Elliott took a small sip of the champagne, keeping his face calm. Every movement, every look had to be careful. He could feel the cameras in the room, the hidden ones and the ones in plain sight disguised as surveillance cameras, watching for the smallest mistake. One wrong move, and Starlink would have exactly what they wanted.
He tried to step back, to create some space. But every time he moved, another woman came forward. One leaned against him, pressing her body close. Another draped herself over his shoulder, laughing and rubbing herself against him. Every touch was deliberate, meant to make him uncomfortable. Elliott felt disgust rise in his chest, but he stayed still.
He scanned the room for a way out. And realised that he'd made a fatal mistake. He'd trusted Clara and himself too much. It had already been an hour since they had entered here and Clara had made sure that he was pushed deeper into the room and forced to drink more and more alcohol. His jaw tightened. He needed to call Skylar.
The women laughed and teased, their voices louder as they urged him to perform. "Come on, Elliott! Dance for us!" one called. The entire group seemed to shift, surrounding him like predators, daring him to react as they literally tried to tear off his clothes.
Then a splash of cold liquid hit his chest. Elliott froze. One of the women had thrown her drink on him. Even as he froze, she pressed closer, pretending to wipe it off, letting her hands roam all over him as the others cheered her on...
He clenched his jaw. He couldn't react right now. Any move could be recorded, twisted, used against him. But he could not stay still.
His mind raced. Could he get to the door without offending someone? Every instinct screamed to fight or leave. But he stayed calm. He had to. He would not give them the satisfaction.
The women pressed closer, laughing and calling to him, getting bolder by the minute. "Come on, Elliott, show us what you've got!" one teased, swaying against him.
Elliott stayed rigid. His muscles tensed, but he didn't move. Every second stretched long and heavy. His mind already worked on a plan—how to leave, how to turn this around, how to survive this night without losing control.
The music grew louder, pounding through the room, vibrating against Elliott's chest. The women pressed closer, their hands brushing, grabbing, teasing. He stayed calm, jaw tight, eyes scanning, waiting.
Then, from behind, someone yanked at his suit jacket. He froze for a heartbeat, his eyes narrowing sharply. The situation had crossed another line. But instead of reacting, he made a decision. He would pretend to cooperate. Clara wanted him to pretend that this was an act so that they would be able to use it against him. He would act and escape.
He loosened slightly, letting the women think he was giving in. He staggered, slow and careful, as if drunk, letting them grope and brush against him. Every step, every move was calculated. Inside, his mind was razor-sharp, mapping his escape.
He watched as Clara drifted toward the door, leaving him to the crowd. That was his moment. Leaning close to Miss Nisa, he whispered, low and smooth, "Would you like to move somewhere private?"
Her eyes lit up. She nodded, excitement clear.
"Good," he said. "I'll leave first. Wait near the elevator. I'll join you in a moment."
She nodded again, eager.
He straightened and raised his hands slightly, forcing attention. "Excuse me," he said, loud enough for the women to hear. "I need to use the restroom."
A chorus of protests erupted. "No! Don't leave!" "Come on, Elliott!" Their hands reached for him, trying to pull him back. He didn't fight them. He let them tug, brush, grab, letting them think they controlled him.
By the time he reached the door, his shirt was torn in places, sleeves ripped, buttons straining. He walked through the crowd without a word, the women laughing, thinking they had his attention.
Outside, the hallway was dark and quiet. Elliott stopped and took a breath, his jaw set like iron. His face was thunderous, every line of his body taut with controlled fury and disgust.
He looked down at his torn clothes and put his hand in his pocket to call Skylar, only to realise that his phone had been stolen too. It seemed Clara had indeed come fully prepared. The only thing left to do was to drug his drink...
Even as the thought came, so did the realisation that he had been wrong. She had done that too. She had probably given him the pill to make his guard slip... so that he would not suspect that she would drug him too.
As he felt his body start to react to the drug, he cursed inwardly. A rookie mistake! He had made a rookie mistake! He'd kept an eye on the glasses but not on the bottle from where the drinks had been poured...
He needed to hurry out... There was no time to call for Skylar...