Chapter Thirteen: Thrill

Lily’s POV

If hangovers had a sequel, I was definitely living it.

After the longest day of pretending to be fine at work, I just wanted something cold, sweet, and uncomplicated — like ice cream.

“Two scoops of caramel fudge, please,” I told the vendor, collapsing onto the bench beside Sophia. The late afternoon sun was warm, the city buzzing lazily around us. Sophia licked her cone like it was the best thing on earth.

After Andrew gave me the day off, I woke Sophia up so we could get ice cream

“So,” she began, grinning. “How’s your boss? Still God’s gift to women?”

I groaned. “He gave me painkillers today.”

“Ooooh. Intimate.”

“Shut up.”

Sophia laughed, bumping my shoulder. “Come on, Lily. You’ve been all broody since the club. Did something happen?”

I bit into my cone, pretending the taste distracted me. How could I explain the way that man with the silver mask had looked at me — like he saw straight through me? Like I was the only one in the room?

Before I could answer, I froze.

A familiar Face was approaching. “Lily?”

Ryan.

Standing just a few feet away, holding a coffee cup, looking exactly how I remembered him — except guiltier.

Sophia straightened instantly, her playful expression vanishing. “Oh hell no—”

“It’s fine,” I muttered, standing up.

Ryan approached slowly. “You look… good.”

“Don’t.” My tone was sharp.

“Lily, I just want to talk—”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. You cheated. End of story.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I made a mistake. I was stupid. But you running off, deleting my number—”

I laughed, bitter. “What did you expect? Flowers and forgiveness?”

His jaw tightened. “I loved you.”

“Loved?” I shot back. “You don’t cheat on someone you love.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but Sophia grabbed my hand. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

As we walked off, Ryan called after me, “You’ll realize someday that I’m the only one who cared!”

I didn’t turn around. But his words clung to me like smoke all the way home.

---

When I got back, Sophia was already dozing on the couch again. I tossed my bag on the table and opened my laptop to distract myself. That’s when I saw the unread email.

Subject: Sterling Enterprises — Gala Dinner Invitation.

I clicked it open. It was formal, elegant, signed by Mr. Darius Clayton, one of Andrew’s main shareholders. The dinner was in three days. Formal attire required.

I hesitated a second, then dialed Andrew’s number.

He picked up on the second ring. “Miss Hart.”

“Sir, sorry to bother you after work,” I said quickly. “You got an invitation from Mr. Clayton for a gala dinner. It came directly to your company mail.”

There was a pause, then his low, steady voice replied, “I see. Forward it to my account. We’ll discuss the details tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hung up and stared at the dark phone screen for a long time. His voice always managed to sound perfectly controlled — like nothing in the world could rattle him.

I wished I could be like that.

Instead, I was sitting in my apartment, feeling the chaos of everything. Ryan’s voice. Andrew’s tone. The look from the silver-masked stranger.

I needed to breathe.

So, like an idiot, I found myself dressing again — black jeans, leather jacket, red lipstick. A piece of courage I didn’t have this morning.

And I went back to The Obsidian Club.

---

The moment I stepped in, the air changed.

Low music, dim lights, velvet shadows.

Couples danced, others whispered in corners. The scent of expensive perfume and danger wrapped around me.

I walked slowly, pretending I belonged, tracing my fingers along the golden railings. There was something intoxicating about the place — like stepping into another life where no one knew you.

The bar was empty, so I ordered a glass of wine and sat, watching.

Then I felt it.

That gaze again.

I turned — and there he was. The silver mask.

He was across the room, half in shadow, but I knew.

Tall. Broad shoulders. The way he held his drink like it meant nothing. Still. Intense.

My heart began to pound.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then, slowly, he tilted his head — a silent invitation.

I froze. Every sensible thought screamed leave.

But curiosity whispered, stay.

Before I could decide, a man in black approached me. “Mr. Silver would like to see you. Upstairs.”

Silver Mask

He was polite, but his expression was unreadable. I nodded, wordlessly following him through the hallway and up a narrow staircase.

The room was dimly lit, lined with mirrors and soft music. And waiting inside — the man in the silver mask.

He stood silently by the table, the low lighting catching the edge of his jaw beneath the mask. My throat felt dry.

“You wanted to see me?” My voice sounded smaller than I intended.

He didn’t answer. He simply stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Then he pointed to the center of the room — to the faint spotlight that fell on the rug.

I blinked, confused. “What do you—”

His hand gestured again. Calm. Commanding.

My pulse raced. “You want me to… stand there?”

He nodded once.

I stepped forward, heart hammering. Every instinct told me to walk out. But something about the stillness in him — the silent power — rooted me there.

Then, quietly, he said his first word all night.

“Strip.”

The sound of his voice — deep, familiar — hit me like lightning.

I knew that voice but I couldn't pin it to a face.

I froze. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Just watched me, silent, eyes burning behind the mask.

A chill ran through me. I wanted to refuse, to walk away. But curiosity coiled tighter inside me. Why did his voice sound so… known?

“Who are you?” I whispered.

No answer.

The air grew thicker. My fingers trembled.

“I won’t,” I said finally, shaking my head. “Not unless you tell me who you are.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he found my defiance amusing. Then he stepped closer — close enough for me to feel the faint warmth of his breath.

My heart was in my throat.

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, then stepped back into the shadows again.

Minutes passed in silence. I couldn’t stand the weight of his gaze anymore.

You need a break from everything Lily just strip it's nothing else.T

rembling, I began to undo the buttons of my blouse — slow, hesitant.

By the time I looked up again… he was gone.

Just like that.

The room was empty, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne and the echo of my racing heartbeat.

---

I sank onto the couch, shaking. What the hell was happening to me?

Who was he?

Why did I feel like I already knew him?

I dressed quickly, grabbed my bag, and left the club, the echo of his silent command still ringing in my head.

Strip.

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t sure if I was terrified — or thrilled.

*****