The Whitmore Foundation’s annual charity ball was still days away, but the city already buzzed with anticipation.
Every invitation was a statement — black envelope, gold seal, and the promise of power disguised as philanthropy.
Kya turned hers over in her hands, the embossed mask emblem catching the light. “Masquerade,” she murmured. “That means everyone gets to hide.”
Julian adjusted his tie, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “Not everyone hides well.”
She smiled faintly. “You mean you.”
He shrugged. “I don’t need a mask to make people nervous.”
Kya laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach her eyes. The ball wasn’t just another event. It was a stage — and everyone knew how dangerous stages could be.
**
Across town, Dorian Hale stared at the envelope on his desk.
He hadn
