1. Elena
Chapter one
Elena
Three Days Earlier
“Shit.” Nausea twists my stomach when I see the metrics. The irritating downward curve of a slope slashes my laptop screen in half, hinting at only one thing. Engagement is down.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, recline my chair, and stare at the chart from beneath my blue-light glasses as if it’ll somehow change the outcome.
Sales are steady, but the momentum I built last quarter is tanking. A grunt escapes my lips. I know this is normal for businesses. There are ups and downs, but I didn’t invest four years of my life into my beauty line just to get overtaken by some hateful bitch.
And no, I’m not bitter, Camila Drey is my worst nightmare…and unfortunately, my competitor.
My fists find my hair, and I release a sigh when my phone buzzes. One look at the screen and I’m tempted to ignore it, but knowing Annora, she won’t back down.
“Do you think I’m going to die alone?” Annora chirps once I pick up the call. Of course, she greets me with something outrageous.
Rolling my eyes, I put my phone on speaker, drop it on the table, and gesture to Puddles, my chihuahua, to climb into my lap. She gingerly obliges.
“And why would that happen, Annora?” The frustration in my chest makes my voice sound flatter than I intend as I pat Puddles’ hairless scruff.
“I think I’m the only woman in New Jersey who hasn’t figured out this whole dating thing.”
“At this point, I’ll never have sex.” Her sigh is almost drowned out by some shuffling on her end.
It’s what she says every time we discuss this topic.
“Annora, there are one-night stands for a reason. But you don’t want to lose your virginity to a stranger, and you also haven’t found the right person yet.”
“And that’s fine,” I add in a softer tone. “You’ll eventually meet someone with whom you share that deep connection and have mind-blowing sex someday.”
“Hmm… And what about you? Have you had any mind-blowing sex since you’ve been back in Manhattan?”
Not in the mood for conversing about my non-existent sex life, I glance at my laptop’s screen.
“That bitch just launched a new influencer campaign. It’s already trending, and my engagement is tanking.” I segue the conversation, shutting my laptop when I feel a splitting headache coming on.
Annora’s huff mixes with the sound of water rushing in the background, then she sighs. “I’m sure your engagement is fine.”
The silence that stretches after is deliberate because I don’t know what else to say. Is it really fine? Before I can spiral into a million what-ifs, Annora continues.
“I, however, called to remind you about the masquerade gala. Are you still going?”
Oh, that. The masquerade ball. It’s been sitting in my calendar for weeks, but considering how my day is going, ghosting seems like a healthy choice.
“I’ll pass.”
“You were invited!” She shrieks, startling Puddles into a nervous shiver.
I shake my head and sit up. “Well, all entrepreneurs and brands were invited. Besides, it’s not like I’d be able to network there. Anonymity, you know?”
The masked gala is an annual event that hosts wealthy … and well, successful brands. And of course, I was invited because I’ve managed to grow my brand to a credible level.
“A-and the death thre–”
“Oh, please, Elena, spare me,” she scoffs. “It’s a masquerade, and like you just said, there’s anonymity. No one would target you with that many people around. Plus, it’s an event for the ultra-wealthy. Security is going to be tight, and if you haven’t gotten laid in ages, it might be your chance.”
She’s got a point, at least on the first half of her comment.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You always do this,” she sighs, her voice softening a notch. “Drown yourself in work, forget to applaud yourself when success comes and blame yourself when things beyond your control happen.”
Guilt almost floods my chest at the way she says it. Almost. But I’m already used to that statement from her…and others. Some say it’s an obsession I have, others say it’s a commendable drive, but I deem it a necessary principle… an inevitable path to success.
You’d be surprised how much larger your appetite for success can be once you get a little taste of it.
“Just go…unwind. Have some fun. I’m sure by now you have a headache from staring at that screen for too long.”
As she continues, I drift off, thinking back to a time when alcohol and parties were the order of my life.
The time when my life wasn’t mine, and I was forced to be a perfect little puppet for Father.
Until he died, and I took charge of my life, taking a loan from Bella, my twin, to start the Elané beauty line.
Four years later, I’m doing better than I ever thought. I’ve built my own community, a massive following of loyal supporters who’d follow me into battle if I promised them a discount code.
Suddenly, a warm liquid seeps through my clothes, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look down and see that Puddles just peed on me. Great. Just fucking great.
I sigh, setting him down on the floor. It’s my own fault; I haven’t had time to potty train him yet.
“You know what?” I cut into Annora’s rant. “I’ll go.”
The squeal she lets out on the other end of the call is loud enough to rattle my eardrums. I pull the phone away, grimacing.
“Dress sexy and be sure to get laid. I heard sex helps with frustration.”
“Of course, Annora. You read more books on sex than you do financial ledgers,” I respond, as my mind immediately drifts to what I should wear.
Oh, I know just the dress. I picked it from Zimmermann’s latest limited-edition collection. I get up and reach into my closet for the sleeveless, wine-colored dress. It has a dangerous slit that goes all the way up to my hip bone.
“Thanks, Annora. Bye!”
I hang up before she can argue that reading a lot of erotica would help her have amazing sex on her first time.
Puddles stares back at me from my feet, tongue lolling, blissfully unaware of my quarterly projections and masquerade problems.
I exhale. This is one of the very few times I’ll attend an event for the sole purpose of pleasure…not networking. And that floods me with memories of my past life again. I’m undeniably a better version of myself now. But Annora is still right. Maybe I do need a break… and some good dick?
***
Masque Noire is hosted in an old, restored cathedral in downtown. Ironically dramatic for a party that insists on secrecy. Black stone walls stretch upward, as if looming into the sky, and as I step out of the car, cold air bites through my coat.
The music hits first as I step in. The entire place is trembling with deep, reverberating bass. The ceiling disappears into shadow, replaced by floating chandeliers dripping with dark crystals that scatter light like falling stars.
And as promised, everyone is masked.
Not the cheap kind. These are works of art: feathers, gold filigree, matte obsidian, and lace. Velvet curtains divide the space into pockets of secrecy.
Young men dressed in black tuxedos, wearing plain black masks, float around holding trays laden with wine, champagne, and cocktails.
As I slip into the crowd, the anonymity is intoxicating.
For the first time in months, no one is looking twice at me. There are no forced smiles or obligatory small talks. Just bodies moving together, strangers brushing past strangers, everyone opening themselves up to the many pleasures the night has to offer.
My phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me back to reality. It’s a text from Annora.
ANNORA: You look hot, I know it. I think you should also try this new monkey sex style I read in a blog. It’s basically doggy but on steroids…
I quickly close the message, shaking my head. Annora sure knows how to give bad ideas.
When we first met at a professional event in New Jersey, I’d thought she was a really calm person. I mean she is a cool headed accountant, but she’s equally fierce and always ready with an opinion, whether anyone asks for it or not.
A waiter stops in front of me, and I grab a glass of amber liquor. I take a slow sip, letting the warmth settle in, and finally help me relax.
That’s when I feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze. It’s not leering or invasive. It’s…assessing. Measured. Like I’m being studied rather than consumed.
I turn around, and there he is.
He stands a few feet away, untouched by the chaos around him. Tall, his broad shoulders filling out the crisp white shirt like it was tailored for his body. His arms are bare, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose rugged muscle and tan skin.
His mask is deceptively plain. Black and sharp-edged, revealing a stern mouth and a strong jaw. Light catches his chestnut hair, slicked back, except for a single rebellious strand that falls over his forehead, defying the rest of his hair.
His eyes…. God…I can’t see the exact color, but I know they’re dark, pinning me in place like I’m some prey he’s been hunting for.
Something in my stomach flips.
I turn away from him, gulping the rest of my drink. Looking for another, I turn to move deeper into the crowd, but my heel catches on the hem of my dress.
The sudden yank jerks me off balance. I gasp, stumbling forward and slamming into something solid.
No…someone solid.
A strong arm catches me by the waist, fingers splaying wide over my lower back, steady enough to stop my fall completely. My palms slap against a broad, unyielding chest, heat radiating straight through the expensive fabric.
For two traitorous seconds, I forget to be angry.
My body reacts before my mind catches up, hips pressing instinctively closer, breath hitching as everything about him hits me at once.
The smell hits first. Tobacco, with the luxurious fragrance of sandalwood underneath it. He reeks of control. My pulse stutters as my torso molds to his without permission, thighs tightening reflexively.
What the fuck, Elena!
He clears his throat, knocking me out of my reverie. Thankfully, he can’t see my face imitate the color of a ripening tomato under this mask. Straightening, I rearrange my dress in quick, jerky movements.