Paris breathed in silk and secrets.
The masquerade estate stood on the outskirts of the city—a palace dressed in moonlight and mirrors, guarded by men who didn’t blink. Inside, everything glittered: crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, women in masks and thigh-high slits, men who wore danger like cologne.
Alina stepped off the private jet in a gown made of black velvet and vengeance. A carved silver mask covered her eyes, her lips painted deep crimson. Her heels stabbed the marble like weapons with every step.
Nicholas followed in all black—suit tailored to cut, mask etched in gold. His presence was thunder behind her lightning.
“You ready for this?” he asked, voice low, deadly.
Alina didn’t answer. She simply walked into the fire.
Inside, Lucien Vale’s world pulsed.
Violins pl
