Mask

When The Devil Speaks Of Love

The ballroom shimmered like it had been carved out of heaven itself.

Gold-plated chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, bathing the marble floors in a soft, romantic glow. Classical music floated through the air, delicate, harmless, but beneath it, the hum of whispers was sharp enough to cut.

This wasn't just a charity gala.

It was a battlefield dressed in silk and champagne.

And I, I had come dressed to kill.

My gown was custom Dior: a midnight-blue velvet creation that clung to me like it was spun from shadows themselves. A high slit cut up my thigh, scandalous enough to make the press gasp, while the off-shoulder neckline framed me like a portrait in a gilded frame. Mother would've approved. Klaude? Even more so.

"Smile, Anastasia. Let them worship you," I murmured to myself, stepping into the crowd.

The vultures descended instantly.

"Lady Anastasia! Over here!"

"Miss Montesque, is it true the wedding date is already set?"

"Are you excited to marry the Croft heir?"

Click. Click. Click.

Cameras flashed as if their attention could immortalize me.

I gave them the perfect smile. The angel they all wanted me to be. The one who couldn't possibly bleed.

And then I saw her.

Olivia.

She was leaning against the champagne bar, draped in a blush-pink silk gown — too soft, too sweet, trying too hard to look like she belonged. Her hair was styled to perfection, her lips painted the same delicate rose color I'd once picked out for her when we were in university.

How interesting.

Her eyes met mine across the room. A flicker of recognition. A flicker of guilt.

And then — nothing.

She looked away first.

Good.

I floated toward her, champagne in hand, as though I wasn't coming for blood.

"Olivia," I said sweetly. "How... surprising to see you here. I didn't realize they allowed plus-ones for charity events."

Her jaw tightened. "Anastasia."

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "How are you adjusting? I can imagine it must be overwhelming, being here with... well... people of our circles."

It was a soft blade, my words sugar-coated enough to keep the onlookers oblivious. But Olivia heard it. I saw the flash of red in her cheeks.

Her lips curved into something that wanted to be a smile. "Not as overwhelming as I thought. Klaude's been... very helpful."

A direct hit.

I swallowed the rage before it could surface, letting my grin widen instead. "Oh, I bet he has. He's such a generous man. That's why I treasure him. He's always willing to help those... less fortunate."

The couple beside us — a well-known Viscount and his wife — chuckled at my comment, nodding approvingly.

"Oh, that's kind of you, Lady Anastasia. Helping people from... outside the circle."

Olivia's face stiffened.

And there it was.

The sting of being reminded — no matter how much she dressed up, no matter how much she pretended — she wasn't one of us.

"Excuse me," I said airily, placing my empty glass on the bar. "Do enjoy the evening, Olivia. Try not to get lost."

I left her there.

Smiling like the benevolent saint they all thought I was.

Klaude was waiting for me outside on the balcony.

Leaning against the marble railing, black tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, champagne dangling carelessly from his hand.

"That was cruel," he said without looking at me.

I stepped out into the cold night air, my heels clicking against the marble. "Don't eavesdrop on conversations that don't concern you."

He smirked, still watching the skyline. "Oh, but it does concern me. You just humiliated the woman I was entertaining."

The words hit like a slap.

I froze. "Entertaining?"

Finally, he turned, leaning back against the railing with deliberate ease. "Don't act surprised. You knew she'd be here."

My stomach dropped. "No. I didn't."

His smirk widened. "Oh. Then I guess that makes this more interesting."

The bastard.

"You invited her," I said flatly.

"Of course I did." His tone was maddeningly casual, as if there was nothing to confess. "She doesn't belong in this world. But when she's with me..." His eyes glinted dangerously. "She does."

I laughed — low, cold, bitter. "You really do enjoy humiliating me, don't you?"

"Don't make this about you." He pushed off the railing and closed the space between us, his height swallowing me in his shadow. "Not everything I do revolves around you, Anastasia."

My blood boiled. "Then what is this? Charity? Pity?"

His smirk softened — not smug this time. Something else. Something far worse.

"She matters to me," he said simply.

It felt like the ground had been ripped from under me.

There it was.

No games. No denials. Just brutal, unapologetic honesty.

My throat tightened. "You... love her."

He didn't answer.

And that silence was louder than any confession.

I forced a laugh, brittle and sharp. "You're unbelievable. Parading her around like some dirty little secret you want the world to see."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "She's not a secret. She's Olivia."

Her name on his tongue was a blade.

"You don't get it, do you?" I stepped closer, my voice like ice. "You don't just humiliate me when you do this. You taint me. You make me a laughingstock. And I won't let you drag my name into the mud for your... feelings."

His grin was gone now, replaced by something darker. "Careful, Anastasia."

"No." I stood taller, heart hammering but unflinching. "You don't get to tell me to be careful. Not when you're in love with someone else while engaged to me."

His jaw flexed. He didn't deny it.

That silence was my answer.

I smiled. Slow. Serene. Deadly. "Then enjoy your little affair, Klaude. But remember this—" I leaned in, my lips almost brushing his ear. "If you think she can outplay me in my own game... you're dead wrong."

I didn't wait for his reply.

I turned and walked back into the glittering ballroom, my head held high, every step a silent promise:

If Klaude Croft wanted to make me bleed, I'd make him burn.