Later that night, Daemond found himself standing in front of a neon-lit building, the words "Gentlemen's Club" flickering in the dim light. His mind was racing, still reeling from the kiss with Mahnoor, the softness of her lips, the way she had made him feel something he couldn't understand. The confusion had overwhelmed him, pushing him to this moment, to this place.
He hadn't told Mahnoor where he was going, hadn't even told himself until he was standing outside the club, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He needed to know—needed to understand if what he felt for her was real or just some strange anomaly. Was he truly attracted to her, or was it something else entirely? He wanted to know if he was bisexual, or if Mahnoor was just an exception. And there was only one way he thought he could find out.
Taking a deep breath, Daemond pushed the door open and walked inside. The heavy scent of alcohol and perfume hit him immediately, the flashing lights and loud music assaulting his senses. The place was crowded, but his eyes quickly found the stage where a few women were dancing provocatively, their bodies bare, moving to the rhythm of the music.
He sat down, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind swirling with thoughts of Mahnoor. He needed to know. Could he feel this for other women? Could he be bisexual? Was it possible that he had been wrong about himself all these years?
As he sat there, a stripper approached him, her smile sultry as she swayed her hips, leaning in close. "Hey, handsome," she purred, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she leaned forward, her bare skin brushing against him.
Daemond tensed immediately, a wave of discomfort washing over him. He could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her body, but instead of arousal, all he felt was disgust. His stomach churned as she pressed closer, her fingers tracing his arm, trying to seduce him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still, to endure the touch, but every second felt like a lifetime.
Another woman approached from the side, her body even closer, her hands sliding down his chest. The sensation made his skin crawl, and he had to fight the urge to pull away, to tell them to stop. His mind flashed back to Mahnoor, to the way her touch had made him feel alive, real, connected in a way he couldn't explain.
But this—this felt wrong. It was empty, hollow. The women's hands felt cold, mechanical, like they were only performing an act, and Daemond realized with a sinking feeling that there was nothing here for him. No spark, no interest, no desire.
He wanted to vomit.
Standing abruptly, he pushed the women away gently but firmly, muttering an apology as he backed out of the room. The neon lights, the loud music, the smells—it all blurred together as he made his way to the door, feeling a deep sense of relief the moment he stepped outside into the cool night air.
His heart was still racing, but this time for a different reason. The test had been clear. It wasn't women. It wasn't about being bisexual or anything else he had feared or wondered. It was Mahnoor.
Only Mahnoor.
The realization hit him like a freight train. She was the exception. The only woman who had ever made him feel... anything. The only one who could break through the walls he had built around himself. She was his lifeline, his anchor in a storm of confusion.
As he walked away from the club, his thoughts were consumed with her—her laugh, her touch, the way she looked at him with both affection and desire. She wasn't just another woman. She was something more, something he couldn't define but knew he couldn't live without.
Mahnoor was different. And in his heart, Daemond knew she was the only one who would ever make him feel this way.