The ballroom smells of champagne and roses, but underneath it,gun oil, fear, and the soft metallic tang of danger. Candles flicker in chandeliers high above, their flames trembling like secrets. Everyone here is masked, faces hidden behind velvet and gold, laughter curling through the air like smoke. Every mask I pass feels like a pair of eyes. Some are hungry, Some hateful, all knowing.
I keep walking, heels clicking against marble, the black invitation crumpled in my palm. The mask on my face feels too tight, the dress too heavy, my pulse too loud. This isn’t a party. This is a hunt.
Then I see him.
Across the room, tall, still, coiled like a predator. Liam.
His mask is black leather, his eyes like winter through the slits. He raises a glass to me, a silent toast, a promise.
I take
