24. Isabel
24
ISABEL
I storm up the stairs, my fingers tightening around the garment bag as I grumble under my breath. Maxwell’s arrogance, his smug little smirks, the way he acts like I belong to him—like I belong to any of them—it all drives me insane.
The absolute worst part is, he doesn’t even seem to care. He’s so nonchalant about it all, like it’s just a twisted game.
By the time I reach my room, I’m fuming. I slam the door shut behind me and twist the lock, sealing myself away from their constant overbearing presence. My pulse is still thrumming from the interaction and the way Maxwell looked at me, like he was already picturing me in whatever ridiculous thing he picked out.
I let out a sharp breath before finally unzipping the bag, half expecting something gaudy or absurd just to piss me off, but when I pull the fabric out...
It’s beautiful.
The gown is black, deep and rich, with an almost ethereal shimmer, like the night sky captured in silk and tulle. Delicate sparkles cascade down the bodice like tiny fallen stars. The skirt is long, flowing, with layers of fabric that make it look whimsical, like something out of a dark fairy tale. It’s elegant yet mischievous. It’s … Maxwell .
Damn him.
I bite my lip and run my fingers over the material, unwilling to admit how much I actually like it. Then , I notice the mask tucked beneath it, and I pull it free. It’s silver, intricate, with elegant filigree that swirls out like vines curling over the edges. The eyes are sharp and feline.
It’s perfect, and that only pisses me off more.
I toss both items onto the bed and glare at them. Then , a thought creeps in.
They might be keeping me on a short leash, but the masquerade ball is an opportunity. Everyone will be dressed up, faces obscured, bodies pressed into a crowd thick with strangers. If I play my cards right, I might be able to slip away.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering the risks. Maxwell isn’t stupid. He won’t let me out of his sight, not for a second, but even he can’t control everything, no matter how much he loves to act like he does. If I time it right, wait for the perfect moment, maybe I can disappear into the chaos.
It’s not a solid plan. Hell , it’s barely a plan at all.
But it’s worth a try.
* * *
I take one last look at myself in the mirror, hating that I don’t completely loathe what I see. The gown drapes over my body like liquid night. The mask sits perfectly on my face, concealing just enough with the little makeup they gave me—mascara, blush, lip gloss.
Taking a deep breath, I pull open the door and step out. My heels click softly against the floor as I make my way downstairs, my fingers gripping the railing tighter than necessary.
The moment I reach the landing, I feel their eyes on me.
Julian pauses, his hands in his pockets. Theodore doesn’t react at all, but I see the subtle way his gaze lingers, taking me in. And then, there’s Maxwell .
My gaze runs over him, taking in his attire for the night—a black tux.
The suit jacket is subtly embroidered with swirling patterns that catch the light when he moves, and the silk lapels are just a shade darker than the rest. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a teasing hint of skin and tattoos beneath, and instead of a standard tie, he opted for a black silk cravat, loosely knotted, like he didn’t bother making it perfect on purpose.
His mask covers the upper half of his face, crafted from dark, glossy material, shaped like a clown’s visage. It’s playful and eerie all at once.
Unlike the gaudy, exaggerated clown masks most would picture, this one is subtle. The eyes are shadowed just enough to make it hard to read his expression, and the mouth is curved in a clownish grin. It’s unsettling in the way Maxwell himself is, never quite giving away whether he’s laughing with you or at you.
Maxwell’s head tilts, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his gaze drags down my body before lazily making their way back up.
“ Well , well,” he muses, stepping toward me. “ Look at you, all dolled up like a pretty little prize.” His smirk deepens. “ If you keep looking this good, I just might have to keep you on my arm all night.”
I freeze, just for a second. His words settle over me. If he keeps me on his arm all night, how the hell am I supposed to get away?
Maxwell notices my hesitation, and his smirk stretches, like he knows exactly what’s racing through my mind. However , instead of calling me out, he simply bows, dramatic and mocking, before offering me his hand. “ Shall we, Starling ?”
I shake off those thoughts and stare at him. “ This feels an awful lot like you picking me up for prom.”
Maxwell chuckles. “ If this were prom, we wouldn’t be showing up. We’d be in the back seat of my car right now.”
I roll my eyes and brush past him, ignoring the heat that threatens to creep up my neck.
Outside , a sleek black town car idles by the entrance. The driver stands by the door, waiting. Maxwell , ever the gentleman when he wants to be, opens it for me.
“ After you,” he says smoothly.
I slide in, and Maxwell follows, making sure the skirt of my dress doesn’t get caught. The door shuts with a soft thud, sealing us inside.
The car pulls away from the estate, and I stare out the window, forcing myself to focus. This could be my only chance.
After a moment, I turn to Maxwell . “ Are Julian and Theodore coming too?”
“ They’ll meet us there later.”
I exhale slowly. Good . That means fewer eyes on me for now.
The car rolls to a stop in front of a grungy, weathered building that looks like it has seen better days. The area surrounding it is nearly abandoned, the kind of place that feels forgotten by the rest of the world, though there’s one detail that makes it stand out: the massive circus topper on the roof, its red and white stripes faded with time but still unmistakable.
Maxwell steps out first, offering me his hand, as if this is some kind of grand occasion. I ignore it and step out on my own.
My gaze drifts up to the building again, taking in the details. There are no signs, no neon lights announcing its presence.
When we go through the entrance, I have to stop for a moment. The inside is nothing like the exterior. It’s a twisted dream of a circus, dark, decadent, and dripping in extravagance. The air is thick with a mix of smoke, perfume, and something sweet, like caramel and whiskey. Deep red velvet drapes line the walls, pooling onto the floors, and the ceiling is strung with lights that mimic stars. Performers weave through the crowd, their masks elaborate and strange, their outfits ranging from opulent to outright sinful.
A grand chandelier, shaped like a massive, upside-down carousel, spins slowly in the center of the ceiling, its carved horses frozen mid-gallop. The dance floor below is packed with masked bodies moving in sync to the low beat of the music.
It’s mesmerizing, intoxicating, and just the slightest bit wrong.
Maxwell steps beside me, leaning in close, his voice a low purr near my ear. “ Welcome to Madhouse , Starling .”
* * *
It has been at least an hour since we arrived at Madhouse , and Maxwell hasn’t let me leave his side once. He parades me around like some prized possession, introducing me as Starling to everyone we meet, never once using my real name. It’s both infuriating and unsettling how easily he falls into this role—smiling, laughing, speaking in that smooth, unbothered tone while keeping me firmly locked in his orbit.
Several people greet him with a grin, calling him Madcap . I’ve never heard that nickname before, but it makes so much sense. It’s chaotic, unpredictable, and completely fitting.
I barely pay attention to the introductions, too focused on scanning the room, trying to piece together an escape plan. But Maxwell moves through the space with purpose, checking in with servers, bartenders, and masked performers to ensure everything is running smoothly.
Finally , Maxwell turns to me, a smirk curling his lips. “ Drink ?”
I hesitate. Losing even an ounce of control in a place like this could be a terrible idea, but I need him to loosen his grip.
“ Fine ,” I say.
He gestures to a passing server, a woman wearing a sleek black mask adorned with tiny silver bells that chime as she moves. She hands him a glass, and he passes it to me. The drink is deep red, almost black, served in a short crystal tumbler over a single, perfectly round ice sphere. It smells like cherries and something smoky. A single black cherry rests at the bottom of the glass.
I lower the glass and glance around, eyes landing on the washroom sign across the room.
Perfect .
I turn to Maxwell . “ I need to use the bathroom.”
He tilts his head, studying me for a second before nodding. “ Alright .”
Before I can take a step, he flicks his fingers toward one of the nearby bouncers—a broad-shouldered man in a sleek black suit and a wolfish mask. “ Go with her.”
I swallow down my frustration and walk away, my so-called escort trailing behind.
The path to the washroom is narrow, winding through the crowd and past small performance stages where masked figures entertain onlookers. A person with white-painted skin and sharp red lips balances on a thin wire above me, holding an open flame in each hand. Another performer, dressed in a tattered harlequin outfit, tilts his head at me as I pass, his mask grotesque and grinning. My skin prickles.
Distracted , I don’t notice the woman in front of me until it’s too late.
I crash into her, the drink in my hand sloshing, spilling down the front of her crisp white shirt.
“ Shit —” I start, eyes wide.
The woman barely reacts. She glances down at the spreading stain, then lifts her gaze to me. Her dark curly hair frames her hidden face, her full lips painted a deep plum. Tattoos peek through the open collar of her button-up shirt, over her collarbones and down her hands. Unlike the other women here, she’s in an immaculately tailored suit.
I swallow hard. “ I am so sorry.”
A beat of silence. Then , she lifts a single brow.
I let out a breath. “ Uh , come with me. I’ll help clean it up.” I gesture toward the restroom.
She considers me for a moment then nods, following me inside.
This might delay my escape, but leaving someone covered in a whiskey-cherry stain probably wouldn’t have been a great start to my night of freedom either.
The bathroom is strangely empty, and I let out a breath of relief. At least I don’t have to deal with prying eyes while I clean up my mess.
I discreetly glance around, looking for any possible escape routes.
My eyes scan over the dark floral wallpaper, gold-framed mirrors, and matching sconces.
Bingo .
There’s a mid-size, rectangular window near the stalls.
I go to the dispenser and grab a handful of paper towels, wetting them under the sink before turning back to the woman. “ Here , let me?—”
Before I can dab at the stain on her shirt, she reaches out, catching my wrist in a gentle grip.
“ Isabel , it’s okay. It was an accident.”
What ? She knows my name?
I yank my hand back, taking a full step away. My heart hammers as I scan her face, searching for any trace of familiarity beneath the mask.
Then , she lifts her hands, slowly removing it, and a smirk tugs at her lips as she meets my eyes.
“ Sorry to freak you out,” she says. “ You don’t know who I am yet.” She tilts her head slightly. “ I’m Ronnie .”
My brows pull together. “ Ronnie ?”
She offers a small, almost apologetic smile. “ Sorry . I’m Camila .”
“ You mean Val’s Camila ? You’re her? ”
“ Yes ,” she says. “ But I go by Verónica now— or Ronnie .”
I exhale sharply, my mind spinning. “ How did you know I’d be here?”
Ronnie leans against the sink, crossing her arms. “ We heard it through the grapevine.”
I scoff, shaking my head.
She chuckles before her expression turns serious again. “ Ever since the Whitmores took you, Valeria’s been trying to find a way to get you out—without going straight to my brothers.”
Something tightens in my chest.
“ She’s been asking around, doing her own detective work.” Her lips twitch. “ Val’s persistent, almost annoyingly so. She cornered some Vanguard members at a fancy lunch at The Alabaster Room . You know, that overpriced place where they charge you half a paycheck for a plate the size of a coaster?”
I huff out a small laugh. “ Yeah . Sounds about right.”
“ She got them talking. Apparently , this event is a big deal for Vanguard .”
I frown. “ Okay , but how did you know they’d bring me here?”
Ronnie’s smirk deepens. “ I might not have seen my brothers in years, but I know them.” She lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “ They love parading their women proudly.”
I stiffen at her words, heat creeping up my neck.
I’m not their woman.
I don’t belong to them.
But right now, in this dress, on Maxwell’s arm, with a bouncer guarding the door like a fucking leash, doesn’t it look that way?
Ronnie watches me carefully, amusement in her sharp brown eyes. “ Touched a nerve, huh?” She crosses her arms, looking far too amused for my liking. “ I saw you glancing around for a window. Are you trying to escape?”
I hesitate, but there’s no point in lying. I nod.
Ronnie hums in thought before she leans in slightly. “ I’ve studied every exit in this building,” she says, voice low. “ That window isn’t your best option. The better one is straight down the corridor, past all the doors, until you reach the very end. There are double doors leading to the back of Madhouse , then another door that leads straight outside.”
My pulse picks up. “ And then what?”
Ronnie tilts her head. “ Then , you get in the car waiting for you.”
I blink. “ What ?”
“ Valeria’s in a car waiting for you,” she clarifies.
Ronnie watches me carefully as I process the information. She must see the hesitation in my expression, because she sighs. “ Look , I’ll distract the bouncer while you run, but you need to be quick about it.”
I chew my lip, eyes darting toward the bathroom door, as if expecting someone to barge in at any second. I want to believe her, but something nags at me. “ How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
Ronnie chuckles under her breath, shaking her head. “ You’ll just have to trust me,” she says. “ But if it helps, look.”
She reaches for her soiled shirt and unbuttons it just enough to expose a tattoo on her collarbone. Mors tua, vita mea.
The words knock the air from my lungs.
Valeria has repeated those words to me for years. They’re inked into her ribs, the phrase she clung to while searching for Camila .
“ Val said you might ask for proof,” Ronnie laughs.
Before I can say anything, a sharp bang rattles the bathroom door.
“ The hell is taking so long?” a gruff voice calls from the other side.
Ronnie’s eyes darken as she steps toward the door. “ Hide behind me while I distract him. Are you ready?”
I nod, pulse thrumming in my ears.
Ronnie cracks the door open, stepping out just enough to block the view inside. I hear her talk to the bouncer, her voice casual, but I don’t wait to hear the rest.
I run straight down the corridor, past the doors, with my heart in my throat.
The hallway is a blur as I sprint past couples pressed against walls. Some doors swing open as I pass, revealing glimpses of rooms, but I don’t stop.
My breath saws in and out of my chest as I push forward, my heels echoing against the floor. Then , I finally see the double doors.
I shove through them, stumbling into the empty space beyond. The air is colder here, the music from inside duller. I whip my head left, then right, trying to decide which way to go.
I take off to the left, my gaze darting around, frantic. Did I go the right way?
Straight ahead, I see a door marked EXIT .
A choked sound escapes me, and relief surges through my body so violently, my knees almost buckle. It’s happening. I’m really doing it. Freedom .
Just as I reach for the handle, an arm snakes around my waist, yanking me back as I shriek.
The world tilts as I twist in their grip, my heart slamming against my ribs. When I meet the gaze behind the mask, a fresh wave of horror crashes through me. Julian .
I thrash against him, panic clawing up my throat. “ No — no ?—”
Somehow , by sheer desperation, I manage to rip myself free. My heels scrape against the floor as I bolt the other way.
Fuck .
I don’t dare look back, but I can feel him. He’s way too silent, which terrifies me the most. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t curse, doesn’t call for anyone.
He just comes after me.
At the end of the corridor, I notice an unfamiliar door. I head toward it and shove it open.
I take in my surroundings, my breath still coming fast and ragged. This hallway isn’t like the others. It’s cleaner, more refined. The floors are polished to perfection, and there’s a massive mahogany door that looks heavy and imposing. It must be Maxwell’s office.
My pulse pounds in my chest as I bolt past it, my only thought being keep going, keep going, keep going.
I don’t have to look back to know Julian is right behind me, and unlike before, he’s gaining on me.
Panic surges up my throat as I push my legs harder, my heels slipping against the slick floor. I’m running out of options until I spot a staircase ahead.
I throw myself down the steps, nearly tripping in my haste.
The deeper I go, the louder the music becomes. The thumping bass rattles my bones.
Shit .
This leads straight back into the club, but that’s a good thing. It’ll be easier to lose him in a crowd.
The moment my heels hit the bottom step, I’m swallowed into a sea of bodies. People press in on all sides, their laughter and drunken murmurs washing over me. The heat, the perfume, the sweat—it’s all suffocating.
I duck low, weaving between people, trying not to shove too hard or draw attention to myself. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to move.
When I finally glance over my shoulder, my stomach twists into knots. Julian is gone.
I let out a shaky breath, relief washing over me briefly, but I know better than to celebrate.
He’s still here. They’re still here. Somewhere in this club, they’re lurking, watching.
I scan the crowd, searching for any sign of Ronnie , but she’s nowhere to be found. I have no idea if she made it out.
A lump forms in my throat. I was so close.
Valeria must be heartbroken knowing the plan didn’t work out. But at least now, I know for sure she hasn’t given up on me.