8. Keaton
Chapter 8
Keaton
T he room was bathed in a soft, golden light, shadows dancing on the walls. She stood before me, the girl from the masquerade, her face half-hidden behind a delicate mask. My heart pounded with an intensity I hadn’t felt in years, a raw and urgent need pulsing through my veins.
Her skin glowed like porcelain under the light, smooth and inviting. I could feel the heat radiating off her body, drawing me closer. My fingers itched to touch her, to trace the curves of her silhouette. The fabric of her dress clung to her form, tantalizingly close to slipping away with just a gentle tug.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Her breath hitched, a soft sound that sent shivers down my spine. My hands found her waist, pulling her against me. The contact was electric, every nerve in my body alive with desire. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything—more than freedom from my father’s control, more than escape from my arranged marriage with Lola.
Her lips parted slightly as I leaned in, capturing her mouth with mine. The kiss was slow at first, exploring and tasting, but it quickly grew heated. Her lips were soft and warm, molding perfectly against mine. I deepened the kiss, my tongue seeking hers as our breaths mingled.
With every touch, every caress, the world around us faded away. There was only her—her scent enveloping me, her body pressed tightly against mine. I slid my hands up her sides, feeling the fabric of her dress give way beneath my fingers. The desire to see her bare skin overwhelmed me.
I broke the kiss just long enough to peel the dress from her shoulders. It slipped down easily, pooling at her feet in a whisper of fabric. She stood before me now, exposed and vulnerable, yet so achingly beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.
My hands roamed over her skin, marveling at its softness. I wanted to memorize every inch of her—to know every curve and hollow by heart. She trembled under my touch, a mixture of anticipation and desire reflecting in her eyes.
Somehow, all that existed was this girl who had somehow slipped past all my defenses and ignited something inside me I couldn’t ignore.
I kissed her again, more fervently this time. My hands moved with purpose now—stripping away the last barriers between us until she was completely bare before me.
I couldn’t remember wanting anyone the way I wanted her. It didn’t make sense. Virgins had always been too much work, not enough payoff. But her... she was different. She stirred something primal inside me, something that demanded to be satisfied.
She moved with a grace that was both innocent and seductive, a tantalizing contradiction that made my blood burn. As she slid to her knees before me, I felt a surge of desire so intense it was almost painful. Goddamn, she looked so damn good on her knees. Her eyes met mine, filled with apprehension and eagerness that drove me wild.
Just as I reached down to tangle my fingers in her hair, a knock echoed through the room. The sound jolted me back to reality like a splash of cold water.
I groaned, the ache in my body unbearable now. I was hard, and there was no relief in sight.
My eyes snapped open. The room was dark, the only light coming from the sliver of sunlight filtering through the curtains. My body ached with need, my cock hard and straining against the sheets. The dream had felt so real—her touch, her warmth, the way she made me feel alive.
“Keaton!” My father’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, rolling over and squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to go back to that dream, to her. But sleep wouldn’t come. Her image lingered in my mind, a ghost I couldn’t shake.
Who was she? The question gnawed at me, an itch I couldn’t scratch. She had to be someone from Crestwood. She looked familiar. But with so many faces and masks, how could I possibly find her?
The urgency clawed at me. I needed a name. I needed to know who she was.
The door flew open, banging against the wall. My father stood there, his face twisted in that familiar look of disapproval.
"Keaton, get up! You were supposed to meet Lola for brunch an hour ago," he barked, his voice slicing through the morning silence.
I cut him a look, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on my nightstand. "Do you think I give a flying fuck about Lola or brunch?" I lit a cigarette, the tip glowing as I took a long drag.
His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. "Put that out. You're a hockey player, not some delinquent."
I blew the smoke toward the ceiling, barely paying attention to his tirade.
"Your actions were disgraceful! You were seen alone with some girl at your own engagement party—do you have any idea what that does to our family's reputation?"
I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl and dissipate. "I don't care about our reputation," I muttered.
He ignored me, as usual. "You need to focus on what's important—your future with Lola, the family business. This reckless behavior has to stop."
His words faded into background noise as my mind drifted back to the girl from last night. Her face flashed in my memory, a mix of mystery and allure that refused to let go.
"... are you even listening to me?" His voice snapped me back to reality.
"Yeah, sure," I replied flatly, taking another drag from my cigarette.
His face turned red with frustration. "Keaton, this isn't a joke. You have responsibilities?—"
"I know what my responsibilities are," I cut him off, stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray. "And they don't include playing house with Lola."
He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "You will do as you're told. Or you'll find yourself without a cent to your name."
The threat hung in the air between us. I met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.
"And what if I want to play?" I asked, the words coming out sharper than intended. I was one of the few players who hadn't been drafted, but a couple of teams were interested, and they were all far away from here.
My father clenched his teeth, his face hardening. "Your mother indulged this… this passion," he spat. "But she's not here, and I—" He glared at me, eyes like ice. "You'll inherit the business, do you hear me? You're not some NHL player, especially not with you smoking the way you are. You're going to settle down?—"
"Does it matter with who?" I cut in, my curiosity piqued.
"W-what?" He looked taken aback.
"You want me married, don't you? For our reputation? Does it have to be with her?" I pressed.
He gave me a long look, as if weighing his words carefully. "Let's not kid ourselves, Keaton," he muttered. "Who else is going to have you?"
"It's not like I'm fucking poor," I shot back, hating that his words hit home. My nose was broken and my face wasn't exactly pretty. I was rough around the edges; I knew that. But damn, my dad was such a dick about it.
"Lola actually wants you," he said. "You have a history."
"That bitch fucked my cousin," I snapped. "And my best friend. You think I want to touch her with a five-foot pole? You must be fucking lit."
"You know fidelity doesn't mean anything," he said coolly.
I felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside me, ready to explode. But instead of letting it out, I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. "It's not just about fidelity," I said through gritted teeth. "It's about respect. And Lola? She doesn't respect anyone."
He scoffed. "Respect? In our world, respect is earned through power and influence, not feelings."
"And maybe that's what's fucked up about our world," I shot back.
For a moment, there was silence between us—a rare moment where neither of us knew what to say next. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something—maybe weakness or submission—but he wouldn't find it.
Finally, he spoke again, voice low and dangerous. "You will marry Lola or lose everything."
I held his gaze steadily. The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife. This wasn't just about marriage or inheritance anymore; it was about control and freedom.
"What if I married someone else?" I asked, my voice cold and defiant.
My father lifted his brow, a condescending smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. "Who else would marry you?"
"What the fuck do you care?" I shot back. "As long as it's done?"
He laughed, a harsh sound that grated on my nerves. "You know," he said, his tone mocking, "maybe if I knew you were interested in actually being married, I might have considered giving you a choice. But you're not and I don't. You will marry Lola. That's what's best for this family."
"Family?" I growled, feeling the anger boil over. "You think we're a family? Since Mom died?—"
"Keaton," he warned, his voice dropping an octave.
I took a drag from my cigarette; the smoke filling my lungs before I exhaled slowly. "Speaking of which," I continued, ignoring his warning, "you never stepped out on Ma. And everyone knows you loved her."
"And you think you'll find that?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Keaton, have you loved anyone other than yourself?"
I clenched my jaw, biting back the retort that threatened to spill out. Instead, I forced myself to stay calm. "Maybe I have high expectations," I said, each word deliberate.
"Maybe no one could ever love you," he shot back with venom. "You're going to marry Lola. She's the best you'll ever do, and deep down, you know it."
The words hit harder than any physical blow could have. The familiar ache in my chest intensified, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. He'd always known exactly where to strike to cause the most pain.
But instead of letting him see how much it hurt, I steeled myself and met his gaze head-on. The battle lines were drawn long ago; this was just another skirmish in a war that had been waging for years.
I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary; the embers dying under my thumb. The air between us crackled with unresolved tension and unspoken words.
His expression didn't change—cold and unyielding as ever—but something flickered in his eyes for just a second. Maybe regret? Doubt? It vanished too quickly to be sure.
The silence stretched on until it was almost unbearable.
Then he turned on his heel and left without another word, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room with nothing but my anger and frustration for company.
I sat there for what felt like an eternity, trying to piece together some semblance of a plan that would free me from this suffocating life my father had laid out for me.
And through it all, one thought remained clear: there had to be another way.
And I was going to find it.
I needed to find her. The mystery girl.
She had actually considered my proposal. Part of me was curious as to why she was so willing, what she was wrapped in that she would consider marrying me.
But right now, I didn't give a shit.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a text to Derek, a hacker who knew how to find things. Nothing with him was ever concrete, but maybe…
My eyes fell on the mask she had left behind. It lay on my nightstand. I picked it up, running my fingers over the delicate filigree.
The mask was an intricate piece of work, its surface adorned with swirling patterns of black and gold. Tiny gemstones were embedded within the design, catching the light and glinting like stars in the night sky. The eye holes were rimmed with black lace, adding an air of mystery and allure. It was fragile yet captivating, much like the girl who had worn it.
Holding it made something stir inside me—an unfamiliar feeling that tugged at my chest. This mask was my only clue to finding her again.
The vibration of my phone snapped me back to reality. Derek had replied.
Need more info.
I snapped a photo of the mask and sent it to him.
Find her.
Get me a picture of her.
Fuck, how was I supposed to find her with just —
I cut off the thought and grabbed my phone, dialing The Ritz. The concierge answered with an air of practiced politeness.
"Good morning, this is The Ritz. How may I assist you?"
"Keaton Douglas," I said, making sure to emphasize my name. "I need access to the footage from last night’s masquerade. Some of my things were stolen."
The line went silent for a moment, then the concierge’s tone shifted to one of compliance. "Of course, Mr. Douglas. We will send over the footage right away."
Before I even hung up, my email pinged with new notifications. They didn’t waste any time when it came to high-profile guests.
I opened my laptop and clicked on the links, eyes narrowing as the first video started playing. The screen filled with swirling bodies in masks and elaborate costumes, all lost in the rhythm of the night.
My gaze swept across the screen, moving from one masked face to another. Time blurred as I sifted through clip after clip, my eyes beginning to cross from staring too long at the endless parade of strangers.
Then I saw her.
She moved through the crowd with an ethereal grace that made her stand out among the chaos. Her simple dress shimmered under the chandeliers, a cascade of green that clung to her curves in all the right places. The mask she wore matched perfectly—black and gold filigree that framed her eyes like a work of art.
But it was her eyes that captured me completely. They were a striking shade of green, bright and full of life even behind the mask’s lace trim.
My heart stopped as I watched her laugh at something someone said, her expression open and unguarded for a fleeting moment before she turned away.
I quickly took a few screenshots and fired off an email to Derek with them attached.
On it
I leaned back in my chair, unable to tear my eyes away from her frozen image on my screen. For once in my life, I felt something more than anger or frustration—something akin to hope.
Finding her was just the first step. Now I had to figure out what came next.
I tossed the phone aside and leaned back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Every detail of that night replayed in my mind—the way her eyes had sparkled behind the mask, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled, and how her touch had felt like fire against my skin.
My father’s words echoed in my head, but I pushed them away. This wasn’t about him or his plans anymore. It was about me taking control for once—finding her and figuring out why she had considered marrying someone like me. Was she really in an arranged marriage? Or was that a lie to garner sympathy?
I traced the edge of the mask with my thumb, feeling its smooth surface beneath my skin. The mask held secrets—hers and maybe even mine.
I wasn't sure what drove her to agree to my proposal or what circumstances led her to my father’s masquerade ball that night. But I intended to uncover every last detail until I understood everything about this girl who dared to slip past all my defenses and ignite something inside me I couldn’t ignore.
For now, I would wait for Derek’s findings and hope he could provide a lead. Time felt both agonizingly slow and blisteringly fast as I clung to this fragile connection—this delicate mask that promised answers just out of reach.
And so, with the mask in hand and determination in my heart, I waited for Derek's reply that would bring me one step closer to finding her again.