Unmasked

Chapter Five: Cracks in the Glass

The text said: Dress hot. That was it.

No emojis. No location. But anyone fluent in the language of boys like Damien Wolfe knew exactly what that meant. The tone wasn’t a request, it was a command.

So I complied.

I slipped into my black daisy dress, the one with the short hem and thin straps that made me feel like a stranger in my own skin. The heels were too tight and pinched at the toes, but they gave me the kind of posture you could weaponize. My hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, each strand pinned like I owed the night perfection.

By the time I arrived, the Wolfe penthouse was pulsing to its own rhythm, like it had swallowed an entire nightclub and decided to throw up luxury. The music vibrated through the marble floors, echoing off the tall glass walls. The laughter floated above it, all drunk, careless, and entirely too expensive.

The room was full of people I didn’t know but somehow always recognized. Pretty, privileged kids orbiting around Damien like he was gravity.

He stood dead center, glass in hand, cozened up with two bald, eerily identical twin brothers in matching Versa. He laughed too loudly, too animated, his hands flinging midair like someone was physically tickling him.

I rolled my eyes. It was almost tragic how good he was at being adored.

As I stepped further in, I was greeted with a light kiss on my left cheek, just soft enough to feel polite, but just sharp enough to be territorial.

“There she is,” Damien said, flashing a head-turning grin, like I’d just arrived to fulfill my role. People’s gazes snapped toward me, their eyes scanning with assessments disguised as compliments.

I nodded, smiled on cue, and said nothing. That was my part in this act. Smile. Sip. Spin.

By now, people were moving like they’d melted into the music. Drinks spilled without consequence. Laughter sharpened at the edges. Bodies pressed close, grinding with the kind of desperation only boredom and wealth can produce.

That’s when I saw him.

Dominic Wolfe. Damien’s older brother. The one who wasn’t part of this chaos but somehow always showed up as if to remind everyone what control looked like.

He stood at the bar, deadpan and still, arms folded across his chest. Three broken glasses sat in front of him, jagged at the lips like someone had gotten angry and careless. He didn’t drink. He didn’t dance. He just watched.

And he was watching me.

His stare was heavy, not intense in the romantic way, but in the way someone stares at a storm on the horizon and already knows how it ends. Our eyes locked for a second too long. The kind of look that bordered on a dare.

I looked away at first.

But the weight of his gaze lingered, like a question that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Did I belong here?

Did he think I did?

An hour later, I slipped away from the crowded living room and found refuge on the penthouse balcony. The air was cool against my skin, the city stretching out before me like a breathing organism, glittering and wild. I rested my arms on the railing and closed my eyes, trying to remember a version of myself that didn’t ache.

The glass door behind me slid open. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. “It’s loud in there,” Dominic said.

His voice was quiet. Sincere. Like he hadn’t spoken all night and was just now testing the taste of it.

I opened my eyes but still didn’t face him. “You don’t strike me as someone who stays at parties that long.”

“I don’t. But I had a reason to tonight.”

I turned then. He was standing there, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal forearms inked in fading tattoos. His hair was pushed back, slightly undone from the perfection he wore like a mask.

“You’re not like the rest of them,” he said, finally. I blinked. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” he replied, stepping closer.

His presence unsettled something in me. Like he could see through the costume I wore. Like he already knew the previous version of me, even if I never showed it to him.

“I think you’re still deciding who you are,” he said.

I swallowed hard. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“Because you’re out here,” he replied softly, “instead of in there.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because the truth in his words struck harder than any party buzz.

He turned, leaving just as quietly as he’d arrived, slipping back into the chaos like a shadow that didn’t belong to anyone.

And I stayed, watching the city, holding onto myself like I might disappear.