CHAPTER THREE-BENEATH THE MASK
1344 Words
Alina had never worn a mask that weighed as much as the one she wore tonight.
The Thorne Foundation Gala was the event of the year—where power dressed up in designer and wealth pretended to be generous. She stood at Liam’s side in a crimson silk gown, her hand wrapped loosely in his, her smile fixed and flawless.
But beneath her skin, she was vibrating with fury.
“This way,” Liam murmured, guiding her past reporters, his hand placed gently on her lower back.
Cameras clicked.
People smiled.
The whispers started the moment they entered the ballroom.
“That’s her.”
“The new Mrs. Thorne.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Poor thing. Doesn’t know what she married into.”
If only they knew.
Alina kept her expression composed as she took in the lavish space—crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, a string quartet playing near the marble staircase. The air reeked of wealth and secrets. The Thorne empire had spared no expense. This was where reputations were forged—or destroyed.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.”
Victor Thorne’s voice cut through the noise like a scalpel.
Alina turned to face him.
The man who destroyed her father.
Victor looked every bit the kingmaker—elegant in his tuxedo, salt-and-pepper hair swept back, eyes sharp and calculating. He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes.
“You’re radiant, my dear,” he said, lifting her hand and brushing his lips over it. “Liam is a lucky man.”
Alina’s stomach turned.
She returned the smile with one of her own—polished, hollow. “And I’m the luckiest woman alive.”
Victor chuckled as if they shared some private joke. “I’m glad to see the two of you…adjusting.”
His gaze lingered on Liam, who met it with cool indifference. There was tension there. Not just the usual father-son strain. Something deeper. Something brittle.
“We’re settling in,” Liam said.
“Good.” Victor glanced around. “The press loves you. Keep it that way. After tonight, I want projections up 7% by quarter end.”
Alina blinked. Quarter end? As if their marriage was a stock to manage.
Victor moved on, already schmoozing a senator before she could respond.
“I see where you get your charm,” she muttered.
Liam didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the ballroom. “We’re expected to dance.”
Alina arched a brow. “I’m not a puppet.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But you are a player. And this is the stage.”
She hated that he was right.
They stepped onto the dance floor, joining the elegant swirl of couples moving to a soft piano melody. Liam’s hand slid to her waist. Her fingers rested lightly on his shoulder. His touch was warm, steady.
He wasn’t a bad dancer. Controlled. Measured. Like everything else about him.
“Are you always this tense when touching a woman?” she asked as they moved.
He glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only when she threatens to kill me over breakfast.”
Alina gave him a thin smile. “Only because you started it.”
A small laugh escaped him—surprising, unguarded. “Is that what we’re calling this now? A war of breakfast threats and fake smiles?”
“What would you call it?”
“A cold war with couture gowns.”
Their eyes met. For a second—just one—Alina felt something shift. Not soft. Not romantic. But real.
She looked away quickly.
She couldn’t afford to see Liam Thorne as human. He was the son of a man who destroyed her family. He was the enemy.
Even if his hand on her back felt less like control and more like protection.
“You never asked me why I agreed to this,” Liam said after a moment.
“I assumed it was for PR.”
“It was. Partly.” He spun her gently. “But mostly? It was because my father hates the idea.”
That made her blink. “So this is your rebellion?”
“In a tailored suit, yes.”
She studied him. “So you want to burn him down too.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “He built an empire from ashes. But not his own. Other people’s. Your family wasn’t the first.”
Alina’s pulse kicked. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m tired of wearing his face.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Because for a moment, she believed him. Not the press release Liam. Not the cold CEO. But the boy who had grown up in the shadow of a tyrant.
Then the music slowed, and Liam stepped back. “We’ve done our duty. Smile a few more times and we can disappear.”
Alina nodded, her thoughts buzzing.
An hour later, she slipped away to the balcony, needing air.
The city stretched beneath her in glittering silence. Far from the curated sparkle of the ballroom, here she could finally breathe. She leaned on the railing, her mind replaying Liam’s words.
He wasn’t just a pawn.
He was a weapon forged by the same man she came here to destroy.
“Enjoying the night?”
The voice made her stiffen.
She turned slowly.
A tall man stepped out of the shadows. Dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. A scar along his jaw.
“Daniel,” she said, heart thudding.
Daniel Cortez. Her father’s former head of security. The man who vanished after the collapse. The only one who knew about her plan.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she whispered.
“I had to be sure you were still in control,” he said, stepping closer. “And to deliver this.”
He handed her a flash drive.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Financial records. Buried transactions from the year your father’s company was stolen. Traced to Victor Thorne’s offshore accounts.”
Alina stared at it. “Are they admissible?”
“They’re encrypted with two-factor authentication. You’ll need Liam’s private access key to open the final layer.”
Her stomach twisted. “He won’t give me that.”
Daniel’s eyes hardened. “Then get close enough to take it.”
She closed her fingers around the flash drive, a storm brewing behind her ribs.
“Be careful, Alina,” Daniel said. “He’s dangerous.”
She looked out at the city again. “So am I.”
That night, Liam was already in the living room when she returned. He had removed his tie, jacket thrown over a chair. He looked tired—but alert.
“Was the party too much for you?” he asked without looking up from his drink.
“Your father’s voice is an effective headache trigger.”
A pause.
Then, “You handled yourself well tonight.”
She crossed her arms. “Is that approval?”
“Observation.” He sipped his whiskey. “You play the game well.”
“I learned from the best,” she said. “Liars, manipulators. Kings and monsters.”
Liam finally looked at her. “And what are you, Alina?”
She didn’t blink. “A queen.”
A tense silence settled between them.
He gestured to the seat beside him. “Join me.”
She hesitated, then walked over, sitting stiffly. Close enough to breathe the same air. Close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“You didn’t want this life,” she said quietly.
“No one wants a cage, even if it’s lined with gold.”
She looked down at the drink he offered her, untouched. “Then why stay?”
He turned to her, eyes unreadable. “Maybe I’m waiting for the lock to break.”
Their eyes held for a long moment.
And Alina knew—this was more than a marriage of convenience now.
This was a battlefield.
And neither of them was backing down.
- Writer
