THE DEVIL'S FAVOURITE SIN

The first rule of survival? Never get caught. The second? If you do get caught… make sure you’re wearing a mask. The gold-and-black mask I wore tonight hid everything but my eyes, and tonight, those eyes were locked on a single target — the glass display case at the far end of the ballroom. Inside it lay a simple, silver USB drive. To anyone else, it was just another corporate prop, maybe part of the auction display. To me, it was the one thing standing between my brother and a prison sentence. The ballroom was a cathedral of excess. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over polished marble floors. The air was heavy with the perfume of money — French colognes, imported roses, and the kind of wine that costs more than my rent for a year. An orchestra played something slow and intoxicating, a melody that made the room feel like honey — thick, sweet, and dangerous. Every step I took was deliberate, blending into the swirl of gowns and tuxedos. I held a champagne flute in my left hand, pretending to sip every few seconds. In my right hand, inside the safety of my black clutch, was my lock pick — slim, cold, and ready. I’d been planning this for weeks. I’d memorized the layout, learned the rotation of the security guards, and even practiced walking in three-inch heels so I wouldn’t draw attention. All I had to do was get to the case, unlock it, grab the drive, and slip out before anyone realized what was missing. Easy. I moved between a pair of women gossiping in low, conspiratorial voices, their jeweled necklaces catching the light. My reflection flashed briefly in the towering mirrors lining the walls — a girl in a midnight-blue gown, hair swept into a low chignon, mask concealing every sharp line of her determination. Closer. The case was just ten feet away now. No guards in sight. The crowd was focused on the dance floor where a couple performed an elaborate waltz. My pulse quickened. I lowered my glass to a passing waiter’s tray without looking at him, freeing my hand. My clutch opened with the softest whisper. My fingers brushed the cool metal of my pick— A hand closed around my wrist. My breath caught. The grip wasn’t painful, but it was unshakably firm. I turned my head slowly, the way you might turn to face a predator you know you can’t outrun. The man standing beside me was tall — easily over six feet — dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His mask was shaped like the spread wings of a raven, the glossy black feathers catching the light. His jaw was sharp, his posture straight and predatory. But it was his eyes that froze me — a piercing, obsidian black that seemed to strip away every layer of my disguise. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, little thief?” The voice was smooth, low, and threaded with an accent I couldn’t place. It wrapped around me like smoke — intoxicating, dangerous, impossible to ignore. My mind spun, calculating excuses, denials, anything. But instead, my lips curved into a smile that I didn’t feel. “Enjoying the party?” I replied lightly. Something flickered in his eyes — not amusement, but intrigue. “You’ve just stolen something far more dangerous than what’s in that case…” He leaned closer, the warm edge of his breath brushing my ear. “…my attention.” The orchestra’s music swelled, the crowd laughed somewhere behind us, and the air between us became a taut wire. I pulled my wrist, but his grip tightened just slightly, just enough to tell me that I wasn’t going anywhere until he allowed it. “Let go,” I said quietly, forcing steel into my voice. “Why would I?” His lips tilted into the faintest smirk, the kind that said he was already three moves ahead in a game I didn’t know we were playing. “Because you’re making a scene,” I said, my gaze darting around to see if anyone was watching. “No one is watching me,” he replied. “They never do. Not unless I want them to.” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of expensive cologne mingling with something darker — like smoke after a fire. “Who are you?” I asked, because I needed to know the name of the man who’d just turned my perfectly calculated plan into chaos. “Lucien Voss,” he said, as if the name itself were a weapon. “And you are…” His gaze drifted down to the mask hiding my face. “…still a mystery. But not for long.” I forced a small laugh. “Well, Lucien Voss, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not a thief.” “Then you won’t mind coming with me so I can verify that.” My heart thudded in my chest. He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand slid down to entwine his fingers with mine — to anyone else, we looked like a couple slipping away for privacy. But to me, every step was a silent admission: I’d been caught. The crowd parted for him without question. People glanced at him and then quickly looked away, the way prey avoids meeting the gaze of a predator. Lucien Voss. I’d heard the name before. Billionaire. CEO of Voss Industries. Ruthless in business, untouchable in court, the kind of man who could buy a city block just to have it torn down if the view offended him. And now, apparently, a man who’d just taken an interest in me — for all the wrong reasons. We reached a side door, and he pushed it open, leading me into a private hallway lined with abstract art and soft golden lighting. The sounds of the party faded behind the heavy door, replaced by the quiet click of my heels on marble. “Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Somewhere we can talk without interruption,” he said, his tone making it clear it wasn’t up for debate. The lock pick in my clutch felt heavier than ever. I wasn’t sure if I was going to use it on the USB drive anymore — or the man holding my hand. One thing was certain. Lucien Voss was not a man you stumbled into by accident. And the way he looked at me… I had a feeling he was about to make me regret breaking the first rule of survival.