Chapter 23
The soft click of my heels echoes down the staircase, in sync with Abigail’s. We descend together, in full glam, masks perched delicately on our faces, ready for the night.
I smooth my hands over the rose-gold fabric, hugging my body like it was sewn directly onto my skin. My mask is gold, metallic, intricate, and molded to my face with small crystal details at the corners like frozen tears. It hides nothing, really. Somehow, it makes everything about me louder.
Beside me, Abigail looks like a goddamn vision.
Her emerald green gown fits like a second skin, shimmering with every shift of her body.
A deep V plunges down the front, just shy of scandalous, and her matching green mask is feathered at the corners, bold and dramatic, just like her.
Her blonde hair is swept up in a soft twist, strands framing her glowing face.
She looks exactly like the woman she’s always wanted to be.
“I feel like a Bond girl,” she whispers with a giddy grin.
I give her a soft smile, one that barely masks the tension threading through me. “You look like you could ruin a man and never apologize for it.”
“I’d prefer he thanked me,” she says with a wink as we round the corner into the living room.
And then I see him.
Calvin.
He stands by the fireplace like he owns the night.
He wears a black tuxedo tailored so precisely it might’ve been sculpted onto his body, and the lines are impossibly sharp.
His mask, sleek, gold-detailed, Venetian, covers the right side of his face, from forehead to jaw, adding an edge of mystery that somehow makes him look more dangerous.
And yet those dark, magnetic eyes of his are locked on me. Like he already knows what I look like beneath this dress. Like I belong to him.
I forget how to breathe. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left for Wisconsin, and all the emotions I’ve been trying to swallow crash over me at once: longing, hurt, confusion… and something sharper. Anger.
Anger because he left.
Anger because he never replied to any of my texts.
Anger because he looks calm. Composed. Beautiful.
Instead of looking like someone who missed me, who spent all night staring at a screen, waiting for a message that never came.
I don’t even know when he got home. Abigail and I were out all day. Hair, nails, makeup, every part of me had been distracted, occupied, until now. And now he’s here, looking like… him.
“You got me flowers!” Abigail squeals with delight, her voice snapping me out of my spiral.
I freeze mid-step.
He’s standing there, orchids in hand.
My heart bleeds.
I wish I hadn’t seen him first.
She walks straight to him, all smiles and sunshine, plucking the bouquet from his grip and burying her nose in it. His arm snakes around her waist, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“These are so cute. But you know I like roses, you silly man,” she teases, beaming. “Still, I appreciate them.”
She presses a kiss to his mouth. Barely a second.
But it’s enough to make my heart squeeze so painfully I have to place a hand over my chest. I don’t know why it hurts so much.
That’s her fiancé. She’s allowed to kiss him and take his flowers.
Even if she doesn’t know that they mean beauty, strength, luxury, and rare elegance.
She has every right. I’m the one who doesn’t.
The parasite.
“Blair, you look…” he starts, but Abby cuts him off.
“Doesn’t she look amazing? My baby! I did that.” She rushes to my side, tugging on my dress even though it’s already perfect, pulling it lower, probably to show more cleavage.
“Abby, stop. It’s fine,” I snap.
I should’ve stayed home. I feel like a third wheel with bitterness rising in my throat.
“How are you going to meet someone if you don’t show off the goods?” she teases.
My gaze flicks to her fiancé. He was pretending to be on his phone, but the second she mentioned me meeting someone, his head jerked up. Our eyes lock. His narrow to slits.
He has the nerve to look pissed.
Smirking, I press my breasts up a little more. “You’re totally right. I definitely need to leave with a new man tonight. Maybe…”
“We should leave, we’re already late as it is,” Calvin growls, cutting me off.
I smile.
“We’re fashionably late,” Abigail says, hooking her arm around his. “And we look fabulous, so you’re welcome.”
The walk to the car is mostly filled with Abigail chattering, while Calvin and I hum and grunt our responses. Once we’re in the underground garage, we pile into the car. Calvin deliberately positions himself between us.
Of course.
Once the driver pulls off, I grab my phone to distract myself from their flirty conversation. I can’t stand the sound of her giggling when I’m trying to hold myself together.
Then I feel it.
His hand. On my thigh. Bare skin on skin. His pinky dangerously close to…
I panic.
My eyes snap to Abigail, but she’s still talking about the wedding, oblivious. It’s dark in the car, too dim for her to see what he’s doing.
I clamp my thighs together, trying to keep him out, but all I manage is trapping his hand between them. He squeezes.
Hard.
It almost pulls a moan out of me.
Last time we were in this car… I can still feel him. His words. His weight. The way he made me feel like I belonged to him.
God, I’m so stupid.
Because a part of me actually believed him. That soft, na?ve part that wanted to think we’d somehow make it out of this twisted mess with something real. That we’d be a couple, that somehow, we could have all that without hurting Abigail.
How ridiculous.
How pathetic.
How stupid.
The memory makes me furious, and I shove his hand off me. It throws him off just enough to make his hand swing out awkwardly.
He turns toward me, and I feel his eyes burning into my skin, but I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Everything okay?” Abigail asks.
“Yeah. I think I overdid it at the gym today,” he lies smoothly.
“Aww, my poor hubby. Let me see,” she coos.
I roll my eyes. And then I want to scream, because she starts kissing his knuckles, giggling softly as if they’re the only two people in the world.
I clench my jaw and turn my face to the window, letting the city blur past.
I won’t cry. I can’t.
Because what right do I have?
He’s hers.
And I’m… the villain in someone else’s love story.
The gala is held in a grand old estate nestled deep in the hills, one of those places that feels more myth than real.
The mansion glows with golden light, its towering windows spilling glitter into the night.
Ivy coils around the stone columns out front, and masked figures drift in and out like ghosts of some beautiful, forbidden past.
Inside, it’s opulence incarnate. Vaulted ceilings painted with fading Renaissance scenes, gilded chandeliers dripping with crystals, live classical music playing from a string quartet tucked into a corner. The scent of champagne, roses, and expensive cologne hangs thick in the air.
Women are draped in diamonds and silk. Men are in sharp tuxedos and silk masks, all secrets and polished charm. I have never been in a room so full of power. It’s intoxicating.
As soon as a server glides by with a tray of drinks balanced effortlessly on one hand, Calvin reaches out and snatches a glass filled with amber liquid. He downs it in one long swallow, his throat bobbing with the motion.
Surprised, I glance at my sister, who leans in closer, her green mask glittering under the golden light.
“He’s meeting with a very important businessman tonight,” she whispers. “Someone who could take his career to the next phase. So… he’s a little stressed.”
I frown, and for the first time tonight, I really look at Calvin. He looks tired.
His usually sharp expression is dulled by a tightness around his eyes.
His mouth is set in a firm line that says he’s deep in thought and trying not to show it.
Even the way he holds his shoulders feels rigid, like he’s bracing for something.
Like he’s carrying too much weight in a room that demands he pretend he isn’t.
Suddenly I feel that uncomfortable tug of empathy.
I glance around, making sure no one’s watching, then quietly slide my hand into his. Calvin stiffens, but then, slowly, he exhales. I feel it in the way his grip softens, the way his body sinks just slightly beside me. Like the weight he’s carrying lifts, if only a little.
He looks down at our hands, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. There’s too much emotion flashing in his eyes for me to catch. He opens his mouth, about to say something—
“Calvin Stirling. And his beautiful bride-to-be.”
Calvin freezes, his hand dropping mine like I’ve burned him. He gives me a brief, almost pleading look before turning, the mask of a charming, composed man slipping into place as he wraps his arm around Abigail.
“Jameson, it’s good to see you,” Calvin says smoothly. “And Vivian, you look radiant.”
I step back, watching from behind as I’m pushed out of the frame like I was never part of it. With just one arm around her waist, he puts on the perfect act.
Jameson isn’t wearing his mask, just holding it casually in one hand. He must’ve recognized Calvin from his build. Hard to miss in any crowd.
Vivian says something I can’t hear. Her voice is drowned out by the roar of my own self-hatred and embarrassment. I’m still spiraling when Abigail suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me forward, beaming.
“This is my little sister, Blair,” she says brightly. “She’s a fashion major in France and came home to help with the wedding. She’s actually designing my dress.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Vivian says warmly.
“Very nice to meet you, Blair,” Jameson adds, extending a hand. When I offer mine, he kisses the top of it.
“Nice to meet you as well,” I manage, forcing a polite smile.
“Weirdly enough,” Abigail adds with a grin I’m starting to resent, “I’m pretty sure you have a son around Blair’s age.”
God. Why?