Christopher's Playhouse

Chapter 9: Immediate Control

Los Angeles, California:

Sloane stepped into the dimly lit lounge, her heels tapping softly against the polished marble floor. The air smelled of leather and expensive perfume, and the soft hum of conversation dwindled the moment she made her entrance. Her eyes scanned the room—a lavish private space draped in velvet and luxury, designed for exclusivity. It was a playground for people like Christopher, a man used to getting exactly what he wanted.

But this wasn't Christopher's territory tonight.

No, Sloane thought. Tonight, this was her arena.

Sloane had been in Christopher's orbit for barely a month, but those few weeks had been enough to shake up the foundations of his world. His girlfriends, each handpicked to play a role in his life, were not accustomed to a new addition so quickly. And certainly not one who carried herself the way Sloane did. She wasn't interested in being just another piece on his board.

As she approached the low-set couches where they sat, her posture was loose but purposeful. She could feel their eyes on her—assessing, judging, sizing her up. Each woman carried a different energy, but they shared one thing in common: none of them liked her being there.

Naomi, the only familiar face in the room, was seated quietly off to the side, her legs crossed delicately at the ankle. Sloane could see the shift in Naomi's posture as she entered, subtle but unmistakable—deference. It had been like this ever since their night together with Christopher. Naomi's submission wasn't spoken, but it was there in the way her eyes followed Sloane's every move, the slight softening of her body language. Naomi craved direction, and now that she had found it, there was no going back.

Sloane resisted the urge to smirk. Naomi had been surprisingly easy to tame, almost too easy. But it wasn't just about her; the real test tonight was navigating the rest of Christopher's women, each one a potential thorn in her side.

Christopher sat in the corner, sipping his whiskey, his eyes sharp and quietly watchful. He hadn't said much since she arrived, clearly enjoying the spectacle. He liked watching the dynamics unfold—testing how people reacted under pressure. He was waiting for something, and Sloane intended to deliver it.

Lena, seated with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, was the first to speak. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her expression was no less harsh. "You must be Sloane," she said, her voice clipped. "The new assistant."

Sloane's eyes flicked to her, but she didn't miss a beat. "Funny. I haven't heard a thing about you."

It was a calculated response, sharp enough to establish her presence but casual enough to keep things civil—barely. She could feel the ripple of tension that passed through the group, even before she fully settled into the plush leather armchair opposite them. Lena's expression tightened, her lips pressed into a thin line. Clearly, she wasn't used to being dismissed so easily.

Heather, seated next to Lena, leaned back in her seat with a curious look. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, but the way her eyes narrowed made it clear she was no less dangerous than Lena. "What's with Naomi?" she asked, glancing sideways at the woman in question. "She's been quiet all day."