Chapter 1 The Masquerade

The chandeliers dripped with gold, casting molten light across the marble floors of the Deveraux Hotel's grand ballroom. Elena Hart stepped through the archway, heart clenched in her chest like a secret. And her gown, a deep emerald satin that shimmered with every breath, was borrowed, just like the heels pinching her toes and the confidence she wore like armor.

Everything about tonight was borrowed. Except for the desperation.

She scanned the room as the orchestra played something sweeping and elegant. Glittering masks floated past her was powerful men and women cloaked in anonymity and wealth. Deals were being made in the shadows of champagne flutes. Elena wasn't here to dance or drink. She was here to save her mother's firm.

One good client. One strong pitch. That's all it would take to keep Hart & Co. from collapsing under the weight of her father's mistakes.

"Elena Hart," she whispered under her breath like a mantra. "Designer. Strategic. Unflappable."

She took a flute of champagne from a passing tray, not because she needed the drink, but because standing empty-handed made her feel exposed. As she moved toward her first target-a real estate mogul whose luxury condo line was bleeding bad taste, someone brushed her arm.

This felt firm and intentional, so she turned and locked eyes with a stranger in a simple black mask. His suit was midnight tailored, and his presence was magnetic in a way that instantly short-circuited her thoughts.

Despite this happening, he didn't speak or apologize; he just extended a hand, and this made Elena hesitate as she didn't know how to react to her surprise, since this wasn't in the plan.

"What do you think?" She began.

"I'm only requesting for a dance," The stranger uttered.

"A dance," She scoffed, and rolled her eyes over afterwards. "You could have been polite about it and not brushed my shoulder intentionally."

"My bad, still I want a dance." The stranger hesitated as his hand remained stretched. At this point, Elena knew she had no choice but to give, as eyes were starting to shift to her, and causing a scene at the event was not part of the plan she had made. Gently looking at herself, she'd worn this gown to appear poised, professional. Not... tempting. With that, her fingers moved toward his like they had a will of their own.

"Just one dance," she murmured to herself. "Then back to business."

Then, he led her onto the dance floor, into a swirl of string music and murmuring crowds. One of his hands settled at her waist, and it felt warm and strong to Elena, while the other held hers lightly, as if aware she might bolt, though she should have.

"You don't talk a lot?" she asked as his lips curved in response. "I talk when it matters."

The sound of his voice was low, smooth, and self-assured; it was like it unraveled something in her. He wasn't just powerful, but used to being listened to.

"You're not like the others," he added, his tone soft but sure.

"You don't know me," Elena uttered.

"I know you don't want to be here," he voiced, as a soft smile followed, and this made her mouth go dry as the truth sat too close to her skin.

"You're very sure of yourself," she continued.

"I have reason to be." he replied as a smirk followed yet again.

Elena hated the smirk that followed, and she hated that her body reacted to it by her heart racing and breath catching. She was here for business, and yet here she was, swept into the rhythm of a stranger who danced like sin and moved like temptation.

One dance turned into two, and her stomach twisted with guilt as her firm was drowning and her life was in chaos. She had no time for mystery men and sultry glances, and still, when he leaned closer, his breath brushing her temple, making her resolve splinter.

"Come with me," he said, his voice quiet and certain.

"I don't even know your name."

"I don't need yours," he replied as everything in her screamed No. But she nodded.

However, down the corridor, the gala fell away behind them, replaced by the hushed opulence of the upper floors. The elevator ride was silent, humming with tension, so she began thinking of how she would not end this here and decided to make some excuse and return to the party to reclaim the plan.

But she didn't take any action; it was as if her heart was willing to leave, but her body was fascinated by him. Soon, they arrived at a suite, and it was filled with nothing but luxury, from the

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Manhattan skyline, to the huge gold chandelier, but Elena barely noticed the view as she turned toward him, and he was watching her like he already knew what she'd decided.

This is reckless, stupid, and dangerous, but she kissed him anyway.

It started as a test. A dare. But his mouth was already in heat and command, and his hands were sure yet slow. He caught her face like it was breakable, deepening the kiss until the world dropped away.

Her dress slipped from her shoulders. His jacket hit the floor. They moved like people who had nothing to lose, who didn't want to ask questions or make promises, only to feel.

Her back hit the bed in a rush of silk and nerves as she wasn't drunk or coerced, but she was choosing this-choosing him, if only for tonight. His mouth followed the line of her throat, then lower, igniting sparks in her blood. Her hands roamed his back, mapping muscle and skin, while holding him closer as he pressed into her.

Every movement was deliberate, unhurried. He kissed her like she mattered, touched her like he was memorizing. She arched beneath him as he entered her slowly, filling her in a way that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

He moved with maddening control-slow strokes, then faster yet deeper. Her moans filled the dark as his name never passed her lips. But she knew it would stay in her memory anyway.

It wasn't just sex.

It was a storm. A release. A tether snapping loose in her chest. For once, she wasn't the fixer or carrying debt, shame, or the weight of her mother's legacy.

She was just a woman, and this was an escape.

Afterward, wrapped in silence and the faint hum of city lights, Elena lay awake beside him. His chest rose and fell steadily, an arm draped across the empty space where she'd once been. She watched him for a moment, looking unguarded, peaceful, and almost said something.

Though she almost asked who he was, but she didn't as she understood that some fantasies only worked if they ended before the sun rose. So, she rose quietly, gathering her gown from the floor and slipping into her heels. Her body ached in places she hadn't felt alive in months, and suddenly, she paused at the door, her fingers resting on the handle. As she thought to herself that this was a one-night stand, and since she didn't know his name, there wouldn't be any consequences. However, with those thoughts in mind, she stepped into the hallway, let the door click shut behind her, and disappeared down the service stairs before the world could catch up.