Chapter 5: The Price of Admission

Chapter 5: The Price of Admission

The invitation was not paper. It was a sliver of polished obsidian, cool and heavy in Jax’s hand, delivered by a silent courier who vanished as quickly as he appeared. There was no text, only a single, stylized ‘E’ etched in gold leaf and a time. There was no need for an address. Those who needed to know the location of Elysium already knew. He received one. He knew, with a certainty that settled like ice in his gut, that Julian Croft had received one, too.

Lilith’s words from their phone call echoed in his mind: “I suppose we'll have to show him the real price of admission.” This was it. Not a punishment, but a lesson. A public execution of one man’s ego and a public coronation of another’s devotion.

His desire was a cold, sharp point now, honed by the fury of Croft’s insult. He needed to win this game not for the prize—he already had the queen—but to defend the sanctity of their kingdom. The prize was reminding the world, and Croft in particular, that Lilith was not a trophy to be won, but a force to be worshipped.

Elysium was a wound in the city's belly, hidden behind the unassuming facade of a defunct textile warehouse in a forgotten industrial district. There were no signs, no velvet ropes. There was only a single, monolithic steel door and a silent guardian who recognized guests by sight.

Inside, the world fell away. The air was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon, rare incense, and the subtle, electric perfume of sin. The light was a decadent twilight, cast in deep crimsons and golds, glinting off crystal glasses and the hungry eyes of the city’s true power brokers. Here, masks were encouraged, not for anonymity, but for liberation. Senators mingled with arms dealers, tech moguls drank with shadowy financiers. It was a place where reputations were irrelevant and only appetite mattered.

The obstacle was the stage itself. This wasn't their private sanctuary. Every glance was a judgment, every whisper a verdict. Jax saw Croft holding court near the bar, looking insufferably pleased with himself. He wore a silver mask that covered his eyes but did nothing to hide the smug curl of his lips. He saw Jax and gave a confident nod, the nod of a business partner about to close a deal. The memory of Croft calling Lilith an "asset" sent a fresh wave of cold rage through Jax. This fool still thought they were colleagues in a joint venture.

Jax ignored him, his own plain black mask making him just another shadow in a room full of them. He took a position in an alcove, his gaze fixed on the raised dais at the far end of the main chamber. Kael was somewhere nearby, he knew, a ghost in the periphery, his loyalty a tangible, disapproving presence even when unseen. Jax had forbidden him from entering, but he knew Kael would be circling the perimeter, a knight guarding a king who insisted on walking into the dragon's lair.

Then, the music softened. A hush fell over the decadent chaos.

Lilith appeared on the dais.

She was not in blood-red tonight. She wore a gown of midnight black, studded with what looked like chips of diamond, as if she had draped herself in the night sky. The dress was severe, high-collared, and sleeved, yet it clung to her form with a devotion that put every man in the room to shame. She wore no mask. Her face was a beacon of untouchable beauty and absolute command. She was not part of the party; she was the reason for it.

Her dark eyes swept the room, and for a moment, they met Jax’s. There was no smirk, no private signal. Just a cool, knowing acknowledgement. Then her gaze slid to Julian Croft, lingering for a fraction of a second with an unreadable expression.

"Welcome," she said, her voice needing no amplification to cut through the vast space. It was a voice accustomed to being obeyed. "Some of you are here for pleasure. Some for business. But tonight, we have a special contest. A game of desire."

A ripple of intrigued murmurs went through the crowd.

"The prize," Lilith announced, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, "is a night with me."

A collective intake of breath. The stakes were laid bare. It was obscene, audacious, and utterly electrifying. Jax saw Croft straighten, a predatory gleam in his eyes. The prize was named. The acquisition was in sight.

"The rules are simple," Lilith continued, her gaze moving between Jax and Julian, making it clear to everyone who the true contestants were. "Two players. One question. You must show me that you understand power. Prove that you know what I truly desire."

Croft’s mistake was immediate and catastrophic. He heard "desire" and thought "price." He believed this was an auction.

He stepped forward, a showman playing to the crowd. "My Queen," he began, his voice oily with confidence. "To prove my understanding of your worth, I offer you this." He produced a black velvet box from his jacket. With a flick of his thumb, he opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a diamond necklace, a river of ice and fire so large and flawless it drew gasps from the onlookers.

"The Star of Samarkand," Croft announced. "Priceless. Formerly the property of a fallen king. A symbol of power, taken and now offered to a true ruler."

He was playing the game as he knew it, with money and conquest. He offered her a bauble, a thing. He was trying to buy the god with a trinket from her own temple. A slow smile spread across Lilith's face, but it was all sharp edges and cruel amusement. It was the smile of a cat watching a mouse offer it a piece of cheese before it pounces.

The crowd watched, waiting for Jax’s move. They expected a counter-offer. A rare car. A private island. The keys to a company. They expected him to play the same transactional game, only with a bigger wallet.

Jax did nothing. He didn't move from his alcove. He didn't produce a velvet box. He simply watched, his black mask hiding the cold certainty in his eyes. He knew what she truly desired. It wasn't a thing. It was an experience. It was the affirmation of her own absolute power.

When all eyes were on him, waiting, he made his move. It was quiet, almost invisible. He caught the eye of the club's proprietor, a severe-looking woman named Helene who watched over Elysium with the vigilance of a high priestess. Jax gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. Helene’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, then she inclined her head in assent and slipped away into the shadows.

That was it. That was his opening gambit.

Julian Croft scoffed, mistaking Jax’s quiet action for a forfeit. "Is that it, Thorne? Nothing to offer? Have you finally realized you're out of your league?"

Lilith’s gaze, however, sharpened on Jax. The amused, condescending mask she wore for Croft fell away, replaced by a flicker of genuine, predatory interest. He hadn't offered her an object. He had set a chain of events in motion. He hadn't tried to buy her favor; he was orchestrating a scenario for her pleasure.

She looked from Croft's glittering diamond, an object of dead, historical power, to Jax's quiet, living promise of something more.

"The opening bids have been made," Lilith announced, her voice a low, dangerous purr that was meant only for him. "Let's see who understands the art of the acquisition."

The game was afoot. And Jax knew, with a certainty that thrilled him to his very core, that Julian Croft had already lost. He had tried to buy the Queen, forgetting that her deepest desire was not to be bought, but to be the one who owned everything.