Chapter 3 PARADISE HOTEL

PARADISE HOTEL

Eleanor's eyes fluttered open slowly, the throbbing pain in her head making it almost impossible to focus. She winced, her hand instinctively going up to her temple in an attempt to soothe the relentless ache. Her head was pounding as if a hammer were being driven repeatedly into her skull. Taking deep, steadying breaths, she squeezed her eyes shut in the hope it would ease the pain, but it did little to help.

Her surroundings felt unfamiliar, her senses slowly piecing themselves together. The cool air from the vent above brushed against her skin, and the faint scent of expensive room freshener filled her nostrils.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," a voice said, startling her. The tone was deep and lifeless, almost void of humanity.

Eleanor's head snapped up despite the pain shooting through it. Her bleary eyes focused on a man sitting a few feet away. His disheveled appearance suggested he was in his mid-forties, his thin lips curled into a faint smirk that carried a hint of malice.

Her heart rate quickened. *Who was this man, and what was he doing in her room?* Panic began to swell within her, but it was quickly replaced by confusion as her gaze darted around. This wasn't her room. The lavish decor-the rich velvet curtains, the gold-accented furniture, and the enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling-indicated she was somewhere far from the modest comforts of her own home.

She was in a hotel.

**

Mr. Martinez stepped out of his sleek, black limousine with practiced ease, his polished shoes meeting the pavement soundlessly. He straightened his custom-tailored suit, the sharp lines of the fabric exuding an air of authority and power.

His face, though strikingly handsome, carried a stoic expression devoid of warmth. His cold, calculating eyes scanned his surroundings, taking in every detail without betraying a hint of emotion. As always, his bodyguards flanked him closely, their intimidating presence ensuring no one dared approach.

Without sparing a glance at the staff lined up to greet him, Mr. Martinez began his ascent into the hotel.

"Good day, sir," echoed in reverent tones as employees bowed in his direction. He walked past them without acknowledgment, his purposeful strides never faltering.

At the reception desk, a young woman with overly styled hair and a nervous smile straightened up as he approached.

"Good day, sir," she greeted, her voice overly sweet, her hands fidgeting with the ends of her blazer. She adjusted her hair, flashing a toothy grin in an attempt to seem approachable.

Mr. Martinez leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "I'm here for Mr. Torres. His room number," he stated with an air of authority.

The receptionist blinked rapidly, momentarily caught off guard by his commanding presence. "Oh, Mr. Torres," she repeated, fumbling to open the hotel registry. She ran her manicured finger down the pages until she found the entry she sought.

"Room number 165," she announced, smiling brighter than before. "Would you like me to escort you there?" she added with a hopeful edge to her voice.

Mr. Martinez cocked his head slightly, his lips forming a tight line. "Come a little closer," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

Eager to please, the receptionist leaned forward, her smile widening.

"You look creepy with that weird smile on," he said bluntly, straightening up and turning on his heel.

The receptionist froze in shock, her mouth slightly agape.

Before she could gather herself, he stopped and turned back. "And I don't do bitches," he added coldly before resuming his stride.

Her face burned with humiliation as she watched him disappear down the hall, his entourage following closely behind.

**

"Good day, Mr. Martinez," one of the guards stationed at the door greeted, bowing slightly.

As expected, he ignored the pleasantries, his icy demeanor unwavering.

"You can't go in," another guard interjected, stepping in front of the door.

Mr. Martinez stopped in his tracks, his head tilting slightly as his penetrating gaze fell on the man who had dared to obstruct him.

"And why is that?" he asked, his tone dangerously calm.

The guard swallowed hard under the weight of that gaze but managed to reply, "Mr. Torres has requested that you come in alone, sir. Your bodyguards are to wait in the bar."

Mr. Martinez let out a slow, measured sigh. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured for his men to retreat. "Wait for me at the bar," he instructed, his voice firm.

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison, retreating obediently.

The guard quickly opened the door for him, and Mr. Martinez stepped inside, his movements as precise and deliberate as ever.

The room was dimly lit, the atmosphere thick with tension. A man stood to greet him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Good day, Mr. Martinez," he said, his voice smooth but edged with something unspoken.

**

"Who... who are you?" Eleanor's voice trembled as she finally found the courage to speak.

The man's smile widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Don't act all innocent. We both know why you're here," he replied, his tone dripping with condescension.

As he spoke, his hand trailed down her arm, his touch cold and unwelcome.

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room as Eleanor's palm connected with his cheek.

"How dare you touch me with those filthy hands of yours!" she snapped, her voice fierce despite the spinning sensation in her head.

The man's face darkened, his cheek reddening from the impact. "Filthy hands, you say?" he sneered. "Filthy hands that you were more than willing to accept twenty-five million dollars from?"

Eleanor froze, her mind racing to comprehend his words.

"Yes, twenty-five million," he continued, his voice rising in anger. "And if that's not enough to shock you, let me remind you-I paid a total of fifty million to get you on my bed!"

"Fifty million?" Eleanor repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "What?"

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum. The room seemed to spin faster, and her knees felt weak. She clutched the edge of the table for support, trying to make sense of the words that hung heavily in the air.

Her vision blurred momentarily, but she managed to steady herself. The man before her looked both triumphant and enraged, his eyes narrowing as he took in her shocked expression.

**

The tension in the air was palpable, each second dragging out painfully as Eleanor tried to process the gravity of her situation. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to get out of that room and as far away from him as possible. But her body refused to obey, frozen in place as fear and confusion held her captive.

She replayed his words in her mind, her stomach churning at the implications. *Fifty million?* Her heart sank further as she realized the full extent of the betrayal she had been subjected to.

Her eyes darted toward the door, calculating her chances of escape. The man noticed her shifting gaze and let out a low chuckle, the sound chilling her to the core.

"There's no point, my dear," he said, his tone mocking. "You're not going anywhere."

Eleanor swallowed hard, her throat dry. She clenched her fists at her sides, mustering whatever courage she could.

"You won't get away with this," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The man smirked, clearly unimpressed by her defiance. "Oh, but I already have," he replied smugly.

Eleanor's heart raced as she struggled to come up with a plan. The walls of the hotel room seemed to close in around her, the opulent decor now feeling like a gilded cage. She took a deep breath, determined not to let him see her fear.

The battle of wills continued in silence, each of them waiting for the other to make a move. The air between them crackled with tension, the stakes higher than ever.