A slow tide of perfume and candlelight drifts through the marble hall, and Selene stands at the edge of the masked ball, her heart a wild drum beneath an ivory half-mask shaped with gilded leaves. Her dress is dusk blue, silk clinging to curves she half-wishes she could disappear, half-hopes someone—he—will notice. Her hands tremble around a borrowed crystal glass as she scans the crowd. Laughter ripples; satin and velvet swirl in the shifting light. And then she sees Jorell.

He wears a black suit, severe and precise, save for a silver mask that softens his jaw. His hair, unruly as always, tumbles in dark waves over his brow, but there’s nothing careless in his posture—shoulders tense, eyes sharp, seeking. Their gazes meet. She knows him even in disguise, drawn to him on instinct, breath catching as he crosses to her. He offers his gloved hand, fingertips trembling as if he’s been holding himself still all night.

They move to the dance floor, wordless at first, bodies drawn to each other, her fingers slipping into his palm. Jorell’s voice is a low hush near her ear. “You’re not hiding as well as you think.” His thumb caresses her knuckles, sending heat through her. She lets herself lean in just enough to feel the press of his chest against hers, every muscle taut with wanting.

With each turn, the world disappears. Their hips brush, then linger. His breath against her cheek makes her shiver, and desire knots low in her belly. She wants to confess everything—the secrets, the guilt, the way he undoes her—but the music swells, and the spell holds.

A new partner approaches—Vyra, clad in sharp emerald, her mask glittering with tiny stones. Her hair is styled into a slick, brutal twist, lips painted blood-dark. “May I?” Vyra’s voice is velvet venom, her smile too wide as she slips between Selene and Jorell, claiming Selene for a waltz. Jorell hesitates, but retreats, his jaw set, watching. Vyra’s grip is tight, nails cold through the fabric of Selene’s gloves.

“You play dangerous games, Selene.” Vyra’s words are a whisper for Selene alone, her smile unwavering for any onlooker. “Don’t forget who holds the cards.” Selene tries to pull away, but Vyra spins her close, her arm cinching Selene’s waist. Fury and longing burn behind Vyra’s eyes. “He’ll break you. Or maybe he already has.”

Selene bites back a reply, throat tight. “If you care so much, why betray him?” Vyra’s laugh is almost silent—a sound more wounded than cruel. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Or what I’ll do to keep what’s mine.” Their dance ends in a whirl of dizziness, Vyra releasing her with a shove, eyes glistening.

Selene flees, heart pounding, into the velvet-shadowed hallway. She finds Jorell waiting by a heavy door, mask in his hands, eyes pleading and fierce. “Come with me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. She follows, pulse wild, down stone steps into a secret room beneath the house, air thick with dust and memory.

Jorell pulls her close, hands at her waist, mouth desperate on hers. They collide against ancient stone, her back arching to meet him. His fingers tangle in her hair, his breath ragged and uneven. She clings to his jacket, tugging him closer, every kiss a confession, every gasp a promise. “I love you,” she chokes out, voice breaking, “even if I’m too late.”

He cups her face, eyes bright with longing and fear. “You’re not too late. Not yet.” Desire and terror unravel between them, their bodies pressed tight, hands greedy and trembling—clothing slipping, skin meeting skin, heat layering over heartbreak. Every sigh is tinged with apology, every touch edged with confession. The world narrows to the space between their mouths, the urgent pull of need.

When they collapse together, breathless and undone, Jorell buries his face in her neck. She holds him, tears mingling with sweat, afraid to let go—even as guilt claws at her insides.

A door opens above. Vyra’s silhouette floods the stairs, her face pale and hard. She tosses a flash drive onto the steps, voice cold as porcelain. “It’s done. Your secrets are sold, Jorell. And you,” she spits at Selene, “are exactly what I warned you’d become.”

The final echo of Vyra’s heels dies in the shadows, leaving Jorell and Selene clutching each other, hope collapsing into dread.

To be continued...