chapter twenty one: The man behind the mask

Lily’s POV

The Obsidian Club was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

I've come here three times already but it's beauty is always unique.

Inside, the air shimmered with danger and wealth. Dim amber lights spilled over black marble floors, and everywhere I looked, there were masks — silver, gold, velvet — concealing faces that whispered, laughed, and sinned in equal measure.

A woman in a scarlet gown walked past, leading a man by a leather collar. In another corner, a couple kissed like the world was ending. Music thrummed low, steady, like a heartbeat you couldn’t escape.

I swallowed hard, my pulse matching the rhythm.

“First time?” a soft voice asked.

I turned to see a woman in black lace, her face hidden behind a butterfly mask. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Do I?” I managed a nervous smile.

She grinned. “You’ll get used to it. The club has a way of finding what people hide — and showing it to them.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine.

I drifted deeper into the club, my heels clicking softly against the floor, my eyes tracing the moving shadows. There were no boundaries here. No rules. Just temptation, elegantly dressed.

That was when I saw him.

He stood apart from the crowd — tall, composed, wearing a silver mask that covered his face. His suit was black, crisp, his gloved hands resting loosely in his pockets. Even from across the room, I felt it — the weight of his gaze.

He was watching me.

And somehow, I knew that gaze. That stillness. That quiet command that made the air feel heavy.

But before I could move, a voice interrupted.

“Miss Hart?”

I turned sharply. A tall man with dark hair and a smile that could melt reason stood before me. No mask. Just pure confidence.

“Aifen ,” he said smoothly, offering his hand. “Butler of The Obsidian. Welcome.”

My mind flashed back — the name from the invitation. “You’re the one who sent—?”

“The invitation, yes,” he said. “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation.”

My throat went dry. “Why?”

He smiled faintly. “Let’s just say… certain patrons found you intriguing.”

“Patrons?” I repeated, my gaze flicking, almost involuntarily, toward the silver mask again. He was still watching. Unmoving.

He gestured toward a hallway lined with candles. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”

Every instinct screamed at me to say no. But I followed.

---

The hallway opened into a room bathed in candlelight.

And flowers.

Everywhere — was filled with roses — in every color imaginable. The scent was overwhelming, sweet and intoxicating. It felt like stepping into a dream.

My breath caught. “What is this?”

“A gift,” He said said softly. “For you.”

“For me?”

He nodded toward a small table where a silver mask rested beside a black envelope.

“He requested it for you.”

My chest tightened. “Who did?”

“Mr silver ”

My heartbeat was thunder in my ears. I turned slowly, scanning the room — but he wasn’t there.

“He wanted you to have this moment,” said. “And a choice.”

“What choice?”

“To leave now… or to step fully into the world he’s inviting you to.”

The air seemed to crackle. “And if I stay?”

The man's lips curved. “Then he’ll come to you.”

I should’ve walked away. I knew that.

But I didn’t.

The room was too beautiful. The mystery too heavy.

And maybe a part of me — the broken, curious part — wanted to know who hid behind that silver mask.

I turned back toward the table. The mask was gone.

I froze.

When I spun around, he was there.

The man in the silver mask. Silent. Towering. Every inch of him radiating restrained power.

He stepped closer, and the world shrank until there was only his presence.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch. Just watched me — eyes dark through the silver slits.

And somehow, that was worse.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying prey.

My skin prickled.

Then, in a voice low and distorted by the mask, he said, “Strip.”

My breath caught. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t repeat himself. Just waited.

Every rational thought screamed at me to leave. To run.

But something in his voice — the quiet authority, the unshakable calm — rooted me to the spot.

“I—” I started, then stopped.

He took a step forward. The distance between us vanished, and suddenly, I could smell him — smoke, cedar, something dark and familiar.

My pulse raced.

“I don’t even know who you are,” I said, my voice trembling.

“You don’t need to,” he replied. “Not yet.”

The way he said it… sent heat crawling up my neck.

I turned away, trying to breathe. My hands were shaking. I hated that he could see it.

But before I could decide — he was gone.

Just like that.

The air shifted, and I was alone again, surrounded by flowers.

I exhaled shakily, the tension unspooling from my chest, leaving only confusion behind.

Who was he?

And why did his voice sound like… him?

---

I woke up the next morning with flower petals scattered across my apartment floor.

Adrian had arranged for all the bouquets to be sent home after I left — a “gift from the club,” his note said.

The sight of them made my chest ache. I couldn’t decide if it was from beauty or guilt.

I took some to work, to decorate the company at least

As I arranged them in vases, my phone buzzed with a text from Daniel — a kind colleague from marketing.

> Dinner tonight? Just friends. You look like you need a break.

I smiled faintly. Something normal. Something safe.

“Sure,” I texted back.

I didn’t notice Andrew standing behind the glass wall of his office, watching me smile at my phone.

---

That evening, as I placed the last vase on my counter, my cabinet looked like a garden in full bloom. The scent of roses clung to my skin.

There was a knock on the door — Daniel, smiling, holding takeout and a bottle of wine.

We ate, laughed, talked about anything that wasn’t complicated. It felt… good. Light.

Until my phone buzzed.

Andrew: Where are you?

I frowned. At the office _Why?

No reply.

---

The next morning, I was at his office early. Andrew sat behind his desk, perfectly composed, swirling a glass of red wine — at ten in the morning.

i just dropped the last files when Daniel called out to me

“Lily hii” he said

I waved back and smiled

I felt eyes on me , I looked up and saw Andrew staring at us

His eyes lifted. Cold. Controlled.

Then — crack.

The glass shattered in his hand.

“Andrew!” I rushed forward, instinctively grabbing his wrist. “You’re bleeding!”

He didn’t flinch, just stared at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly.

Blood dripped onto his papers. I tore a tissue from his desk and pressed it to his palm. “You’ll get an infection.”

His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t touch me.”

“Then stop bleeding,” I shot back, breathless.

His gaze flicked to my face — my flushed cheeks, the worry in my eyes — and for a moment, his control faltered.

Something raw flashed there. Possession. Guilt. Desire.

“Who sent you flowers?” he asked suddenly.

I froze. “What?”

His voice dropped lower. “The flowers, Lily. Who sent them?”

“I—I don’t know.”

He leaned closer, eyes burning. “You’re lying.”

I swallowed hard. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” he murmured.

And before I could answer, his bloodied hand brushed my cheek — soft, hesitant — like he hadn’t meant to do it at all.

I stared at him, heart thundering.

He pulled back sharply, standing. “You should go home.”

“It's not closing hours”

“Now.”

I left without another word, but as I closed the door, I realized something terrifying.

I wasn’t sure if I was scared of him… or of how much I wanted him.

---

****