Beneath the Mask

A night of Obsession

James POV

I tossed and turned in my bed continuously, unable to shake the image of her. Clara. The woman with the mask. Her amazing voice, the way it cut through the air with a perfect mix of raw emotion and control—it haunted me. My mind replayed the moment over and over again, like a song on repeat. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her?

I had never been affected like this before. I was used to controlling my emotions, shutting down any feelings before they even had a chance to grow. But Clara… she was different. There was something about her that drew my attention. Her presence. That voice. I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

I turned over, glancing at the clock and it felt like time was moving slowly. 2:45 AM. I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. My mind still wandered back to her, I didn’t know what it was, but I had to know more. Why had she hidden her face? What was her real identity? I needed answers. But even more than that, I needed to see her again. I needed to hear that voice. To figure out what it was about her that kept me up at night.

I closed my eyes, trying to find sleep, but as I drifted off, one thing nagged at me—a strange thought. Clara’s voice. It felt familiar. Too familiar. I had heard it before… but where? It was maddening. I shook my head, dismissing the thought telling myself I was just imagining things. Clara’s voice was one of a kind. There was no way I could have heard it before.

But even as I tried to drift into sleep, I couldn’t let go of the feeling. I needed to see her again. I had to.

The next morning, I was up at the usual time—7 AM. The usual routine. My suit. My favorite red tie. My coffee. But today was different. Today, my mind was elsewhere.

I arrived at the office at precisely 7:30 AM, as always, and there she was—Sophie. My secretary. Standing at the door, waiting for me like she always did, holding my bag.

I handed my bag to her, my eyes scanning her face longer than usual, but my thoughts weren’t on her. They were still on Clara. Sophie started reading my schedule to me, her voice—soft, timid, unsure—drifted in the background. It was then, in the silence between her words, that something strange happened. I froze.

Her voice.

It was too similar. It reminded me of Clara’s voice. The same rhythm. The same tone. It was impossible, though. Sophie couldn’t be Clara. She could never be.

I pushed the thought away immediately and nodded as she continued with the schedule. But I couldn’t ignore it. The voice. The way it made me feel. It stirred something inside me I couldn’t explain. Why did Sophie’s voice remind me so much of Clara?

Sophie finished reading, and went to fetch me a cup of coffee just like she always did. I always start my day with a cup of coffee. As she walked away, I couldn’t help but stare at her. I looked at her closely, trying to find any connection between my assistant who had worked with me for 2 years and the woman I had seen last night. Sophie, with her clumsy, timid demeanor, could never be Clara. There was no way. No connection at all.

I dismissed the thought immediately. Clara was confident. She owned the room. Sophie, on the other hand, barely spoke above a whisper. No. They couldn’t be the same person. Even in her next life, Sophie could never be like Clara.

I forced myself to focus on my work, but the distractions were impossible to ignore. My thoughts kept drifting back to her. Clara. The masked woman. The voice.

I stood up abruptly, picking up my phone. I needed answers. I called my friend, Drey, the one who had given me the heads-up about Clara’s performance last night.

“Hey, I need you to do me a favor,” I said, my tone sharp. “Give me the number for Clara’s manager.”

He hesitated, but I didn’t care. I needed this.

“Sure, but why?” he asked.

“Just give it to me,” I snapped. “I’ll explain later.”

After a few moments, he sent me the number. I didn’t waste any time. I called immediately.

The line clicked, and a female voice greeted me.

“Hello, Clara’s management.”

“I’d like to book a VIP ticket for Clara’s performance tonight,” I said without hesitation. I didn’t care about the details, just the opportunity to see her again.

The woman on the other end of the line responded, “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood, but Clara is not performing today. The next show is tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow? No. I couldn’t wait that long. I had to see her today.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. Then, the idea came to me, an impulsive thought.

“What about a private concert? Can you arrange that for me?” I asked, my voice low and persuasive.

There was a long pause on the other end. I could practically hear the manager weighing her options, but I didn’t give her time to refuse.

“I’ll offer you $100,000 if you can make it happen today. You’ll have the money in your account by the end of the hour.”

Another pause. A long one.

Finally, she spoke, “Alright, Mr. Blackwood. It’s done.”

I hung up the phone and looked around the office. Work could wait today. Today, I was going to see Clara again. I closed my laptop and grabbed my jacket, heading out of the office earlier than usual.

I arrived at the bar where Clara performed that night, heart racing in anticipation. My mind was still reeling from the earlier exchange. I couldn’t explain it. But I knew, deep down, that I had to see her again. I needed to understand this pull, this obsession that was growing inside me.

Then, there she was.

Clara walked onstage with an exuding aura she always carried, her mask concealing everything except for her eyes. Her voice filled the room, and every note seemed to pierce my soul. I stood frozen, watching her. My heart raced, my pulse quickened. I could feel the heat of her presence, even from a distance.

She was mesmerizing. And yet, something felt… different this time. The mask. Her voice. I couldn’t stop staring. It was all-consuming and fun.

When her performance ended, I didn’t wait a second longer. I made my way toward her, each step heavier than the last. The moment I stood before her, I knew it. What I felt for her wasn’t just admiration. It was something more—something real. Something I couldn’t place. A desire that had been simmering beneath the surface, something I couldn’t ignore any longer.

I stood in front of her, our eyes meeting, and I knew that whatever this was, I had to know more.

I had to find out what I really felt for Clara. And I was willing to go to any length to discover it.

Then Clara turned to leave but I stopped her with a single word: “Wait!”

She froze, her back facing me. I continued, “Who are you? And why are you hiding your face behind a mask?” My voice was low but laced with curiosity and determination to find out her real face behind the mask.

She didn’t respond, instead she just walked away leaving me with a burning need for answers.

And for the first time in years, I felt something I couldn’t control, obsession. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.