CHAPTER SIXTEENMASQUERADE BALL
1311 Words
Damien stood near the window in his penthouse suite, staring out at the steel bones of the city. The night had begun to rain.
His phone buzzed. He picked it up. It was a video call from his father.
“Damien,” the man’s deep voice rumbled. “You look thinner. Are you eating?”
“I eat,” Damien said flatly.
“Well, make sure you do. Ethan and Anastasia will be flying in soon. I expect you’ll make time to see them.”
Damien’s jaw ticked. “When?”
“Two weeks. Ethan’s closing out the Paris deal. Anastasia… well, she just wants to see her big brother.”
A flicker of warmth crossed Damien’s expression at the mention of his youngest sister. “She’s coming back?”
“Yes. She misses you.”
Damien gave a small nod, but the mention of Ethan twisted his stomach. That old competition. That constant shadow.
His father noticed but said nothing. Just watched.
“Don’t let your insecurities keep you from your family, Damien.”
“I’m not,” Damien replied, voice colder now. “I just don’t like chess games.”
“You never did.” His father smiled slightly. “But you always win when you play.”
The call ended, but the weight lingered.
---
At work, a breakthrough finally came. After weeks of meetings, edits, delays, and long nights, the Beringford Contract—a lucrative marketing deal between Ashe and Locke and one of the biggest luxury home brands in the country—was approved.
The campaign, largely spearheaded by Arielle, was praised for its modern yet timeless strategy.
Damien had said little, but his rare nod of approval during the announcement meant everything.
Emails flooded in. Congratulatory calls came through. The energy in the office buzzed like electricity.
And then came the invitation:
*A Masquerade Dinner to celebrate the official contract signing.*
Both companies. All teams. Evening wear required.
---
Two days before the dinner, Damien sat in his office, staring at his calendar. The date was circled in red.
Elena Lockwood—the heiress from the luxury brand—had made it clear she’d be there. She was elegant, charming, poised. A perfect face for high society and business dinners. It was also known that she had actually taken a liking to him since they were in their early university days, till date. She was a beautiful woman, but she wasn’t Arielle.
Not that he cared.
It was a strategy. Appearance. Elegance.
He sent the text anyway:
Would you accompany me to the masquerade dinner? — D.
Elena replied a few minutes later:
I was hoping you’d ask. Yes. I’ll try not to upstage the event.
She added a wink emoji.
Damien set his phone down and leaned back.
It was all falling into place. The deal. The dinner. The image.
But why, then, was his mind drifting back to the sound of Arielle’s laugh echoing down the hallway?
---
Back in the design department, Arielle sat with Nina during their lunch break.
“You heard about the masquerade party?” Nina asked, already typing ideas into her phone. “I’m ordering my mask today. It’s gold and black, very 'Phantom of the Marketing Department.'”
Arielle chuckled. “It’ll be nice to actually celebrate.”
“You should wear something that stuns,” Nina said, grinning. “Something that makes people talk.”
“They already talk.”
“They’ll talk anyway. Might as well give them a show.”
Nina leaned closer, eyes dancing. “And I heard Damien’s bringing Elena as his date.”
Arielle blinked. “Of course. Makes sense.”
Nina frowned. “That’s it? No biting comment?”
“I’m not his date, Nina.”
“No,” Nina said slowly. “But he sure looks at you like you’re the only person in the room sometimes.”
Arielle picked up her coffee. “Then he should learn to blink more often.”
—
Arielle wasn’t sure why she let Nina drag her into the boutique on 7th Avenue, but here she was, standing under a dazzling chandelier as her friend sifted through racks like a woman on a mission.
“This one,” Nina said, pulling out a red gown with a thigh-high slit and enough sequins to blind a photographer. “It screams ‘I am the storm.’”
“It screams I might not get invited back,” Arielle laughed, shaking her head.
Nina held it against her anyway. “Don’t play modest. You’ve got the body. Might as well use it to cause a little drama.”
Arielle rolled her eyes, but something in her softened. Being around Nina always did that.
As they moved deeper into the boutique, a dress caught Arielle’s eye—a simple, floor-length black gown made of silk and soft tulle. It had a sweetheart neckline, delicately structured boning, and sheer long sleeves with scattered black crystal detailing that glimmered under the lights. Its back dipped into a low V, elegant without being overdone.
“This,” Arielle said quietly.
Nina turned, her breath catching. “You... That’s the one.”
Arielle stepped out of the fitting room minutes later.
Nina covered her mouth. “You look like a dream that’s just dangerous enough to chase.”
Arielle smoothed the fabric down her waist, smiling. “It’s perfect.”
Later that evening, Arielle sat in her room while Airyana braided her hair and Olivia bounced on the bed, humming along to a playlist Arielle had playing in the background.
“So, do you have a date for this fancy party?” Airyana asked, not even pretending to be subtle.
Arielle chuckled. “No date.”
Airyana sighed. “But you’re wearing that dress. And you’re not going with anyone?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s work, not prom.”
“I hope someone asks you to dance,” Olivia added with a dreamy smile.
Arielle laughed, tugging her little sister into a hug. “You two just worry about taking care of Jace, alright? I’ll be home before midnight.”
Airyana nodded, more serious now. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“I know you will.”
___
The hotel ballroom shimmered in golden light. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above velvet-draped tables. Every guest wore a mask—some bold, some intricate, and some delicately understated.
And then came Arielle.
The moment she entered, a hush seemed to follow her.
Her dress clung in the right places, whispering of class and quiet confidence. Her black mask was a delicate filigree of lace and glittering stone, hugging the contours of her cheekbones and drawing attention to her eyes, which were rimmed in soft charcoal and gold. Her lips, painted a deep berry, stood out under the mask, like a secret waiting to be told.
She didn’t need to try.
She simply was.
Men turned. Conversations slowed. Whispers floated.
Damien spotted her from across the room, his breath halting in his chest.
She was the only one he saw.
Elena, his date, was speaking to someone beside him, but her words were drowned in the thrum of his own pulse.
He couldn’t look away.
Arielle, unaware—or pretending to be—held her champagne glass delicately, her smile calm but unreadable.
Nina leaned in and whispered, “I think you broke five necks just walking in.”
Arielle shrugged, but her cheeks flushed lightly.
Across the room, Damien’s hand tightened around his glass. Elena turned to say something to him, but his eyes remained fixed on the woman in the black gown.
He wanted to dance with her.
Desperately.
But Elena had slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
And tonight, he had obligations.
He couldn’t break the image. Not yet.
But he could look.
And he did.
- Writer
