The chandeliers dimmed, and a hush swept across the ballroom as the host stepped onto the stage. His mask glittered under the lights, gold and theatrical.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, voice booming with practiced charm, “welcome to the Whitmore Foundation’s Annual Masquerade Charity Ball. Tonight, we dine, we celebrate, and we give back.”
Applause rippled through the room.
Kya and Julian took their seats at Table Seven — a prime spot near the center, close enough to the stage to feel important but far enough to avoid the spotlight. Sadie slipped into the seat beside Kya, her wine‑red dress catching the candlelight.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered. “Traffic. And also… I couldn’t decide between three masks.”
Kya smiled. “You look perfect.”
Sadie glanced at the empty chair besi
