Chapter Two: Entering the Lion’s Den
1400 Words
The sound of violin strings floated in the air like whispers of old secrets. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a luxurious glow on the marble floors of the Drake Estate. Everything about the place screamed power, legacy, and mystery.
Isabella stood at the grand entrance, her heart racing beneath the black lace of her masquerade gown. She adjusted her mask a delicate golden piece that hugged her face and glittered under the lights. The invitation had been fake, of course. A forgery she'd paid dearly for. But the risk? Worth it.
She had to see him.
She had to see Alexander Drake the man who might be her father… or worse, the man who would deny her very existence.
The estate buzzed with life. Guests in elaborate gowns and tailored suits danced, laughed, and sipped champagne as if the world outside did not exist. Wealth was not just in their bank accounts it was in the way they walked, the way they looked past the poor, and how they smiled with secrets behind their teeth.
She walked in with slow, confident steps, her eyes scanning the room.
No one paid her much attention.
Good.
Until she saw him.
Across the ballroom, standing near the grand piano, surrounded by three men in tuxedos and a woman who looked like she had just stepped off a Milan runway.
Alexander Drake.
Tall. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit with a velvet lapel. His salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his presence commanding. His mask was simple black, sleek, and cold. His eyes, though… sharp, steel-blue, and too aware.
She couldn’t breathe for a second.
That man… is my father?
He tilted his head slightly as if sensing her gaze, then turned and looked directly at her.
Her blood froze.
He saw her.
And for a moment just a split secondhis face changed.
Recognition?
No… something deeper. Something primal.
Then it was gone.
He turned back to his conversation, but Isabella couldn’t unsee the way his fingers clenched slightly, the way he shifted his weight.
He knew.
Isabella exhaled slowly, steadying herself. She moved across the floor like a shadow, blending with the sea of silk and secrets. Her mind replayed the moment his eyes met hers—like a blade slicing through her defenses.
She needed to speak to him. But how?
The ballroom was vast, with servants gliding by with trays of sparkling wine. Conversations in hushed tones and pretentious laughs filled the room like background music. She found a quiet corner near a towering window draped in velvet and watched.
Every move Alexander made, she studied.
He wasn’t laughing. He never laughed. He nodded when spoken to, smiled politely, but there was tension in the way he stood. Like a predator on alert.
Suddenly, the crowd parted—and a younger man walked toward him. Isabella’s heart skipped.
This man—he was younger, early thirties perhaps. Ruggedly handsome, wearing a black tux with a midnight-blue pocket square. His hair was slightly tousled, and his mask didn’t hide the boldness in his jawline or the fire in his eyes.
They shared the same eyes.
Her breath caught again.
Could he be… her brother?
The thought startled her more than she expected. The man leaned into Alexander and whispered something. Alexander’s eyes narrowed and flicked—once again—toward her.
Then, the older man nodded.
Seconds later, the younger one peeled away from the group and walked in her direction.
Straight toward her.
She turned quickly, heart pounding. Stay calm, Bella. You planned this.
He reached her before she could disappear.
“Leaving so soon?” his voice was rich and dangerously charming.
She turned slowly, offering a polite smile. “Should I know you?”
“I was about to ask you the same.” He extended a hand. “I’m Damian. Damian Cole.”
The name wasn’t Drake.
She hesitated, then placed her gloved hand in his. “Belle.”
He smiled as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Belle. Fitting.”
He didn’t let go of her hand right away.
His gaze swept over her face, then lingered on her eyes.
“You’re not one of the usual guests,” he said. “I know everyone who attends this party.”
“Maybe I prefer not to be known,” she answered.
“Hmm. Mysterious.”
“Dangerous,” she corrected with a smirk.
He laughed—low and unexpected. “I like dangerous.”
The music swelled in the background as couples waltzed on the shining floor. Damian took a step closer.
“Care for a dance, Belle?”
Isabella hesitated. But maybe this was the only way to stay close. To learn more.
She nodded.
He led her to the floor, his hand settling on the small of her back as if he already owned the right. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed. She had danced before—just not with a stranger who smelled like pine, leather, and the threat of desire.
They moved in rhythm. Elegant. Suspiciously natural.
“You have a purpose for being here,” he said suddenly.
Her steps faltered, but she caught herself.
“You think everyone at this ball has a purpose?” she asked.
“I know they do. No one comes to Alexander Drake’s estate without a reason.”
She studied his face. “Are you his son?”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Interesting question. Why do you ask?”
“You seem close.”
“I’m close to a lot of powerful men.” His smirk widened. “But Alexander and I share... history.”
That wasn’t a no.
Isabella’s heart hammered in her chest. She felt like she was dancing on a cliff’s edge—and the fall would be long.
“Belle,” he said, tightening his hold slightly. “Who sent you?”
She looked up at him, holding his gaze.
“My mother.”
That answer hit harder than she expected.
Damian’s jaw shifted, but he said nothing.
Before she could say more, a voice cut across the floor.
“Damian.”
Everyone froze.
The music softened.
Alexander Drake stood a few feet away, his gaze locked on them.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Alexander’s presence silenced the room without raising his voice. That was the kind of man he was—the kind whose aura spoke louder than any words.
Damian immediately let go of Isabella, taking a respectful step back. But Isabella didn’t move. She stood tall, meeting Alexander’s eyes like a soldier facing judgment.
He studied her.
Everyone in the ballroom watched.
“Who is she?” Alexander asked.
His voice was deep, smooth, but deadly—like silk covering a blade.
Damian hesitated, then said, “Belle. A guest.”
Alexander turned his gaze fully on Isabella.
“A guest,” he repeated. “With no invitation.”
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Isabella took a breath. “I came because I had to. This wasn’t an accident.”
Alexander walked toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. The crowd parted like water before him.
“And what do you believe this is?” he asked, stopping just a foot away. “Some fairy tale? A masquerade where the lost daughter comes to find her father?”
The room gasped.
Isabella didn’t flinch.
“I came for answers,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of the truth.”
He looked at her—really looked. Something in his eyes flickered.
Then he leaned in, voice like poison-laced honey.
“Truth is the most dangerous thing in this house, child. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Isabella whispered, “Maybe I do.”
Silence.
Then Alexander straightened.
“Damian.”
“Yes?”
“Take her to the east wing. The blue room.”
Damian looked surprised. “You’re not calling security?”
“I want to know what she knows. And who sent her.”
He turned to Isabella.
“We’ll speak... privately. Tomorrow.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving confusion and fear in his wake.
Damian motioned for her to follow.
“This way.”
As they left the ballroom, Isabella’s mind raced.
She had cracked the surface.
Now she was inside the lion’s den.
No turning back.
Or at least, he suspected.
- Writer
