Chapter 3 The Masked Dance

Leah stood in front of the full-length mirror, heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

The navy-blue gown fit her like a second skin elegant, off-the-shoulder, the fabric flowing down her legs like water. The crystal heels sparkled beneath the hem, barely visible but impossibly tall. Her dark hair was styled into soft waves, pinned to one side to reveal her collarbone.

She looked... expensive.

Perfect.

Like someone she didn't recognize.

The stylist Amanda had sent left hours ago, polite and professional, saying barely a word. But Leah had caught the way the woman studied her, like she was silently judging how well she fit the designer label stitched inside the gown.

She didn't belong in this world. Not in Xavier Lu's world of sharp suits, tailored power, and hollow smiles.

And yet, tonight, she would walk beside him on his arm, in front of cameras, pretending to be his wife in every way that mattered. The media would be watching. Investors. Rivals. His entire empire.

And not one of them could know the truth.

The contract burned in her mind.

No romantic involvement.

Appear as a loving couple in public.

Discretion is paramount.

She inhaled slowly.

You can do this, Leah. Just play the role.

The doorbell chimed softly.

She turned toward it, fingers tightening around her clutch.

When she opened the door, she froze.

Xavier stood there in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His hair was slicked back, and the sharp line of his jaw could have cut glass. He didn't smile he never smiled but his gaze flicked over her, unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally, his voice low, cool.

"You're ready."

Not a compliment. Not even an acknowledgment.

Just a fact.

Leah stepped into the hallway, her chin lifted.

"I assume I'm not late."

"No. You're on time," Xavier said, offering his arm.

She hesitated, then took it.

His body was warm beneath the fabric, his movements precise. He led her to the private elevator, and silence filled the space as they descended.

Leah resisted the urge to fidget.

"Where is the gala?" she asked, breaking the quiet.

"The Lu Family Foundation hosts it every year. Tonight's at the Kingwood Mansion. Art auction, corporate donors, high society vultures," he said.

She blinked. "Vultures?"

His mouth twitched. Almost a smirk. "They circle anything that smells like wealth or weakness."

Leah gave a soft laugh. "And which one am I tonight?"

He looked at her then really looked. "Neither. You're my wife."

Her breath caught.

Not because of the word, but the way he said it. With finality. Possession.

She reminded herself: This is just for show.

The drive was quiet. The city glittered beyond the windows like a dream she never asked to enter. When they arrived at the estate more castle than mansion paparazzi lights flared in the distance.

Xavier turned to her, voice low.

"Smile when needed. Speak only if spoken to. And stay close."

"Got it," she said.

He paused, then added, "You'll be fine."

It wasn't warm. But it wasn't cold either.

Then the car door opened, and they stepped into the storm of flashing lights.

Leah kept her expression neutral, her smile barely there as she stepped out of the car. The cameras erupted the moment Xavier appeared beside her, a flurry of flashing lights and shouted questions.

"Mr. Lu! Over here, who's the mystery woman?"

"Is that your wife? When did you get married?"

"Can we expect a press release?"

Xavier ignored them all.

His arm remained steady beneath her hand as they ascended the marble steps to the mansion's grand entrance. The cameras followed them like wolves.

Inside, the space opened into a magnificent ballroom vaulted ceilings, chandeliers glittering like starlight, and a sea of designer gowns and tailored tuxedos. A string quartet played somewhere in the distance, but all Leah could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.

This was not her world.

But she would not be swallowed by it.

Xavier leaned close, his breath brushing her ear. "They're watching."

She nodded slightly and turned her head to meet his gaze with a soft, practiced smile. His arm tightened fractionally almost imperceptibly.

They moved through the crowd with elegant detachment. Whispers followed them.

"Who is she?"

"I thought he was engaged to Cassandra?"

"She's... pretty. But plain."

"Must be temporary."

Leah kept her face serene, even as the sting of judgment pricked her skin like needles.

They paused near a large floral display where a tall man with graying temples approached, his smile calculated.

"Xavier," he said warmly. "You finally brought a plus-one. And what a surprise she is."

Xavier's tone was cool. "Leah, this is Richard Lian investor, professional nuisance."

The man chuckled. "Only because I ask the questions others are too afraid to."

His eyes slid to Leah. "So this is the mysterious wife. You've been holding out on us."

Leah extended her hand, playing the role. "It's a pleasure."

"Oh, the pleasure is ours. I imagine the gossip columns will feast on this tomorrow."

"She's not a secret," Xavier said curtly. "Just not a prop."

Leah blinked.

Richard raised a brow, amused. "Touché."

As he drifted away, Xavier glanced at her. "You did well."

"Thanks," she said quietly. "I've been practicing my blank smile."

That earned a faint smirk from him. "You'll need it. The real sharks haven't arrived yet."

They continued to circulate, Xavier speaking to board members, sponsors, artists. Leah stood at his side, poised and silent, aware of every eye on her. But it wasn't until a new voice called out that she felt something shift.

"Well, well. The ice king finally brought his queen."

Leah turned.

A tall woman with fiery red hair and a red gown that hugged her like sin approached with a glass of champagne in one hand and a smirk on her lips.

"Cassandra," Xavier said flatly.

Leah's stomach dropped.

The ex-fiancée.

Of course she'd be here.

Cassandra's eyes flicked over Leah, and the smile turned sharp. "You didn't tell me you were married, Xavier. How charmingly old-fashioned of you."

"I don't recall owing you an announcement," he replied.

Cassandra stepped closer, ignoring him. "Leah, is it? What an unusual name."

"It's common, actually," Leah said, her tone calm. "Just not in rooms like this."

Cassandra's smile faltered. Just a fraction.

Xavier's fingers brushed against Leah's back an intentional gesture of support.

Cassandra saw it.

"Well," she said, recovering. "Enjoy the evening. If you survive it."

And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Leah exhaled slowly. "She's... charming."

"She's poison," Xavier said. "Don't engage her."

"She engaged me."

He looked at her then. "You handled it better than most seasoned PR reps."

"I'm used to dealing with people who think they're better than me," she said.

There was something in her tone that made Xavier's brow crease but before he could speak, a tap on the crystal glass rang through the room. Silence fell.

An announcer stood at the base of the grand staircase.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this evening. We'll now begin the charity auction. All proceeds benefit the Lu Family Children's Art Foundation."

Polite applause echoed.

Xavier leaned down. "We should take our seats."

But Leah's eyes had locked on something an easel near the front, covered with a silk drape. Something about it pulled at her.

"What's that?" she asked.

"One of the final items. A surprise piece from an anonymous donor."

Minutes passed, items were auctioned off diamond jewelry, private yachts, luxury getaways. Leah tried to focus, but her pulse picked up as the emcee pulled back the drape on the final easel.

A painting.

Small, haunting.

A little girl in a hospital bed, her eyes gazing out a sunlight-filled window.

Leah's breath caught.

She knew that painting.

It was hers.

One of the sketches she had sold to pay for Emma's medication.

She'd thought it lost in a bundle of bulk sales. But here it was framed, spotlighted, being called a "masterpiece of raw emotion from an up-and-coming artist."

She couldn't move.

"Do I have a starting bid at ten thousand dollars?"

"Fifteen," someone called.

"Twenty."

Leah turned to Xavier, voice barely a whisper. "That's mine."

He looked at her, startled. "You painted that?"

"Yes. Years ago. I sold it to a broker. I didn't know it would end up here."

His eyes returned to the piece, then to her.

Without a word, he raised his paddle.

"Fifty thousand," the emcee called.

Murmurs erupted. No one outbid him.

"Sold."

Leah stared at him.

"Why did you do that?"

"You shouldn't have to watch strangers own a piece of your soul."

Her throat tightened.

The moment hung between them too honest, too intimate.

The lights dimmed. The quartet resumed.

And the mask slipped, just for a second.

The lights shifted, dimming into a golden hue as the string quartet transitioned into a waltz. The room buzzed with soft chatter and the sound of designer heels brushing against marble floors.

Xavier offered his hand.

Leah stared at it.

"You want to dance?" she asked, surprised.

His expression remained unreadable. "It's expected. You're my wife."

Of course. Appearance first. Always.

She placed her hand in his, trying not to flinch at the warmth of his touch. He led her to the dance floor where other couples had begun to sway, spinning beneath the grandeur of chandeliers and crystal.

Xavier's hand settled at her waist, the other holding hers firmly.

Leah followed his lead, careful to match his steps. But it wasn't just a dance. Every movement felt like a performance. Each step, each breath, rehearsed in front of dozens of watching eyes.

"You dance well," he said quietly.

She blinked. "You sound surprised."

"I assumed you'd avoid these kinds of events."

"I do," she said. "But I also had a mother who dreamed of me becoming a princess. She made sure I learned everything 'a proper lady' was supposed to know."

"A cruel expectation."

Leah's gaze flicked to him. "And what about you? Raised to be a prince?"

"Raised to be a weapon," he replied.

There was no bitterness in his voice. Just cold fact.

The music swelled. He spun her, and for a moment, they moved in perfect harmony. Like something out of a fantasy.

But fantasy always fades.

Leah inhaled deeply. "Why me, Xavier?"

He looked at her, not pretending to misunderstand. "Because you were desperate. And honest about it."

"That's all?"

He hesitated.

"No," he said, softer. "You didn't want anything from me. Not power. Not access. Not the Lu name. That made you... safe."

She swallowed hard.

"I'm not safe," she whispered.

He stared at her, eyes dark.

"I'm starting to realize that."

The music ended.

They stood still for a beat longer than necessary, and when they stepped apart, something shifted between them-an invisible cord, taut and fragile.

A voice interrupted the moment.

"Xavier," someone called. "Your father is asking for you."

Xavier's jaw tightened. "I'll be back."

Leah nodded.

She moved toward the edge of the ballroom, needing air, distance. As she reached the open terrace doors, cool night air swept over her like relief.

She stepped outside, hands gripping the stone railing. The estate's gardens stretched below, dotted with golden lights.

Inside, she was a painting perfect, lifeless, admired.

Out here, she could breathe.

"Running from the crowd?"

The voice startled her.

Cassandra.

She stepped out of the shadows in her red gown, like some ghost from Xavier's past.

Leah straightened, spine stiffening.

"I needed air."

"Of course. It can be suffocating, pretending to be something you're not."

Leah kept her tone calm. "Is there something you want?"

"Just a warning," Cassandra said, circling slowly. "Xavier may look like the dream but he's carved from ice. He doesn't love. Doesn't feel. He's incapable of it."

"Sounds like you speak from experience."

"Oh, I do. I wasted two years trying to warm a man who doesn't have a heart."

Leah's hands clenched.

"You think I don't know this is a contract?" Cassandra sneered. "You're a placeholder. Temporary. The media will have their story, the investors will see a stable figure. But in a few months, you'll be gone. And someone like me will be back."

Leah looked her dead in the eye.

"I'd rather be temporary and real than permanent and hollow."

Cassandra's smile faltered.

Before she could reply, footsteps approached.

Xavier appeared, his gaze sharp.

"Is there a problem?"

"No," Leah said, stepping toward him. "Cassandra was just leaving."

He looked at her for a moment then at Cassandra, who held her chin high and stalked back into the ballroom.

Leah exhaled slowly.

Xavier studied her. "What did she say?"

"Nothing I didn't already know."

He didn't reply.

Instead, he held out his hand again.

"Come on. Let's go home."

She took it.

Later that night

The ride back was quiet.

When they reached the penthouse, Leah started toward the guest room, but Xavier's voice stopped her.

"Leah."

She turned.

"I meant what I said earlier," he told her. "About the painting. It deserved to be seen. But not bought by strangers who don't know what it means."

Leah looked at him, her voice barely a whisper.

"Why are you being kind to me?"

He hesitated. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

A pause.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I'm not as cold as I thought."

She gave a sad smile. "Then stop pretending to be."

Their eyes met.

For a moment, there was only silence between them charged and unspoken.

But then she stepped back.

"Goodnight, Xavier."

She disappeared down the hallway.

And for the first time in years, Xavier Lu was left standing in the quiet... wondering.