Chapter 19
Olivia
Istood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room, turning side to side to study my reflection.
The gown was exquisite—too exquisite.
A rich blue silk, its cream-colored sleeves gathered in delicate folds.
Tiny golden hooks fastened the bodice down to the waist, where the fabric parted into a daring slit, revealing a shimmering golden petticoat beneath.
A matching golden placket adorned the neckline, ensuring the gown was stunning and modest. Embroidered embellishments of golden thread wove intricate patterns down the front seams and along the sides, catching the candlelight like woven fire.
Florentine, a new staff member, had arranged my hair in an elaborate updo, securing it with countless hairpins before threading in tiny blue flowers. A few loose strands framed my face, softening the otherwise regal effect.
She stepped back, clasping her hands together. “You look beautiful, no?”
I barely recognized myself. “I suppose so.”
Florentine nodded in satisfaction. “All heads will turn when you enter the room, that is for certain.” She fussed over my gown and hair, clucking and tutting like a mother hen. “There. The master will be most pleased.”
I forced a smile. “Grazie.” I dipped into a small curtsy.
“You are most welcome.” She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from my sleeve. “You must tell me all about the masquerade when you return. I’ve heard the stories, but I will never be of a caste to attend.”
Her fingers lingered as she brushed at imaginary lint on my shoulder; a wistful look crossed her features.
Then, with a knowing smile, she said, “I will fetch the maid for you.”
“Grazie,” I repeated, though my voice felt hollow.
As the door clicked shut behind her, my nerves began to fray.
The masquerade was a lavish spectacle to Florentine, a night of opulence and privilege.
She had no idea of the monsters that lurked beneath the gilded masks.
I wasn’t going there to dance, revel, or indulge in the pleasures Costa offered his guests. I was going to retrieve the dagger and get out—alive.
But the fear gnawed at me.
The way Malik had described Costa’s “entertainment,” how he played with his Timebound or Timeborne victims, tormenting them onstage for sport, made me sick. If I were discovered, I wouldn’t just be captured. I’d be exhibited. Tortured to amuse men and women who feasted on agony as if it were art.
I couldn’t let my Timeborne abilities be exposed.
A soft knock at the door snapped me from my thoughts.
Then, the door opened.
Malik stepped inside.
I gasped—at the same moment, he drew in a breath.
He looked utterly, sinfully breathtaking.
A gold doublet clung to his torso, tailored to perfection, accentuating the planes of his body.
He wore no shirt beneath it, leaving his chest partially exposed, a gleam of bronzed skin teasing through the open laces.
The trousers fit snugly, leading to an obscene codpiece that left little to the imagination.
My throat went dry.
“That’s… provocative attire,” I said, quickly lowering my gaze to the tile floor.
Malik smirked, stepping closer. “And you, my love, look exquisite.” His voice dipped into something almost hungry. “Except for one thing…”
Apprehension stirred in my chest. “What’s that?”
He closed the distance between us, his fingers grazing the golden placket on my chest. He brushed back and forth, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric.
A shiver rippled through me.
Then—
He ripped the placket from my gown with a single, ruthless tug.
I gasped, my hands flying to my exposed skin.
But before I could protest, his hands clamped down on my shoulders, spinning me to face the mirror.
“Look,” he whispered into my ear, his breath curling against my skin like warm silk.
My reflection was no longer the modestly dressed woman from before.
I looked daring. Seductive. Unrestrained.
His fingers glided over my skin, tracing a path down my cleavage.
Heat pooled deep in my stomach, igniting something I refused to acknowledge.
“This,” he purred, “is perfect.”
I jerked away, stepping back with a glare. “You promised I wouldn’t partake in any of the ‘festivities.’”
Malik chuckled, low and dark. “Oh no, amore. But you must look the part.”
His gaze lingered on my reflection, thick with something both possessive and knowing. From his pocket, he withdrew a diamond necklace. When he clasped it around my throat, the pendant settled between my breasts like an unspoken invitation.
“Are you ready?”
A flash of fear shot through me like lightning.
Malik must have noticed because his hands squeezed my shoulders, grounding me. “Don’t worry, amore mio,” he murmured into my ear, his breath curling against my skin. “I shall be with you every step of the way.”
I found comfort in the intensity of his gaze and nodded. “All right, then. Let us depart.”
Near the front exit, two elaborate masks rested on a polished table.
Malik picked them up, studying mine for a moment before stepping behind me. “Allow me.”
He tied the ornate lace mask into place.
One side curved elegantly along my left cheek, while the other coiled toward my forehead like a snake poised to strike.
Tiny, embroidered stars sparkled in the moonlight, shimmering like distant constellations.
The fabric was soft and luxurious—almost as if it were protecting me from the world I was about to enter.
Malik turned me toward a mirror hanging on the wall. His voice was a quiet command. “Look how beautiful you are.”
I stared at my reflection, stunned.
Who was this woman staring back at me?
Malik handed me his gold mask, his expression unreadable. “Would you tie mine?”
I rose onto my tiptoes, securing the silken cords behind his head, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck. His skin was warm beneath my touch, starkly contrasting with the cool night air drifting through the open window.
We stood side by side for a moment, gazing at our reflections—two masked figures bound together by something searing, unspoken, and utterly undeniable.
The breeze carried the lingering sweetness of summer, tinged with something almost… otherworldly. A whisper of magic, fate, and the unknown waited just beyond this moment.
I was ready to face Raul Costa.
My hand trembled slightly when I reached up to adjust my mask.
A sudden clatter of footsteps broke the silence. I turned just in time to see Rosie dashing down the stairs, her dress fluttering around her ankles.
“Livia!” she cried, eyes wide with awe. “You look like a princess!”
I smiled, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. “Thank you, sweetie. You look like a princess, too.”
Malik bent beside her, tapping her nose with a rare softness. “Don’t stay up past bedtime, okay?”
Rosie giggled. “I won’t, Eyan.”
I blinked. Eyan? No one called Malik by his first name. The tenderness in the exchange struck something deep inside me. Their bond—so unexpected, so inexplicable—continued to baffle me.
We hugged her goodbye before stepping outside, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around us.
A sleek black carriage waited at the entrance.
Without another word, we climbed inside.
***
Butterflies churned in my stomach as we approached Raul Costa’s villa—an opulent masterpiece, just as grand and imposing as Malik’s.
The horses trotted up a stone-strewn path, their hooves echoing off the carved archway ahead. Marble statues of entwined lovers flanked the entrance, their frozen bodies locked in passionate embraces.
But the fountain in the circular driveway made my breath catch.
It was obscene.
A towering sculpture of writhing, copulating figures, water spilling from parted lips, from jugs held high, from cupped hands—and in some cases, from places that made my face burn.
A stream poured from male forms, arching over the bodies of their female counterparts in a shameless display of excess.
Malik glanced at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s nothing, my love.” He pulled the horses to a smooth stop behind the carriage ahead of us. “Wait until we get inside.”
A fresh wave of nerves jolted through me.
The line of carriages crawled forward at a snail’s pace. When we finally reached the entrance, masked groomsmen took the reins and opened the door.
I stepped down carefully, only to find their gazes lingering on me, unapologetic, assessing.
Malik rounded the carriage, his presence an instant barrier. He seized my hand, fingers wrapping possessively around mine, and led me forward.
As we climbed the stone steps leading to the mansion, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear.
“Be prepared to be eye-fucked all night,” he murmured. “Stay strong. Ignore the advances. You’re here for one thing and one thing alone.”
A shiver coursed down my spine.
The Sun Dagger.
I had to find it.
I sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the absence of my Glock, usually strapped between my thighs.
Tonight, I had only my blade.
And the sinking realization that I was walking straight into the lion’s den.
Would it be enough to defend me if needed?
With a sway of my hips, I sashayed through the grand entrance, the butler in his crisp suit holding the door open for me.
“Sei mozzafiato, bellezza mia,” he murmured, his voice smooth as aged wine. He reached for my hand, pressing his lips to my skin with practiced ease.
Before I could respond, Malik swept me away, his grip firm and possessive.
“He’s right, you know,” Malik murmured against my ear. “You are breathtaking. But you are not his, nor any other man’s beauty.”
His breath was warm against my skin, his lips dangerously close. “Tonight, we pretend to be lovers. I’ll be watching for Costa. Remember—you won’t make it out alive if he discovers you’re a Timeborne.”
Before I could respond, he nibbled my earlobe, sending a sharp thrill spiraling through my abdomen.