Chapter 4

The masquerade ball was a glittering cage, a opulent prison for the Hudson elite. I wore a shimmering silver gown, a mask of intricate lace obscuring half my face, but it felt less like an accessory and more like a necessary disguise. On my wrist, a delicate silver charm bracelet, a gift from Conor on our first anniversary, clinked softly. It was an anchor, a reminder of the weight of my past.

Across the room, I saw him. Conor. Tall, imposing, in a dark suit, his mask a simple, elegant black. And on his wrist, a matching silver bracelet, a replica of mine. It was a subtle, almost intimate detail, a public declaration of our supposed unity. But it was a lie.

Then I saw her. Hillery. Her gown was a flowing midnight blue, her mask a cascade of feathers. And on her wrist, a silver bracelet, identical to mine, identical to Conor's. My breath hitched. He had bought us both the same token of affection. The same lie. The same illusion.

Conor started towards me, his gaze direct, determined. For a fleeting second, a foolish, fragile hope flickered. Was he finally coming for me? Was he about to confess, to apologize, to tell me he was wrong? My heart gave a traitorous thump.

But Hillery materialized beside him, her hand slipping into his, her touch possessive. Conor paused, his trajectory shifting slightly, his attention instantly diverted. The hope, so brief, so unwarranted, died a quick, painful death.

He looked at me, a polite, almost impatient smile on his face. He extended his hand, a formal gesture. "Jacey, darling. There you are. I've been looking for you."

I stiffened, my previous silence now a roaring protest inside me. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to make him see the absurdity of his charade. But I chose a different weapon. I ignored his outstretched hand.

"Are you quite alright, Jacey?" he asked, his smile faltering slightly. "You seem... distant."

"I'm perfectly fine, Conor," I replied, my voice cool, detached. "Just getting a bit tired of the masked charade." I held up the divorce papers, neatly folded, that I' d tucked into my clutch. "Perhaps it's time we dropped our masks for good."

Before he could react, a sudden hush fell over the room. Grandfather Elsworth, at the podium, tapped the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

Conor's eyes darted towards his grandfather, his attention instantly pulled away. The muscles in his jaw tightened. His hand, which had been reaching for the papers, dropped.

"Conor, this is important," I urged, my voice low but firm. "We need to deal with this now."

He spared me a quick, irritated glance. "Later, Jacey. This is not the time." He gave me a quick, dismissive nod, then turned, walking quickly towards his grandfather, leaving me standing there, divorce papers still in hand.

I watched him go, a strange mix of relief and regret washing over me. He had signed the papers, unknowingly, with his indifference. It was done. The charade was over. My heart felt heavy, but also strangely light. A toxic tether had been cut.

I retreated to a secluded balcony, the cool night air biting at my exposed shoulders. The city lights twinkled below, indifferent to my personal drama. I stared out at the sprawling metropolis, feeling a profound sense of isolation.

Then, a sudden, blinding flash. The grand hall was plunged into darkness, followed by a collective gasp from the crowd. Moments later, emergency lights flickered on, casting long, eerie shadows. A spotlight, erratic and uncontrolled, swept across the room.

My attention was drawn to a secluded alcove, partially hidden by velvet drapes, which the spotlight briefly illuminated. And there, bathed in the harsh, revealing light, were Conor and Hillery.

His arms were wrapped around her, pulling her close, her head tilted back, his mouth descending to meet hers. It wasn't a chaste kiss. It was deep, hungry, desperate. A primal embrace, filled with an intensity that made my stomach churn. The lingering illusion of their "sibling bond" shattered into a thousand pieces. This was raw, untamed passion. This was love, in its most dangerous and forbidden form.

"Oh, look at them!" a giddy voice trilled beside me, a stranger, oblivious to my agony. "Isn't that just the most romantic thing you've ever seen? The way he holds her, so tenderly, like she's his whole world. You can just feel the love radiating from them, can't you?"

Another voice, equally oblivious, chimed in, "They've always been so close, haven't they? Such a devoted couple. It' s almost unfair to other couples, the kind of connection they share. Truly beautiful."

The words were like daggers, twisting in an already gaping wound. Devoted couple. His whole world. It was a grotesque parody of the love I had desperately sought, the love I had fooled myself into believing I shared with him. He loved her with every fiber of his being. He had never loved me. Not even a fraction of it.

Then Hillery' s eyes met mine across the dimly lit room. She wasn' t smiling. She was gloating. And slowly, deliberately, she reached up and pulled a small, silver locket from beneath her gown. It was a locket I recognized, one Alina had designed, a unique, deeply personal piece. She held it up, a silent, mocking gesture, her message chillingly clear: He's mine. And everything that matters to you, will also be mine.

My blood ran cold. The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated cruelty. She was not just stealing my husband; she was desecrating my sister' s memory.

I calmly reached up and unclasped my silver charm bracelet. It felt heavy, suddenly, a burden I no longer wished to carry. I let it fall to the carpet, a soft, insignificant clink.

I walked towards Conor, my steps even, my face a mask of calm. The crowd parted around me, their whispers fading. I stopped directly in front of him, close enough to smell the scent of Hillery' s perfume on his skin, the lingering taste of her kiss on his lips.

"Conor," I said, my voice cutting through the hushed murmurs. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else. Or perhaps, you've always known, and simply didn't care."