirking, whispering among themselves. Some licked their lips. Others adjusted their gowns or suits in anticipation. Even the women. Especially the women.

He leaned toward Vanessa, voice low. "We leave now... and we stand out."

Her brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room quickly. He was right. Nobody else even looked like they were thinking about walking out. It was as if they had been waiting for this moment all night.

And that’s when it happened.

A gasp tore through Vanessa’s lips as she turned sharply, eyes locking on a scene unfolding just behind them.

One of the guests—a woman in her late thirties, draped in a sleek emerald dress—was already wrapped around one of the naked male performers. The man had his hands on her hips, sliding her dress down off her shoulders as he leaned in to kiss her neck. Her head tilted back, moaning loudly in front of everyone. And Vanessa recognized her. She came with her husband.

The man, the guest’s husband, stood off to the side, drink in hand, watching casually as if this were completely normal.

"What the hell is this place...?" Vanessa muttered, stepping behind Liam instinctively.

Liam didn’t reply. His mind was racing. The scene wasn’t just about lust—it was control. Boss wasn’t just feeding these people pleasure. He was feeding them power, corruption, temptation—the raw, unfiltered kind that made people forget their morals.

"I don’t see any chains," Liam muttered, eyes sharp. "No signs of force."

Vanessa looked closer. He was right. The performers weren’t slaves. They were smiling—some even laughing—as they pulled guests closer. Their gazes were seductive, not dead. Their steps confident. And the guests were already giving in. Dresses hit the floor, suits were unbuttoned. It was all happening fast.

"They were paid." Liam added quietly. "Whatever it is... they’re enjoying it. And that’s what makes it dangerous."

Vanessa’s hand tightened around his. "We can’t stay here."

"We don’t have a choice," Liam said through gritted teeth.

A moan rang out a few feet to their left, followed by clapping and laughter.

Liam looked up to the balcony again. Boss was still watching, that damn smug grin stretched wider across his face. He wasn’t watching the orgy play out like someone who wanted to indulge—he was watching like a man who’d won.

Vanessa turned her head. "This is insane..."

Liam narrowed his eyes. "No. This is manipulation. He’s creating addicts, Vanessa. Addicts to power... to pleasure... to freedom without rules."

They stood still, masks on, playing their roles in the middle of the madness.

More guests disappeared into back rooms. Some danced while undressing. Others had already claimed furniture, tables, and even the marble floor as they gave in. It was spreading like wildfire. Every act of passion made it harder for the few who resisted to hold on.

Vanessa looked up at Liam. "If we stay too long, we’ll stand out for doing nothing

But neither of them moved. The longer they stood there, the more surreal the world around them became. It felt like a different realm entirely—where rules didn’t exist.

Vanessa exhaled sharply and grabbed a glass off a nearby stand. It was thick crystal, filled with a deep red liquid—wine, perhaps? She brought it to her lips and downed it in one gulp, her skin flushed from the heat of the party and the chaos swirling around them. Her throat tightened with the dryness of fear, and the world seemed to tilt.

Liam watched her, amusement flickering in his silver-masked eyes. Even amid this madness, he couldn’t resist a soft chuckle. The sight of her—fearful, tense, yet still resisting what Boss had unleashed—struck him as both tragic and courageous.

Vanessa met his gaze, her dark eyes locked onto his. In that moment, the orgy surrounding them—the slick bodies, the moans, the rhythm of flesh—melted away. Her focus was entirely on him. He held it easy, effortlessly.

But the sounds around them were a force all their own. Groans that blended into raw, visceral demands—"Harder... Don’t stop... Make me filthy..." The guests’ voices rose and fell, fueled by lust and abandon.

Vanessa’s eyes grew wider. She had thought herself immune—hardened—but the throaty moans, went straight through her. Her chest tightened; the pool of sound felt like a living thing, twisting around her mind.

She swallowed hard, shook her head, and turned away from Liam abruptly.

"I—I need the bathroom," she said, voice shaking.

He watched her gown—long, dark, slit at the side—lift slightly as she took a step. She moved with grace, tucking one leg high to cross the crowded floor, her hand holding up the fabric so she wouldn’t trip over writhing bodies. naked limbs brushed past; she weaved through the decadent chaos, her composure faltering.

Liam watched until she disappeared into the maze, then allowed himself to slide onto a barstool at the end of the room. He flagged down the bartender—new. The man set a glass of whiskey in front of him. The burn of the liquid was a relief.

He surveyed the room. Men with elegant masks pressed against women whose gowns were already cast aside, couples tangled in embraces.

"You alright? You need something else?" the bartender asked.

Liam raised an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey. "Is there anything I’d want right now, apart from this drink?" he replied, his tone measured but edged.

The man’s gaze flickered, sizing him up behind the mask. He said nothing for a moment. Then, innocently, "Perhaps... sir’s interest is in men?"

Liam choked on the whiskey, sputtering as the amber liquid overflowed onto his white suit. A glance downward confirmed it—streaks of spit on the pristine lapel.

He blinked at the bartender in disbelief. This was what a man asks?

"W‑What did you just—?" Liam sputtered, raising an incredulous brow.

The bartender flushed. "My apologies, sir. I—I shouldn’t have assumed." His voice quavered slightly under Liam’s gaze.

Liam shook his head in exasperation. "Do I look like I’d...? You really think I came here for men?"

The man stammered. "No... no—not at all. It’s just... first time here, right?"

Liam tried to contain his annoyance. "Yes."

The bartender’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. "Ah. Well—you might not know this—but not participating in the ceremony is a banishable offense."

Liam paused, his blood cold and heart pounding at the implications. "What... ceremony?" he asked, tone flat.

The bartender swallowed.

Liam’s mind raced. The statement implied obligation. Participation wasn’t optional—it was part of the secret code. A ceremony? Like a ritual? Encore? Punishment?

The moment stretched. The bartender avoided his eyes.

Silence fell over their corner.

Liam stared into his glass, the whiskey swirling like amber fire. Outside, moans wrapped around laughter, soft footsteps, the rustle of silk and bare skin.

He leaned back. "Has anyone ever been banished for not... participating?" he asked quietly.

The bartender hesitated.

"Not yet," he said finally. "But... Boss likes to make examples."

Fire pooled in Liam’s chest as he absorbed it. He hadn’t come here to join the madness.

But Boss had a plan—even darker than the serum.

Liam finished his drink in one sharp move and placed the glass on the bar.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and steady. "What does banishment look like?"

The bartender swallowed, gathering courage. "No death... but—"

He swallowed hard before speaking again.

"It’s permanent exile. Within minutes, security will demand an escort out... and the ceremony will continue without you."

Liam stared at him intently.

The bartender nodded. "I didn’t want to scare you, sir. But... that’s how it is."

Liam closed his eyes, breath deepening.

A ceremony built on sex, power, and silence.

He opened his eyes and looked toward the door where Vanessa had disappeared.

He—felt certain she wouldn’t come back unless he came for her.

Liam slid off the stool.