Chapter 27: The Masquerade Mask
Chapter 27: The Masquerade Mask
Celeste awoke with a start, tangled in silken sheets and her own disoriented breath. The dream still clung to her like a second skin—Damon’s voice, rough and low, had whispered her name like a secret only the night could keep. His lips had skimmed her throat, his hands anchoring her with possessive urgency. She touched her neck, the heat of it still vivid. It was just a dream. Again.
"Get a grip, Cel," she murmured to herself, pushing her fingers through her tousled hair. But she knew the truth. It wasn’t just any dream. It was Damon. Always Damon.
She had come into his world hoping to win him with time and patience, believing that his anger toward Aurora meant something had changed. But she was beginning to realize something even more dangerous: his obsession with hating Aurora was just another kind of love.
---
The masquerade gala was the talk of the city—a fundraising event hosted by the Marcelli Foundation, dripping in old money, scandalous gossip, and veiled faces.
Aurora stood in front of the mirror, the black mask in her hand delicate and intricate like lace. Her gown was deep emerald, clinging to her curves, the slit high and the back scandalously low. She looked dangerous. She looked...free.
Luca knocked lightly on her door before peeking in. "You’re going to stop hearts tonight," he said, offering a crooked grin as he adjusted his own sleek black mask.
She laughed softly. "And you look like you walked out of a Renaissance painting."
"I plan to misbehave accordingly," he winked.
Across town, Damon straightened his tie, staring at his reflection like it might betray him. The silver mask he held felt like armor. Celeste appeared behind him, radiant in a deep plum gown that shimmered as she moved.
"Ready to charm the city, Mr. Moretti?" she asked.
He nodded. "Let’s get it over with."
---
The ballroom was alive with candlelight and music. Crystal chandeliers dripped golden warmth, and strings of violins floated over hushed conversation. Every face was hidden behind a mask, but none of it masked the air of wealth, power, and secrets.
Aurora entered on Luca’s arm, heads turning as she passed. Damon noticed her immediately. He couldn’t not notice her—the way she held herself, the curve of her smile, the haunting familiarity of her energy.
"Who is she?" Celeste asked, noticing his pause.
"Someone who’s good at pretending," he said, sipping his champagne too quickly.
They danced. Not with each other. Damon with Celeste. Aurora with Luca. But their eyes collided in brief, charged glances across the dance floor.
At one point, Aurora stepped onto the terrace alone, her breath catching from the closeness of the crowd. Damon followed, not knowing why, only that his feet moved on their own.
She turned as he stepped into the moonlight.
"Enjoying the party?" she asked, her tone laced with mock politeness.
"I was, until I saw you," he said.
Her lips curled. "Still carrying that hate around like it’s a medal of honor?"
"Still pretending it didn’t matter?" he retorted.
The silence that followed was anything but empty. Then Luca appeared, smiling. "Ah, there you are. Everything alright?"
"Perfect," Aurora said too quickly, slipping her hand into Luca’s.
Behind them, a photographer snapped a photo.
Click.
In the background, Damon stood perfectly still, his mask concealing everything except his eyes—burning with something between love and war.
---
Inside, Celeste stood alone with a half-empty flute of champagne. She’d seen the way Damon looked at Aurora. Her heart twisted, remembering her dream and how it had felt like something real—the way he had touched her, kissed her. But here, in the real world, Damon had only one weakness.
And it was Aurora.
---
As the night wound down, a ripple of whispers ran through the crowd. The photograph had already made its way to social media via one of the tabloid bloggers in attendance. Two masked figures, yet unmistakable. Aurora Luciano and Damon Moretti, captured alone together under the moonlight.
"It can’t be," someone murmured.
"Aren’t they enemies?"
"Isn’t he engaged to the Marcelli girl?"
Within minutes, the online forums exploded.
Celeste saw the photo and dropped her glass.
Aurora, scrolling through Luca's phone, went pale.
Damon, leaning against his car outside the venue, saw it pop up on his own feed and felt his blood run cold.
Someone had recognized them. And the world wasn’t supposed to.
---
In a penthouse suite miles away, an older man studied the image on a massive screen. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was sharp.
"It’s time we intervened," he said, turning to a shadowed figure behind him.
"Are you sure?" the voice asked.
"They’ve gotten too close. If we don’t control this narrative, it will control us."
He tapped the screen. "Initiate contact. And prepare the files."
---
Back in her apartment, Aurora paced. "How could this happen? We were careful. No one could have known."
Luca crossed his arms. "Are you sure about that?"
She looked at him. "What do you mean?"
He sighed. "You don’t think I noticed the way you looked at him? I played along, Aurora. Because I like you. But maybe I deserve someone who actually wants me back."
Her eyes softened, guilt flooding her. Before she could speak, he turned and walked out the door.
---
In his study, Damon stared at his phone. Celeste came up behind him. "You knew this would happen, didn’t you? The moment you walked out to see her."
He said nothing.
"Do you still love her?"
His throat tightened. He couldn't answer.
"Then why am I here, Damon? Why are you pretending you can love me when you’re haunted by someone else?"
He looked at her finally, regret clouding his eyes. "Because I thought hate would kill what was left. But all it did was hide it."
---
Cliffhanger:
The screen in Damon’s study buzzed. A new message.
Unknown Sender: "We need to talk. Your father’s legacy isn’t what you think it is."
A file attachment followed: "PROJECT LIONHEART: CONFIDENTIAL"
Damon stared at the message, then at the photograph again. Everything was unraveling.
And it had only just begun.