CHAPTER 2

The first sliver of dawn, a faint bruised purple against the black, seeped through the penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Luke’s eyes fluttered open, gritty and heavy. His head throbbed, a dull, insistent drumbeat behind his temples. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, a symphony of aches and stiffness. He lay on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something else, something musky and primal that made his stomach churn.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the lingering haze. He was naked. The silk sheets, now twisted around his legs, felt alien against his skin. His asshole throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that radiated through his hips. A wave of nausea washed over him, bile rising in his throat. He remembered flashes: rough hands, thick bodies, the overwhelming scent of male, the feeling of being stretched, filled, utterly consumed. The memory was fragmented, like a shattered mirror, reflecting only distorted images of primal hunger and his own helpless submission.

He pushed himself up, wincing as his body protested. His limbs felt like lead, his head swam. He needed to get out. Now. He scrambled off the bed, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The room was still dim, shadows clinging to the corners, but he could make out the shapes of three massive forms sprawled across the expansive bed. Damon, Elias, Kael. Their names, whispered in the throes of his drugged haze, now tasted like ash in his mouth. He didn’t dare look at their faces. He just needed to escape before they woke.

His clothes lay in a crumpled heap near the foot of the bed. He snatched them up, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, the zipper of his trousers. Every movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through his hips, a stark reminder of the night’s violation. He pulled on his shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces, his heart hammering against his ribs. The urge to flee was overwhelming, a primal instinct.

He crept towards the door, each step agonizingly slow. The silence of the penthouse was deafening, punctuated only by the ragged rhythm of his own breathing. He reached the ornate double doors, his hand trembling as he turned the cold brass knob. It clicked open. He slipped out into the hushed hallway, not daring to look back.

The elevator ride down felt like an eternity, the mirrored walls reflecting his disheveled, haunted face. He pressed the button for the lobby, his gaze fixed on the numbers as they slowly descended. Each floor was a small victory, a step closer to freedom. When the doors finally slid open, he bolted, not caring about the hotel staff, the early morning patrons. He just ran.

The city was just beginning to stir, a pale, hesitant light painting the skyscrapers. He hailed the first taxi he saw, practically falling into the back seat.

“Where to, mate?” The driver, a stocky man with a tired face, asked without turning.

Luke gave his address, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. He leaned his head against the cool window, watching the city blur past. The buildings, once symbols of ambition and success, now loomed like indifferent giants. He felt small, broken, utterly alone.

When the taxi pulled up to his modest apartment building, he fumbled for his wallet, his fingers clumsy. He paid the driver, not meeting his gaze, and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. The walk up the three flights of stairs to his apartment felt like climbing a mountain. Each step was a battle, his body aching, his mind a chaotic mess of shame and fear.

He unlocked his door, the familiar click echoing in the silent apartment. He shut it behind him, leaning against the cold wood, tears finally, uncontrollably, streaming down his face. He slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms. The sobs wracked his body, raw and guttural, shaking him to his core. He cried until his throat was raw, his eyes swollen, until there were no more tears left.

Eventually, the storm passed, leaving him hollowed out, empty. He pushed himself up, his movements stiff and slow. He needed a shower, to wash away the scent of them, the lingering touch. He peeled off his clothes, letting them drop to the floor, not caring. He stepped into the shower, turning the water to scalding hot, hoping it would burn away the memories, cleanse his skin of their presence. But even as the water ran over him, he could still feel them, their hands, their mouths, their bodies.

He stood under the spray until the hot water ran cold, then stumbled out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his lips bruised, his neck mottled with faint hickeys. He looked… used. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

He sank onto his bed, pulling a blanket around him, trying to make sense of it all. What had happened? He remembered Serena, her too-bright smile, the cloying cider. She had set him up. But why? And them… the triplets. He tried to recall their faces, to put names to the bodies that had ravaged him. Damon, Kael, Elias. He remembered their immense size, the sculpted muscles, the dark eyes that had burned with a primal hunger. But their faces… they were a blur. A haze of Greek god-like features, yes, but no distinct contours, no individual expressions. The drug had done its work, blurring the sharp edges of reality, leaving only the raw sensations, the overwhelming physicality.

He lay there for a long time, the silence of his apartment amplifying the turmoil in his mind. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to tell someone. His fingers, still trembling, reached for his phone. Daisy. His best friend. She would know what to do.

He dialed her number, his heart pounding. It rang twice, then her sleepy voice answered.

“Luke? It’s six in the morning. What’s wrong?” Her voice, usually bright and energetic, was laced with concern.

“Daisy,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “Something… something terrible happened.”

“Luke, what is it? You sound awful. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m home. I… I was at the Thorne party last night. Serena… she gave me something.” He paused, struggling to find the words. “They… they took me. The brothers. All three of them.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then Daisy’s voice, sharper now, laced with a fierce protectiveness. “The Thorne triplets? Luke, what are you talking about? What do you mean ‘they took you’?”

“They… they drugged me. I woke up in their penthouse. Naked. And they… they used me, Daisy. All of them.” The words came out in a rush, a torrent of pain and humiliation. “I just ran. I just got home.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Daisy. “Oh my god, Luke. Are you hurt? Did they… did they force you?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I was so out of it. I remember… flashes. It was awful. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight them. I was too weak. It was like I was floating outside my body, watching it happen.”

“Luke, that’s assault,” Daisy said, her voice firm, no longer sleepy. “You need to go to the police. We need to go to the police. Right now.”

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “No, Daisy. I can’t. I just… I can’t. I just want to forget it. I just want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Forget it? Luke, these are powerful men. They can’t just get away with this! Do you even know what they look like?”

“No,” he admitted, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. “Not really. I mean, they’re huge. Like, six-foot-four, all muscle. Like Greek gods, you know? But their faces… it’s all blurry. I can’t remember them clearly. Just… dark eyes. And those bodies. They were so big. So… dominant.”

He heard Daisy sigh, a sound of frustration and concern. “Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Luke. We’ll figure this out. Just… tell me everything you remember. Every detail.”

He recounted the fragmented memories, the overwhelming sensations, the primal hunger in their eyes, the feeling of being stretched and filled. He left out some of the more explicit details, the shame too great, but Daisy understood. She listened patiently, interjecting with questions, guiding him through the fog of his memory.

“So you’re saying you were… double-penetrated at one point?” Daisy asked, her voice cautious.

He nodded, tears prickling his eyes again. “And one of them… he was in my mouth.”

Another long silence. Then, Daisy’s voice, a little lighter, a hint of her usual humor trying to break through the tension. “Well, at least you got a good story out of it, right? I mean, three six-foot-four Greek gods? That’s like, every romance novel fantasy come to life. Except, you know, the drugging part.”

Luke let out a shaky, half-sob, half-laugh. “Daisy! It wasn’t a fantasy! It was terrifying!”

“I know, honey, I know,” she quickly corrected, her voice softening again. “I’m sorry. It’s just… you know me. I try to find the silver lining. But seriously, Luke. This is bad. We need to do something.”

“I just want to sleep. I just want to forget,” he repeated, his voice weak. “I have that interview tomorrow, remember? For the marketing assistant position at Thorne Industries. I can’t… I can’t think about this right now.”

Daisy gasped. “Thorne Industries? Luke, are you serious? Those are *their* companies! You can’t go there!”

“It’s my dream job, Daisy,” he said, a new kind of desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve been working towards this for years. I can’t just throw it away because… because of this.”

“But Luke, what if you see them? What if they recognize you?”

“They were drugged too, remember?” he countered, a flicker of hope in his voice. “And their faces were blurry to me. Maybe mine was blurry to them too. And I was… I was a mess. They probably wouldn’t recognize me all cleaned up, in a suit. I have to try. I have to.”

Daisy sighed again, a sound of resignation. “Okay, fine. But you’re not going alone. I’m coming with you. I’ll wait in the lobby, or outside, whatever. Just so you know someone’s there. And if anything, *anything* feels wrong, you walk out. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” he said, a small, fragile smile touching his lips. “Thank you, Daisy. You’re the best.”

“I know,” she said, her voice a little brighter now. “Now, get some sleep, you mess. And then we’ll figure out how to get you ready for this interview. You’re going to nail it, Luke. You always do.”

He hung up, a strange mix of dread and determination swirling within him. He still felt violated, broken, but Daisy’s words had planted a tiny seed of resolve. He had to get through this. He had to reclaim some semblance of his life. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, but the phantom aches, the ghostly sensations, still lingered. He would get through the interview. He had to. He would face them, or at least their company, head-on. He wouldn’t let them break him.

He finally drifted into a fitful sleep, plagued by fragmented nightmares of massive shadows and hungry eyes.

The next morning, the apartment felt cold, sterile. He dragged himself out of bed, his body still protesting, but less intensely than yesterday. He moved with a quiet efficiency, a practiced routine he’d honed over years of prepping for important events. He showered again, scrubbing his skin until it felt raw, as if he could physically erase the night. He dressed in his best suit, a charcoal gray that accentuated his slender frame, buttoning the crisp white shirt, knotting his tie with meticulous precision. He looked at himself in the mirror. The bruising on his neck was mostly hidden by the collar, his lips were still a little swollen, but otherwise, he looked like the professional, shy Luke he presented to the world. A faint blush of concealer covered the remaining marks. He looked composed, in control. A lie, but a necessary one.

He ate a light breakfast, forcing down toast and coffee, his stomach churning with nerves. The interview was at ten. He checked his briefcase, ensuring all his documents were in order: resume, portfolio, letters of recommendation. He had prepared for this for months, pouring over every detail of Thorne Industries, memorizing their mission statement, their latest campaigns, their market dominance. He had envisioned this day countless times, walking into their sleek, modern offices, impressing the hiring manager, securing his future. He hadn’t envisioned waking up in their bed, violated and terrified.

A text from Daisy pinged on his phone: *On my way. You got this, tiger.*

He smiled faintly. He needed her. He needed the illusion of normalcy, the anchor she provided. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He could do this. He had to. This was his future, and he wouldn’t let a nightmare, no matter how real, snatch it away from him. He would walk into that building, head held high, and pretend the previous night had never happened. He would be Luke, the ambitious, intelligent, marketing assistant candidate. Not Luke, the boy who had been used and discarded. Not today.