SEVEN
390 Words
Chapter 7 – Faces Behind the Masks
The grand ballroom of the Madrigal Hotel glittered with opulence. Influential politicians, powerful businessmen, and society’s elite filled the room Xavier Madrigal called his world. The crystal chandeliers shimmered like stars, their glow reflected in champagne glasses raised in laughter. The hum of polite conversations mingled with the smooth melody of the string quartet.
Amidst it all stood Althea. She wore an emerald gown chosen by Lea’s team of stylists, its fabric clinging perfectly to her form. Every step she took beside Xavier felt like walking across a stage. She could feel the weight of every gaze that followed them—probing, judging, asking the silent question: Is she worthy of being Mrs. Madrigal?
But the sharpest gaze of all came from Clarisse.
The woman was dressed in a crimson gown, even more striking than the night of their first encounter. Her lips curved into a polite smile, yet her eyes burned with a fire that seemed determined to consume every ounce of Althea’s courage.
“Mrs. Madrigal,” Clarisse greeted smoothly, brushing a kiss against Althea’s cheek. Her words dripped with sugar and venom. “You look lovely tonight. Perfectly suited… for a role that was never really yours.”
Althea’s chest tightened, the sting of the remark sinking deep. Before she could muster a reply, Xavier’s voice cut in, cold and sharp.
“Clarisse. I didn’t expect you’d come.”
Their eyes met—Xavier’s and Clarisse’s—and in that fleeting silence, Althea felt the weight of a history she wasn’t part of. There was anger there, yes, but also pain. A wound still raw, no matter how Xavier tried to hide it.
As they moved around the ballroom, greeting guests, the whispers never stopped. Every polite smile seemed laced with hidden judgment. Yet what unsettled Althea most wasn’t Clarisse’s presence—it was Lea’s.
Always nearby. Always watching. A shadow at their backs, like a silent sentinel guarding a secret that no one dared to speak aloud.
And as the music soared and glasses clinked, Althea felt it more than ever: this world was nothing but a stage. Every person wore a mask, smiling for appearances, hiding their truths beneath layers of elegance.
The only question that haunted her was—
When will one of those masks finally fall?
- Writer
