Chapter Nine: The New Mask
1395 Words
“This was it. My first night out as someone else.”
The car stopped in front of the glass doors, and the sound of distant violins floated through the air.
My driver came around to open the door, but I took a moment before stepping out. My palms were damp even though the air inside the car was cool.
When I finally stepped out, the cameras flashed, catching the shimmer of my emerald dress. It clung and flowed in all the right places, making me look like I had been born for rooms like this—rooms full of gold, champagne, and people who never stopped pretending they were happy.
Inside, the ballroom was lit like a dream. Chandelier light bounced off glass and silver, and soft laughter floated between the tables. Waiters moved around with trays of wine, smiling like machines.
I adjusted the thin strap of my clutch and tried to ignore the hum in my chest. My heels made small, steady clicks as I walked across the marble floor.
I wasn’t here to enjoy myself. I was here to begin.
“Miss, would you like some champagne?” a waiter asked.
“Yes, please.” I took the glass, smiled, and moved to the edge of the room. I wanted to see before being seen.
That was when I noticed him.
He was standing near the stage, talking to an older man in a navy suit. Tall, confident, with a face that looked like it had seen too many boardrooms and not enough mercy. His suit fit like sin, and when he laughed at something the other man said, the sound carried easily even through the music.
Dante Pierce.
My stomach tightened. I had seen his photos before, but they hadn’t prepared me for the real thing. He carried the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken. I sipped from my glass, pretending to look around, but I kept finding him again and again through the crowd.
He turned suddenly. Our eyes met.
For a second, I forgot to breathe. He looked at me as if he already knew something, as if the crowd had disappeared and I was the only person left standing.
I turned away first, heart beating far too loudly, and started toward the art display on the far side of the hall. I could feel him watching, but I kept walking, letting my shoulders relax, my hips move with calm confidence.
“Nice piece, isn’t it?” a voice said beside me.
I looked up. A man stood too close, smiling the kind of smile that expected something in return.
“It’s interesting,” I said politely, already bored.
He kept talking, something about charity, his company, his love for the arts, but my mind wasn’t with him. My attention was drawn to the reflection in the glass ahead of me. Dante had started walking this way.
I didn’t panic. I turned, pretending to laugh at something the man said, but the sound caught in my throat when I collided with someone.
The scent hit me first. A familiar cologne, expensive but sharp, the kind that used to linger on my pillow for days.
Landon.
For a heartbeat, my mind went blank.
He stepped back and steadied me with a light touch on my arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, then smiled. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
I kept my eyes down, forcing a calm smile. “No harm done.”
His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary. Then he froze, studying me. I felt his stare move from my face to my hair, then to my mouth.
“You look… familiar,” he said slowly.
I let out a soft laugh. “I doubt it. I don’t think we’ve met.”
He shook his head, still searching my face. “You sure?”
“Quite sure.” I turned slightly, letting the light hit my face at a different angle, pretending to check the time. I could feel Dante’s steps drawing closer behind me.
Landon tried again. “What’s your name?”
“Elena,” I said smoothly. The name tasted foreign and thrilling on my tongue.
“Elena,” he repeated, like he wanted to memorize it. “Beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled that same confident smile I used to know too well before going blind, the one that had once made me forgive too easily. I wondered if he ever practiced it in the mirror, that little tilt of arrogance that used to make women melt.
“So, Elena,” he continued, “are you with someone tonight?”
“Does it matter?” I asked lightly.
He laughed softly. “Only if you tell me yes.”
“Then maybe,” I replied, turning my head toward the crowd. And that was when Dante arrived.
“Landon,” Dante said, his tone even but cold. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Dad,” Landon replied quickly, straightening. “I could say the same.”
Dante’s eyes slid to me. “And you are?”
“Elena Marks,” I said, extending my hand before Landon could answer.
Dante took it. His hand was warm, steady. “Dante Pierce.”
“I know,” I said softly, smiling just enough to make him curious.
He didn’t let go right away. “I should hope so. It’s my party.”
His thumb brushed lightly over my fingers before he released me. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Trying to,” I replied. “Though I’m not sure I’m the charity type.”
“Neither am I,” he said, watching me too closely. “I only host them.”
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten. His words were calm, but there was humor underneath—dark, playful, testing.
“Then we have something in common,” I said. “Pretending to enjoy things for the sake of appearances.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t think you pretend well.”
Landon cleared his throat beside us. “You two know each other?”
“No,” I said quickly. “We just met.”
“But I feel like I’ve seen you before,” Dante said, still studying me. “Where are you from, Miss Marks?”
“Nowhere special,” I answered. “I’ve lived in too many places to count.”
“Ah,” he said. “A mystery woman.”
I shrugged. “A woman just trying to have a drink.”
“Then allow me to get you one,” he said. He motioned to a passing waiter.
“Red wine,” I said before he could ask.
He smiled like that confirmed something he already knew.
Landon watched the exchange in silence, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and irritation.
“So, Elena,” Dante continued, handing me the glass, “what brings you here tonight?”
“Curiosity,” I said, taking a sip. “And maybe the chance to meet interesting people.”
“Have you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, looking between the two of them. “But the night is young.”
He chuckled quietly. “Indeed.”
Landon stepped closer. “I was actually hoping to steal her for a dance, if you don’t mind, Dad.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “You know, I think she can decide that herself.”
Their stares met, sharp and tense. I almost smiled. Father and son—competing without even knowing why.
I looked at Landon. “Maybe later. I’m still getting a feel for the room.”
He accepted it with a practiced grin, but his eyes stayed on me as he leaned down slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re sure we haven’t met before?”
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Maybe in another life.”
He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. He lifted my hand, his touch light but deliberate, and brushed his lips against my skin.
The contact sent a small, cold shiver up my arm. I held my breath until he let go.
When I looked up, his eyes were narrowed slightly.
“Why do you feel so familiar?”
- Writer
