His Baby, My Secret

Elena Marlowe froze. Her breath hitched as her eyes met the mirrorand for a split second, she didn't recognize the woman staring back.

"Who was she?"

This hollow-eyed stranger with perfectly lined lips and a smile that didn't quite reach?

Not the girl she used to be, who was hopeful, soft and a little bit naive. Not the woman she tried to become like... Polished, composed or like someone who are easy to love.

Because now, she just… feel empty and tired. She's looking beautiful... maybe, but not alive. She tilted her head, searching for something, who familiar in that reflection.

But all she saw was the weight of pretending.

And God, wasn't it heavy? She blinked once, slowly. Maybe tonight wasn't about becoming someone new.

Maybe it was just about finally facing who she'd become.

The crimson gown hugged her like it belonged to someone else. Clinging to every curve like a second skin, which is elegant, unapologetic, far too expensive for a woman who used to survive on microwave dinners and whispered prayers over past-due rent.

She stared at her reflection, almost laughing. What was this charade? This polished illusion stitched together with sequins and borrowed confidence?

The golden mask perched delicately over her face, catching the light just so hiding the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight in her chest.

It looked like glamour. Also it providing her power.

But underneath?

She was still that girl who counted coins for bus fare. Still that woman who smiled through disappointment because it was easier than explaining it. This wasn't her. Not really.

But for one night, maybe pretending was close enough.

But only for tonight… tonight she didn't want to be Elena Marlowe. Not the girl with a pink slip in one hand and a broken engagement in the other.

Not the woman who smiled through humiliation, who swallowed pride like pills just to get through the day.

No...

Tonight, she wanted to disappear into someone else's skin. Someone bold, someone dangerous or being someone who walked into a room and made heads turn for the right reasons.

Not because she was pitied. Not because she was the cautionary tale. But because she was electric. Untouchable and desired.

For just a few hours, she wanted to forget the ruins behind her and become the fire that burned right through them.

Her job as a freelance editorial assistant barely paid the rent. Clients were inconsistent, deadlines always loomed, and the sense of professional validation was nowhere to be found.

Six months ago, her engagement had fallen apart.

"Liam Bake was safe," Elena thought bitterly. He just wanted a wife, not a partner, A well-packaged accessory who smiled politely at business dinners, nodded through brunches, and folded laundry like she was offering it to God.

And the funny thing was, I tried.

Oh God, didn't I try?

I wore the lipsticks he liked. Set aside my dreams for the ones he approved of. I even laughed at his bone-dry jokes like they didn't taste like sand in my mouth. All just to be the version of me he could love.

But in trying to become her, I lost myself.

Until the night she overheard the voicemail on his phone. She had gone to surprise him, balancing two cups of overpriced coffee, only to hear another woman’s voice echo through his office: "Last night was incredible, baby. When are you going to tell your fiancée about us?"

It took less than ten minutes to walk out. It's abouy her dignity, and whatever was left of her pride. And just three seconds, three brutal, glorious seconds... to block his number.

No hesitation and no trembling in her hands. Because when the silence after goodbye feels lighter than the weight of staying—you don't look back. She didn't need another apology wrapped in excuses. She needed freedom and for the first time in a long time, she chose herself.

Since then, she'd been surviving. Not living, just surviving. Her parents hadn't spoken to her in almost a year—her mother disapproved of the way Elena left the engagement without "fighting for it," and her father had always been better at silence than support. She was on her own, completely.

So tonight, she wore the dress. The one that always felt a little too daring, too loud for the version of her that played it safe. She didn't come to this bar to flirt or not to seduce anyone. She just came here to feel. To remember what it was like to take up space without apologizing for it.

To prove herself more than anyone that there was still fire beneath all that numbness. That beneath the quiet ache of the past, beneath the routines and regrets... she was still alive.

Still capable of pulse, of want, of something real. Even if it only lasted one night.

She inhaled sharply, nerves coiled tight, and pushed open the doors to the ballroom.

It was like walking into another world. Glittering chandeliers hung from high ceilings, casting soft golden light over the marble floor. The room pulsed with music, chatter, and laughter—everyone adorned in masks, swaying to a rhythm that felt ancient and intoxicating.

Only for tonight, she breathed, barely louder than a whisper. Like a borrowed illusion, draped over old wounds and almost-healed scars. Tonight, she wasn't anyone's obligation. Not the ex-fiancée's shadow. Not the daughter, who trying to make the things right. Or not the girl who plays nice so she won't be left behind. Just… her.

A quiet rebellion against the woman she's always been—measured, careful, endlessly accommodating. Bold in borrowed heels. Braver than she felt.

And maybe that would never be enough for the world. But for once, it had to be enough for her.

She blended into the shadows, nursing a glass of champagne and watching as couples danced under the glow. Her friend Lila had dragged her to this masquerade gala under the promise of "one night of fantasy." And honestly? Elena had nothing left to lose.

That's when he walked in. Not just entering—he owned the room the moment he crossed the threshold.

A black tailored suit molded perfectly to his tall frame. His mask was simple, black, and elegant, just enough to hide his identity but not the sharp jawline or the cool, commanding presence he radiated. He moved like a man who had never been told no in his life.

The moment his storm-grey gaze met hers from across the ballroom, Elena's body went still, as if the world had narrowed to just him.

She looked away, her face burning with doubt. Surely his gaze had passed right through her—hadn't it?

She told herself not to look, to keep walking, to vanish into the noise and lights like none of it mattered.

But something, like some pull she didn't want to name which made her glance back. But something stopped her. A weightless pull, soft and stubborn, like a thread tugging at her spine familiar. She told herself not to look. That whatever this was, it didn't deserve her attention anymore.

And yet... her body betrayed her resolve, her eyes shifted slowly, cautiously.