CHAPTER 75: DON’T ACCEPT ANY OTHER

Eleanor’s POV

The world tilted as the man was violently ripped off me and thrown to the floor. He cursed, scrambling to his feet. "What the fuck?! I was just doing the job she requested! She paid for it!"

"Why the fuck would you think that?" I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of rage and relief. "I never requested anything!"

Before he could respond, security finally arrived and dragged him away, his protests fading into the club’s noise. My legs felt like jelly. I looked around, searching for Mira and Roxy, but they were gone.

All around me, the other women were in a frenzy, but not because of my near-assault. They were ecstatic, whispering and pointing.

"The VIP strippers are here!"

"I can’t believe we’re seeing them this close!"

"It’s such an honor!"

Before I could even process my rescue, one of the masked men—the one who’d pulled the first stripper off me—took my hand. His grip was firm but not painful, and he began leading me away from the main floor.

I could hear the disappointed murmurs of the women around us. "Are they taking her again?" one whined. "It’s not fair!" another complained.

But my mind was racing, trying to catch up. Where were they taking me? To a security office to make a report? That had to be it. Mira and Roxy were probably already there, having gone to get help.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. These men, these elusive VIPs, had stepped in to protect me.

But the thought evaporated as quickly as it came. The man guiding me pushed open a door, and I was led into a room that was the opposite of the loud, chaotic club. This wasn’t the security office.

It was dimly lit, decorated in deep reds and golds, with semi circular seat, a straight seat and a private small bar. The door clicked shut behind us, muffling the music to a distant throb.

This was a private room. The kind the club used for... private sessions.

I swallowed hard. "Uhhh... why am I here?"

The one who had been holding my hand, the one who moved with a barely contained intensity, let out a low sound of annoyance. "Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t that why you came to the club?"

His tone threw me. "I... I want to thank you for saving me from that situation. But this is clearly a misunderstanding. I didn’t request any kind of session, and I’d really like to leave. My friends will be worried."

The second man, stepped forward. "You shouldn’t worry. Your friends are safe." His voice was low, but it felt reassuring, and something familiar that prickled at my memory.

Why does he sound like I know him?

"Okay," I said, my voice small. "So why did you bring me here?"

"We want to talk to you," the second man replied. "Privately."

"Talk? About what? We don’t know each other."

The second man reached out and gently but firmly pulled the first man’s hand away from my arm. "Let’s just say you caught our eye."

"Thank you for the... compliment," I managed, taking a step sideways toward the door. "But I didn’t come here to be entertained by anyone."

I moved to leave, but the third man, who had been silently observing, reached out and held my arm. His touch wasn’t harsh, but it was unyielding.

The second man spoke again, his voice still calm. "We aren’t going to do anything to you. We just want to talk."

I didn’t know what to say. My mind was a whirlwind. This was insane. I was finally in front of the men I’d secretly, foolishly wanted to see again. So why was I resisting? Because it was the right thing to do, right? This was dangerous. This was...

I didn’t even realize I was moving until the third man guided me gently but insistently away from the door. My legs felt numb, operating on their own. Before I could protest further, I was sitting down on the deep, crimson semicircular seat, the three masked men forming a loose, inescapable circle around me.

The first man broke away from the circle and walked to the small private bar, his movements fluid and controlled. The second man focused on me.

"We’re surprised to see you back," he said, his masked head tilting. "You never returned after our first... encounter."

His words sent a jolt through me. How did they notice? Had they been expecting me? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

Did the memory of that night haunt them the way it haunted me? Did their skin prickle with the same electric awareness?

"The club isn’t really part of my lifestyle," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. My mind flashed to the first time I’d come here—a desperate, pathetic attempt to numb the pain after Dickson, my narcissistic ex, had left me for my sister, Priscilla. A match made in hell.

And now I was back, for an entirely different, equally desperate agenda.

"I just came for personal reasons," I added, hoping that would be the end of it.

The first man returned from the bar, holding three glasses of amber liquid. He handed one to the second man and kept the others. All the while, the third man hadn’t moved. He still held my arm, his grip gentle but firm, his masked face turned so his cheek rested against my skin. The strange thing was, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt... possessive, but not threatening.

The second man accepted his drink but didn’t take a sip. His focus remained entirely on me. "I’m curious," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through the quiet room. "What personal reason would bring you back to a place like this?"

"You don’t need to know about that," I said, trying to sound firm.

"But we do," the second man countered, his voice soft but insistent. He took one of the glasses from the first man and held it out to me. "Because my brothers and I would very much like to see you more."

I was so stunned, I automatically took the drink. "What?"

"Ever since that night," he continued, his blue eyes locked on mine, "we haven’t felt that... spark with anyone else. We’ve kept to ourselves, hoping you’d come back."

I was speechless. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure they could see it through my dress. The first man finally spoke, his voice a low, rough sound as he gulped down his drink. "Are you in a relationship?"

"Not... really," I stammered, my mind racing. "But I’m in a situation where I have to avoid one. That’s actually why I’m here."

The second man reached out and gently guided the glass I was holding toward my lips. I was too dazed to resist and took a small sip, the liquid burning a warm path down my throat. Their blue eyes were intense, but they didn’t feel predatory. It felt like they were trying to see straight into my soul.

The first man stepped closer. "Why? Are you trying to trick someone?"

"The men—I mean the man I met," I clarified, the words tumbling out in a nervous rush, "think that I’m deceiving him. So I just want him to get the impression that I’m the kind of person who hangs out at clubs like this. So that he will finally accept my rejection."

The air in the room shifted instantly. All three men went completely still, their focused stares making my skin prickle.

The second man coughed, clearing his throat. "So, to be clear," he said, his voice oddly strained, "you’re going to this extreme because you want nothing to do with this man? Correct?"

"Yes," I whispered, the confession feeling both like a relief and a monumental mistake.

"We can help you with that," the second man said smoothly.

The first guy made a low sound, as if he wanted to protest, but the second man cut him off with a sharp look. "Coming to the club just once won’t be enough to convince this man you want to be rejected," he continued, his voice a persuasive murmur. "It needs to be a pattern. We can help you create that pattern. We can help you reach your goal."

My mind spun. This sounded too good to be true. "What’s in it for you?" I asked, suspicion warring with desperate hope.

The first man stepped forward, his gaze intense. "You don’t let any other guy in this club entertain you. You only accept us."

The second man quickly interjected, his tone placating. "What my brother means is that we simply want to spend personal time with you. We won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do."

Am I hearing this right? Beatrice, are you hearing this? What is happening?

I hear it, she replied, her tone uncharacteristically neutral. But you’re the one who doesn’t want to be with your three fated mates. I’m not going to tell you to accept or reject this. This is your choice.

I grabbed my glass and gulped down the rest of the drink, the liquid doing little to steady my nerves. The empty cup slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the low table. Should I accept this? I have already decided to change my life, to take control.

And here were three incredibly desirable men, telling me they were interested in me—something I never thought would happen in my entire life. It was a golden opportunity wrapped in mystery and undeniable attraction.

So, should i accept it?