Ch 3

The estate was too quiet. Eleanor’s instincts screamed warning as shadows shifted across the polished floors. Two figures emerged, sleek and predatory — the Velour Twins, Syndicate’s finest saboteurs, trained to exploit her strength, her pride, and her body.

She was coming out of the bathroom

“Ready to play, Ms. Vale?” the first twin hissed, circling, eyes glinting.

“I don’t play,” Eleanor snapped, dropping into a fighting stance.

The first move came fast. The twin grabbed her wrist, twisting, and flipped her into the marble coffee table. She slammed into it, tiles cracking beneath her indestructible form, the table exploding into splinters, glass shards spraying across the floor. She gasped — pain still coursed through her nerves, humiliation twisting through her at being tossed like a ragdoll, naked in the wreckage.

Before she could recover, the second twin snatched her leg mid-strike, flipping her across the room. She crashed into a wall, plaster cracking under her weight, picture frames shattering, glass cutting through the air. “You’re… so fragile,” the second twin mocked, brushing a hand over her slick shoulder as he **** her upright.

Eleanor spun, throwing an elbow at him. She landed a sharp blow to his jaw — success! — and for a heartbeat, she had an opening. She charged the first twin, tackling him to the floor, driving him into the shattered remains of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Glass exploded under them, cutting the air with sharp edges. She rolled, keeping him pinned, relishing the rare taste of control.

But the second twin was already there. “Not so fast,” he growled, yanking her off the first twin. She slammed into the opposite wall, leaving a deep dent in the drywall where her shoulder collided. Pain flared, even as her indestructible body held firm.

“Come on, Vale. You can fight, but you can’t fight both of us,” the first twin taunted, pushing her forward into a lampstand, which shattered under her impact. She barely had time to twist as a vase exploded under her thigh, ceramic splintering against her skin — indestructible, yet every nerve screaming.

Eleanor’s chest heaved. Sweat slicked her naked body, her muscles flexing instinctively, turning her indestructibility into a weapon. She ducked, sweeping one twin’s legs, flipping him over a sofa. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, cracking the hardwood beneath him.

“Yes! That’s it,” she muttered under her breath, tasting victory.

But the second twin seized her by the hair, yanking her upright and slamming her back-first into a glass partition separating the library from the main hall. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface as she bounced off, pain flaring along every nerve, leaving her breath ragged.

“Enjoying yourself?” the second twin whispered, circling her as she struggled. “We just got started.”

She lashed out with her knees and elbows, striking one twin squarely in the ribs. He grunted, staggering — another small victory. She twisted, sending him into a bookshelf, books cascading like dominoes around her, crushing against her bare arms and thighs. She gritted her teeth, savoring the rare moments she gained control, even as her nerves burned with the pain of impact after impact.

The Twins moved as one, relentless. Every successful strike she landed was countered moments later — one freed the other from her grapple, they slammed her into walls, furniture, glass, marble, all with precision designed to maximize humiliation and sensory overload. Her body shattered everything it touched, yet every nerve still screamed.

Eleanor pressed herself against the floor, chest heaving, sweat gleaming. She glanced at the wreckage around her — splintered tables, shattered mirrors, broken lamps, dented walls, books strewn across the floor — all a test of her endurance and pride.

She rose again, voice low, eyes blazing: “I’m not done yet.”

The twins smirked, circling her like predators savoring the hunt. “We hope not,” one said, “because the night is far from over.”