Chapter 2
Elora
Low music and warm air spilled out together. The entrance led down a staircase, narrow light strips glowing along the walls, a man in a black suit standing at the bottom.
He looked at my rain-soaked clothes. "Invitation."
"Don't have one."
"Then you're in the wrong place."
"Clearly." I wiped the rain off my face and held out the gift box. "Can I trade this for five minutes? Just till the rain lets up. I won't touch anything."
He didn't take it. Footsteps came up from below—a young guy in a burgundy silk shirt. He wore a half-fox mask, flipping a coin between his fingers.
"What's going on?"
"No invitation."
The fox mask swept over me. "Let her in."
"Mr. Rocco—"
"Give her a mask."
The doorman fell silent and pulled out a black tray from the wall. Several masks lay on it. I picked the simplest one—silver-white.
"No photos. Don't ask who anyone is. Don't touch anyone's mask."
"Thank you." I pressed the gift box into the doorman's palm.
"Don't break the rules." Rocco headed downstairs, still flipping his coin. "Or you'll be escorted out."
"Escorted or thrown?"
Rocco stopped suddenly, looking back at me with something between a smile and a smirk.
"Depends. Enzo's in a good mood today. Maybe he'll hold the door for you."
The underground space stretched wider than I'd expected.
Dark red velvet booths lined the walls, brass lights overhead keeping everything dim and hazy.
Everyone wore masks. Some talked at the bar, others pressed close on the dance floor with barely any space between them.
Cigar smoke and liquor hung in the air, shutting out the rainy night like it belonged to another world.
I took a seat at the bar.
The bartender glanced at me. "What'll you have?"
"Strongest you've got."
"That's a request, not a drink."
"Then give me something that'll make me forget today."
An amber-colored drink slid in front of me.
I took a big sip. My throat felt like I'd swallowed a lit match.
"God!" I coughed violently, tears streaming down my face.
"Give her a sidecar. Light on the brandy."
A tall man had appeared beside me. Pure black suit fitted tight across broad shoulders, no tie, top button undone. A black mask covered his brow and nose, revealing only the hard lines of his lower face. Through the mask, I caught glimpses of gray eyes—dark, deep. I couldn't look away.
"Here." He handed me a handkerchief.
I took it and dabbed at my tears. Faint scent of something herbal.
"Thanks. You have trouble sleeping?"
Surprise flickered in his eyes. "How'd you know?"
"Chamomile and lavender." I gestured at the handkerchief.
He leaned in to smell it, eyes narrowing.
"I don't smell anything."
His tone went cold. My stomach clenched.
"I-I just have a sensitive nose—I—"
"Relax." He pushed over the drink the bartender had just delivered. Sugar rimmed the glass, orange peel fragrance drifting up first. I grabbed it and took a sip. Tasted like juice. Way smoother than bourbon.
"Want to play a game?" He turned toward me lazily, voice taking on a playful edge.
"What kind?"
"I guess something about you, you answer one question honestly. You guess something about me, I buy you a drink. You go first."
I studied him warily. But in this place, behind masks, nobody could really see anyone. What was there to be afraid of?
"Why me first?"
"Ladies first."
I stared at him, then shook my dizzy head.
"Fine. I'll go."
I looked him up and down, thought for a moment. "You're hiding out here tonight."
His Adam's apple rolled once.
"Did I get it?"
"Half." His fingers tapped the bar. "Keep going."
"Your shoulders haven't relaxed once." I shrugged. "Either you're tense or something's bothering you."
He laughed low in his chest—rough, dark. The sound fell into my ear like hair brushing skin. Made me itch. I rubbed at my ear.
"One drink." He signaled the bartender.
I sipped, feeling the ice around my heart that had been there all day finally start to melt.
"My turn." He tilted his head, gray eyes moving from my mask to my lips, then slowly down my body. The look wasn't crude, but it carried heat—almost physical. My spine went tight.
"You cried tonight. More than once. Over someone."
I froze.
"Tell me." His voice dropped. "Who made you cry?"
"My boyfriend." I stared at the sugar crystals in my glass. "Ex-boyfriend now. Caught him with my sister today. In bed. He said... I was lifeless. And—" I paused. "And there's all this fat on me."
I thought saying it out loud would be humiliating. But to a stranger whose name I didn't even know, it came easier.
He set his glass down hard.
"He criticized your body?"
I touched my eyes. "I know I'm not thin, but—"
"That's bullshit!"
I stared at him. The edge in his voice made me wonder what I'd said wrong.
"Not you." His tone softened. "Listen to me. A man looks at a body like yours and finds things to criticize? He's either blind or doesn't deserve to touch you. Curves, softness—that's not a flaw. That's what most people would kill for."
My mouth hung open. No one had ever said anything like that to me. Brenda always told me to hide my chest and hips. Ethan gave me a gym membership once, said it was "for my health." But this stranger was talking about fullness like it was an invitation.
"You really think that?"
"I don't do small talk." He leaned closer, those gray eyes catching light and making my heart race. "If you were mine, I wouldn't give you a second to doubt how desirable you are."
My face burned. I was searching for something to say when—
"Hey, sweetheart."
Someone stumbled up to my other side, reeking of alcohol. A drunk guy, mask crooked, half his flushed face showing. His gaze crawled all over my chest.
"All alone?" He reached to put his arm around me. "Come sit with me in the back—"
The hand never reached me. Someone caught his wrist.
The man beside me had the drunk's arm locked tight. The movement was small, but the temperature around the bar dropped instantly.
"Where were you just looking?"
The drunk hadn't processed it yet. "Dude, you—"
"Enzo." He turned his head slightly.
A man built like a grizzly bear started moving our way. The color drained from the drunk's face.
"Wait." I grabbed his sleeve.
He didn't turn, but his grip on the drunk stopped tightening.
"Let him go." My voice shook, but I pushed through. "He's drunk. Doesn't know what he's doing. Really."
"He disrespected you."
"I'm fine." I forced a smile, turning to the terrified drunk, trying to soften my voice. "Sir, if you've had too much, maybe go home, okay?"
The drunk apologized and scrambled away, disappearing fast. Enzo stopped a few steps off, looking confused—at me, then at him.
The man beside me stared down at me, something unreadable moving through his gray eyes. He waved Enzo off and slowly sat back down, gaze never leaving me.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.
"Elora," I answered honestly, then remembered the rules. "Wait, I didn't lose. This round doesn't count."
He laughed softly. "Doesn't count as the game. I just wanted to know."
We kept talking. From the first sidecar to the second, the third... Underground with no windows, time felt like it was soaking in that brass lamp's light, slow and warm. First time I'd ever felt this comfortable sitting next to a stranger.
Don't know what time it was when my eyelids started drooping, tongue getting thick. The glass sat empty. I stood to get another.
I pushed off the bar. Got up too fast. The alcohol rushed to my head all at once, the dark red velvet blurring into a mess of color. My legs went weak, balance tipping out.
"Shit."
I reached for the bar edge and missed.
A solid arm hooked around my waist and yanked me back. My shoulder crashed into his hard chest, my nose filling with that cold cedar scent mixed with faint lavender. I struggled instinctively. His hand loosened for a second. I started falling again. He grabbed—
Next second, a warm, large hand pressed firmly against my chest.