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The club was swarming with people beyond the curtain of the backroom; men crammed together abuzz with chatter and perverted grins. All of them mutually craved the presence of a woman, and Henry's club was happy to cater to them, girls dressed in a way to fulfill their inner depraved desires.

The music of the dancer on the main stage echoed throughout the building, the song upbeat and catchy. The fragrance of sweet perfume and hairspray enveloped me, concealing the scent of tobacco that clung in the air, surrounded by the other beautiful dancers getting ready to perform.

Marco greeted me when I first arrived, insisting we had a celebratory drink. I graciously accepted and sat with him for a drink, his stare observing me the entire time. Tonight he was adorned in a black suit, blending in with the other men working there.

We were seated at the bar, each on a barstool. My back was to the bar as I surveyed everyone around me. I had sat poised in a way that conveyed genuine interest in what Marco said while remaining hyperaware of the people who came and went.

The same girl from last night had made our drinks. Tonight, she met my curious gaze, offering a tight-lipped smile as her eyes faintly narrowed at Marco. Her attention turned back to me, and in the swift encounter, a mutual understanding flowed from her. It was more of a muted warning, but I hoped the bob of my chin conveyed that she didn't need to worry about me.

I was forced to converse with him as he droned on and on about how proud he was of the club, his hands constantly finding any excuse to touch me.

The feelings from yesterday threatened to creep up at any moment, like tarnished acidic bile that burnt my esophagus. Being aware that Niall, Louis, and Liam were close the entire time enabled me to feel in control, but it wasn't an intuitive feeling. I had to repeat the words repeatedly while maintaining a sultry smile.

Now that I knew what to expect, it was easier to manage the searing taste of disgust, especially since Harry was listening in on the conversation through the earpiece.

We had sat at the bar together for at least thirty minutes, and as he spoke, he placed his hand on my upper thigh, patting it affectionately.

Other times, his fingertips would lightly trail my forearm and graze my leg in small circles.

It was a control tactic, and he wanted to see how much he could test my limits. He could easily play it off if I reacted, claiming I was crazy or delusional, maybe even vindictive.

Louis and Niall were visible in the club, subtly monitoring the interaction, ensuring Marco didn't take anything too far. I occasionally gave them a subtle nod to inform them I was okay.

They mingled within the crowd of men, trying not to stand out. I used the time Marco spent talking about himself to study the hallway at any opportunity.

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