9. Josie
He was all I could think about even when I sat at the breakfast table, staring blankly at the array of food laid out before me. Everything was perfect, just like always, freshly squeezed orange juice, eggs cooked to perfection, a basket of warm croissants.
It was all so picturesque, so boring.
The room was filled with the quiet clink of silverware against porcelain, my mother was busy scrolling on her ipad. I didn’t have to look up to know she was watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike but all I could think about was Tristan.
“Josie,” Mom said, her voice cutting through my daydream. I didn’t respond, “I had someone follow that man,” she continued.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered under my breath, reaching for my coffee cup.
“He doesn’t keep good company,” she went on, ignoring my comment, “He hangs out with criminals, Josie. He’s involved in some shady business.”
“So?” I stared her down, my eyes flat, “What am I supposed to do with that? Write it in my diary? Call the cops?”
Mom’s eyes turned into two thin slits. Her face went pale, her lips pulling back into a tight line, “I want you to cut him off. Now. You don’t belong with people like that. It’s a bad look, and it’s dangerous.”
A mean laugh burst out of my throat before I could stop it, “People like that? Seriously, Mom? That’s rich coming from you.
” I leaned forward, mocking her, “It’s actually hilarious.
You’re lecturing me about 'shady' when half the deals you make happen in dark corners where the sun doesn't shine. Do you honestly think I’m that dumb? That I don’t know how you keep this house running?”
Her whole body went stiff. I could see the muscles in her jaw jumping as she fought the urge to scream at me, “I did what I had to do,” she hissed, “Every dirty hand I shook, every lie I told... it was for this family. It was for you.”
“Stop,” I snapped, “Just stop with the 'noble sacrifice' crap. It makes me want to gag. You didn’t do any of this for me. You did it because you’re addicted to the power. You wanted to be the boss. You wanted to pull the strings. And I was always just a prop, something you shoved in the background while you chased a check.”
Her eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, I wondered if she was going to throw her coffee cup at me. But she didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath, regaining that icy composure she was known for.
“So this is your plan?” she asked, “Running off with some random guy and ignoring your name? How long do you think this little rebel phase is going to last before you burn down everything I’ve built?”
“Everything you built?” I let out a dry laugh. “You mean the empire Dad worked his life away for? You didn't build a thing, Mom. You just stepped over his bodies and grabbed the crown. You’re just riding the wave he started. And honestly, you’re barely keeping your head above water.”
I didn’t give her the chance to open her mouth.
I just turned my back on her and walked away.
I could feel her staring at me but this time, I didn't care.
I kept my head high, reached my bedroom, and shut the door.
The quiet click of the lock felt like the best sound in the world. Finally, I was away from her.
Then I saw it.
I stopped dead in the middle of the room, my breath catching in my throat. Laying right there on my bed was a massive box. It was covered in deep, dark velvet with a heavy silver ribbon tied around it in a perfect bow, looking like something straight out of a dark fairytale.
My heart started to pound against my ribs. I walked over, my fingers trembling as I pulled the ribbon. It slid off like silk. I lifted the lid, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
At the top was a mask and it was a work of art. Black, delicate, and shimmering with tiny dark crystals that caught the light like stars. But under the mask...
"Oh my God," I whispered to the empty room.
I reached in and touched the fabric. It was a black gown, but it wasn't just a dress. It was liquid smoke. The material was so soft that it felt like water sliding through my fingers. It was a floor-length, body-hugging masterpiece. It had a high slit up the leg.
I found a small card tucked into the folds of the fabric.
Midnight Masquerade Ball
An evening of mystery.
At the bottom, in bold handwriting that looked as dangerous as he did.
I’ll pick you up at seven, Josephine. — Kincaid.
My stomach did a giant flip. I grabbed the dress and ran to the full-length mirror, holding it up against my body. I looked different. I looked like the kind of woman who belonged by Tristan’s side, someone cool, someone mysterious.
I spent the next few hours in a total blur.
I called my stylist and told her I needed to look like a dream.
We did my hair in sleek, glossy waves and kept my makeup dark and smoky.
When I finally stepped into the dress, it fit like a second skin.
It hugged every curve, the black fabric making my skin look like porcelain.
When I put on the mask, I didn't even recognize the girl in the reflection.
I’d never been the girl to break the rules. I was always the "good daughter," the one who did what she was told. But this felt like I was finally waking up. I wasn't doing this for my mom. I wasn't doing it for the Van Alen name. I was doing it for me.
And knowing my mother would absolutely lose her mind if she saw me right now... that was the best part.
It made the blood in my veins feel like fire.
Right at seven, a massive black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb, followed by another dark car. Three men in suits jumped out of the second car, and the driver of the Rolls-Royce stepped out to open the door.
One of the guys approached me with a nod, "Ms. Van Alen, this way, please."
I stepped out of the building, my heart in my throat. As I walked, the man actually leaned down to hold the trail of my dress so it wouldn't touch the dirty sidewalk. The driver held the back door open, and the other man helped me slide into the leather seat.
The second I settled in, the air left my lungs.
Tristan was sitting right there. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him so well it should be illegal. His dark hair was slicked back, but one single strand had fallen onto his forehead, making him look a little rugged despite the expensive clothes.
His eyes, God, his eyes. They were a piercing hazel, but tonight they looked like a predator's. Almost like a tiger in the dark. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass, and the dark stubble along his jawline made him look so masculine, so manly,
I could barely look away because looked like every bad idea I’d ever had.
His eyes traveled slowly down my body, taking in the dress, the skin, the mask. His lips twitched into the tiniest hint of a smile... a dark, knowing look that said he liked exactly what he saw.
And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. The car felt too small, too hot, and way too full of him.
I felt like I was under a microscope, but in the best way possible. My skin was tingling everywhere his eyes touched. I gripped my small clutch bag, my knuckles turning white, trying to remember how to act normal.
Tristan shifted slightly, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling, "I thought that dress would look good," he said, paused, his eyes locking onto mine with something that made my knees weak, "I was wrong. It’s not the dress."
I blinked, my heart skipping a beat, "It's... not?"
"No," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes, "The dress is just lucky it gets to be on you tonight, Josephine."
The way he said my name made a flush of heat spread from my chest all the way up to my ears. I looked down at my lap, a small, shy smile tugging at my mouth.
"You don't look too bad yourself, Mr. Kincaid," I whispered, finally finding my voice.
He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh.
The car slowed to a stop in front of a mansion that looked more like a castle. The iron gates were tall and dark, and the whole place was glowing with soft lantern light.
I felt like I was stepping into a different world.
Tristan stepped out first. Before I could even reach for the door handle, he was already there. He opened the door with one hand and reached out the other for me. He didn't just stand there, he blocked the wind with his body, making sure I felt safe the second my heels hit the ground.
I stepped out, clutching my gown. Tristan offered me his arm. I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the expensive fabric of his suit. He led me toward the massive front doors, walking at my pace, making sure I didn't trip on my long hem.
The doors swung open without making a single sound.
I actually gasped. The room was breathtaking. The ceiling was so high it felt like it went on forever, and the chandeliers looked like giant diamonds dripping from the dark. The floor was white marble, so shiny I could see my own reflection in it.
Everywhere I looked, people were draped in silk and lace. Everyone had their faces hidden behind masks. It was a sea of beautiful strangers.
I could hear the soft clink of champagne glasses and the low hum of people whispering.
I felt Tristan press closer to me. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the edge of my mask as he whispered in my ear, "Don't look so nervous," he said, his hand covering mine where it rested on his arm, "You’re the most beautiful thing in this room, Josephine. Remember that."
He stepped forward, leading me into the crowd. He moved with so much grace and power that people actually stepped aside to let us through. He led me toward a small circle of people.
"Kincaid," a man with silver hair called, stepping forward, gave Tristan a respectful nod, "This is quite the turnout. I wasn't sure you'd actually show up to your own party."
"I wouldn't miss my own hosting duties, Arthur," Tristan replied as he shifted his hand on my back, pulling me just a half-inch closer to his side. Wait, his hosting duties? Before I could ask, Tristan said, "I’d like you to meet Josephine Van Alen."
The silver-haired man’s eyebrows shot up. A woman in a dark red gown next to him leaned in, her eyes scanning me behind her lace mask.
"A Van Alen?" the woman murmured, her voice sounding surprised, "Helena's daughter?"
I felt a familiar tightening in my chest. Even here, behind a mask, I couldn't escape my mother’s shadow. I started to stiffen, ready to give the fake, polite smile I’d been practiced since I was five.
But Tristan felt the change in me. Before I could say a word, his hand squeezed my waist gently, "She’s with me tonight.”
"Of course," Arthur said quickly, sensing the shift in Tristan’s mood. He bowed his head slightly toward me, "It’s a pleasure, Josephine."
Tristan didn't stay to chat for long. He introduced me to a few more people, judges, CEOs, even a famous artist. He treated me with so much respect, introducing me first and making sure I was part of every conversation.
The music changed, shifting into something slow, and deep. It pulsed through the floorboards and straight into my chest. I felt Tristan’s hand slide down my back, his skin hot against the bare part of my spine where my dress dipped low. I shivered, and I knew he felt it.
“Dance with me,” I whispered, nodding toward the couples swirling on the floor.
I looked up at him, expecting him to say no, to tell me he didn't do things like this. But he didn't hesitate, he just gave a small nod, his eyes locked on mine, and led me into the crowd.
The second we hit the floor, the rest of the world just... died. The people, the lights, the noise, it all blurred into nothing. It was just me and him.
Tristan’s hand grabbed mine, his other hand settled on my waist, right above my hip, and he pulled me in.
He hauled me against him until there wasn't an inch of daylight between us.
I could feel the hard muscles of his chest and the heat radiating off his body through my thin dress. It was a lot. It was everything.
Every time we turned, his thigh brushed against mine, his fingers on my waist weren't still, they tightened, his thumb tracing circles against my skin that made my blood feel like it was boiling.
We moved together perfectly. He spun me out, my black gown flaring around my legs like a dark cloud, and then he snapped me back into his arms. He caught me easily.
His hand drifted lower, resting right on the curve of my hip. His thumb brushed against my bare skin again, and I couldn't think. I couldn't even remember my own name. I just leaned into him, trusting him to move me.
Then, without any warning, he shifted his weight and dipped me.
His arm tightened around my waist, holding me suspended just inches above the cold marble floor. My breath caught in my throat, the room spinning as I stared up at him.
He looked down at me, his face inches from mine. His lips hovered just above mine, so close I could feel the heat of them. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might burst. I waited, my eyes searching his, wanting him to close the gap. He didn't. He just held me there.
Then finally, he pulled me back up to my feet.
The music faded out, the last notes hanging in the air. He stepped back just a little, but he didn't let go of my hand.
Then, he did something I never expected. He smiled.
It wasn't a hint of a smile or a dark look. It was a real smile that reached his eyes. My jaw practically dropped.
My heart was still thumping from that smile when I felt his fingers slide between mine. Before I could even ask what he was doing, he was pulling me away from the music and the people. He moved fast, and I had to practically jog to keep up, my heels clicking like crazy on the marble floor.
I wanted to say something, but I was too busy staring at the back of his head and his broad shoulders. He looked so powerful in that suit. As we walked, the golden lights of the party started to fade. It got darker, quieter, and way more intense.
We headed up a massive staircase. Everything was wood and stone.
We kept going up and up, passing long hallways lined with creepy old paintings of people who looked like they never smiled.
Finally, we reached a tiny, winding metal staircase tucked in a corner.
It was a tight squeeze, and the walls felt like they were closing in until Tristan pushed open a heavy door at the very top.
We stepped out, and the cool night air hit my face. Above us, the sky was full of stars and I took a deep breath.
Tristan walked to the edge and leaned his hands on the stone wall, looking out into the dark. I walked up beside him, feeling tiny against the huge night sky.
"A rooftop?" I tried to act cool, but my voice sounded way too shaky, "Nice view," I mumbled, "Very... spooky. Is this place yours?"
He didn't look at me, "It is now."
So, the whole thing belonged to him. The ball, the crowd, the massive estate, it was all Tristan’s.
"Right," I muttered, my heart starting to race.
I couldn't stop my mouth, "But, like, why? Why do you like places that are so... isolated? There’s literally nothing out there. It’s just trees.
And more trees. And probably things living in the trees that don't like humans.
It's so quiet it actually makes my ears ring. Doesn't it creep you out?"
I took a step closer to him, not because I was being bold, but because he was the only solid thing in this terrifying, open dark space.
"I mean, I usually like a little noise, you know? A siren, a car horn, a neighbor yelling. Are you sure we're safe up here? Because the silence is kind of loud, if that makes sense? I feel like I'm losing my mind a little bit."
“Does that make you nervous?” he asked, like he already knew the answer.
I swallowed, “Nervous? No, of course not. Why would I be nervous?”
He stepped closer, his gaze pinning me in place, “You’re not scared of me, are you?”
The way he said it made my stomach flip, “Should I be?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch light but electrifying, “That depends,” he said softly, “on how much you trust me.”
My heart thundered in my chest as I looked up at him, my mouth dry.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper, "Trust you? I feel like I barely know you."
"You know enough," he rasped.
He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, his thumb dropped lower, grazing my bottom lip. He let it linger there, like he was testing to see if I’d pull away. He looked at my mouth for a second too long, his eyes darkening.
"You keep coming back, don't you?" he challenged.
I shivered, the heat from his thumb spreading through my entire body, “I don’t know what that says about me,” I admitted, looking up into those tiger-like eyes.
He leaned in until our foreheads were almost touching. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, and the scent of his cologne, wrapped around me until it was the only thing I could breathe. It was intoxicating. It made my head swim and my knees feel like they were made of water.
His thumb was still resting against my bottom lip. He didn't pull away. Instead, he looked at me with a look that was half-amused and half-deadly serious.
"You know," he started, "I think this just proves one thing, Josephine."
"What’s that?" I breathed. I was so close to him I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.
His mouth quirked up, not a full smile, just a dark, teasing little twist of his lips, "It says you have zero survival instincts," he murmured.
I let out a sharp gasp, my eyes widening as if he’d just insulted my entire lineage, "Zero survival instincts?" I repeated, my voice skipping a beat.
I planted my palms against his chest and gave him a playful shove. It was like trying to move a brick wall, but he let himself rock back just a half-inch, that dark smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Wow," I laughed, "So that’s how it is?" I shook my head, still giggling as I stepped back, the cool night air rushing into the space where his heat had just been. It felt weirdly lonely without him pressing against me, "I’ll have you know, Mr. Kincaid, I am very observant."
I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, looking him up and down with a mock-serious pout.
"Is that so?" he asked, mockingly like he was talking to a child.
I shrugged, "Yeah, I just figured if I was going to be in trouble, I might as well be in the best-looking trouble I could find. Is that such a crime?"
Tristan didn't laugh, he wasn't the type but the way he watched me, his arms crossing over that broad chest, told me he wasn't exactly mad about my answer.
"It's not a crime," he said, "But it's definitely a choice. One you can't take back now."
I stepped back toward him, closing the gap I’d just created. I let a slow, playful smile tug at my lips, "Who said I wanted to take it back?"
I wasn't running. I was jumping in with both feet, and by the way his jaw tightened, he knew it too.
Tristan didn't say another word. He just stepped into my space again, his presence so massive it felt like he was the only thing keeping the world from spinning off its axis.
He didn't grab me. Instead, he reached out, his fingers disappearing behind my head. I felt the slight tug as he found the silk ribbon of my mask.
With one pull, the knot gave way.
The mask slid off my face, the cool night air hitting my skin for the first time in hours.
He held the mask in his large hand for a second before letting his gaze sweep over my face, taking me in without the disguise. He looked like he was cataloging every detail, the flush on my cheeks, the way my lips were parted, the fear and excitement fighting for space in my eyes.
"Now I can see you," he said, "But remember this, Josephine. Once the mask comes off, there’s no going back to being a stranger."
I stared up at him. My heart was thumping so hard I was surprised the birds in the trees didn't fly away.
A small, defiant smile touched my lips. I reached up, my fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his tuxedo lapels. I pulled him down toward me, just an inch.
"Tristan," I whispered, "If I wanted to be a stranger... would I do this?"
Then I leaned in and pressed my lips against his, just a brush of lips, a peck.
But the second our mouths touched, it was like a fuse blew. His hand dropped the mask and flew to the back of my head, his fingers tangling deep into my hair to hold me right where he wanted me.
His other arm wrapped around my waist, crushing me against his chest until I could feel every heartbeat, every muscle, every ounce of heat he was radiating.
It was the kind of kiss that ruins you for anyone else.
He groaned low in his throat, a sound that was pure hunger, and for a second, the world on the other side of that rooftop didn't exist. Just the way he tasted and the way he held me like he was never, ever going to let go.
I finally understood what he meant about the danger. And as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, I realized I didn't care.