Chapter 8 The Game of Masks

The Game of Masks

The bodyguard stepped out of the car swiftly, circling around to open Ethan's door.

Ethan adjusted his jacket, one hand resting casually against his abdomen - a subtle, habitual gesture of quiet dominance.

He stepped out, crushing his cigarette beneath his polished shoe with deliberate precision.

There was something in the way he moved - the unshakable confidence of a man who knew the world bent to his will.

Every head turned as he walked by; the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

He approached Sophia, who stood waiting near the entrance, her smile as practiced as it was dangerous.

Ethan extended a hand to greet her, offering a sleek black box wrapped with a ribbon.

His voice dropped to a low murmur, smooth and restrained:

"It seems you've planned this evening very carefully."

Sophia laughed softly, her tone dripping with mock sweetness as she tilted her head flirtatiously.

"Oh, I'm sure the gift I have for you will be far better than yours, Ethan."

He smiled faintly - that calm, unreadable curve of his lips that made people wonder whether he was amused or plotting.

"We'll see about that," he said simply.

Within moments, businessmen swarmed around him like moths drawn to flame, eager for a word, a glance, a deal.

But Ethan's mind wasn't on them.

His eyes swept the room in slow, searching movements - not for power or profit, but for one person.

His little one.

Meanwhile, Sophia glided toward the kitchen.

Before stepping inside, she shut the small window so that Amelia couldn't see what was happening in the hall.

Then she called out sweetly, her tone dripping with false concern.

"Amelia, darling, I'm so sorry. The waitress who was supposed to serve tonight had to leave - her mother fell ill.

Could you help for a while? Just serve some drinks to my guests.

I'll double your pay for the trouble, I promise."

Amelia hesitated. Her instincts whispered caution, but the need to please - to survive - won instead.

She nodded weakly.

Sophia smiled, already one step ahead.

"Perfect," she said, handing Amelia a folded sheet of paper and a pen.

"Just sign here, dear - it's to confirm you received your wages.

So many girls tonight, I'd rather keep things organized."

Without a second thought, Amelia wrote her name.

She didn't read the paper - she didn't know she had just signed her own undoing.

Moments later, she stepped into the glittering chaos of the ballroom, balancing a silver tray of wine glasses.

Her heart pounded. She approached the nearest table, offering a glass with trembling fingers.

But she didn't notice the man behind her - tall, unsteady, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath.

His hand slid around her waist as he leaned close, his voice slurred with intoxication.

"Do you know... you might be the most beautiful woman here."

Amelia froze.

Her skin crawled beneath his touch, her mind screaming for her to move.

She tried to step away quietly - afraid Sophia might see and punish her - but the man only chuckled, his words thick with drunken arrogance.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered. "I'll pay you well... you're worth every dollar."

Across the room, Ethan stood with his back to the crowd, glass in hand, speaking to a business associate.

But his eyes - those sharp, stormy eyes - scanned the room relentlessly.

He was looking for her.

Then his bodyguard leaned in, murmuring something quietly.

Ethan turned.

And saw her.

His vision blurred with fury.

The man's hand was still at her waist.

The next few seconds vanished in a rush of heat and movement.

Before anyone could react, the drunk man was on the floor, blood trickling from his temple.

Ethan didn't even remember crossing the distance.

His bodyguard stepped in swiftly, dragging the man out of the hall, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Ethan stood there, chest rising and falling, his expression unreadable but his rage unmistakable.

The room dared not breathe.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to destroy everything in sight.

No one - no one - had the right to touch her.

He moved closer to her, his voice lower, rougher than he intended.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

But Amelia barely heard him.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her mind still trapped between fear and disbelief.

Then - the scent.

That scent.

The same one from that night.

She knew it instantly - deep, distinct, unforgettable.

Her lips parted, trembling as she whispered, "I'm fine... thank you."

She turned, ready to flee -

But Sophia's voice cut through the heavy air, her tone honeyed and cruel.

"What do you think, Ethan?" she purred, stepping closer.

"That girl - she's your surprise for tonight. I paid her to spend the night with you."

Sophia smirked, holding up a sheet of paper - the same one Amelia had signed earlier.

"If you'd like proof," she added sweetly,

"you can see her signature yourself... right here on her contract."