8. MASQUERADE GONE WRONG

There he was.

Knight

Laughing at something, one of the men said, a low sound that vibrated across the floor and hit her square in the chest. For a moment, she forgot the job, forgot Kenneth, forgot the years of resentment curdled inside her. All she could think was how he had once looked at her—bare skin, dark room as the world stripped away.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to move.

A waiter nearly collided with her, sending expensive champagne splashing onto the marble. Heads turned again, amused, vindicated in their thoughts that her size was an inconvenience. “So sorry, madam,” the young man stammered, pale with terror.

“It’s fine,” she murmured, though outwardly, her cheeks burned in mock embarrassment.

Yes, the clumsy fat woman.

The receiver of all the ridicule.

She had lived it all before, allowed her to once upon a time, hurt her even… but not anymore.

Her pulse was a drumbeat beneath her skin as she reached for another drink, pretending to admire the floral arrangements. She was close enough now to hear Knight’s voice—smooth, controlled, sinfully deep, threaded with amusement.

“You’d think people wear masks to hide,” he was saying when she tuned in, “but I believe they wear them to reveal. To show who they’d rather be if they weren’t shackled by society’s scrutiny.”

The men standing with him laughed boisterously, and Barbara’s throat tightened, amusement dancing slightly on her lips.

She kind of agreed with him on that.

Give a man the cover of darkness, and the beast within will come out to play.

Barbara was still admiring the flower arrangements when something suddenly shifted in the air. She watched from the corner of her eye as a beautiful woman in crimson silk approached them, a mischievous gleam in her eye that spoke of malicious intent.

Before Barbara could process what was happening, the woman brushed past her deliberately, catching her dress with a sharp tug. The fabric tore with an audible rip, sending loud gasps rippling across the room.

“Oh dear,” the woman drawled, not sounding sorry at all. “I suppose some fabrics just aren’t made to stretch that far.”

Barbara froze.

Tiny snickers scattered like broken glass, filling her with a cold dread.

You see, Barbie had prepared herself for some ridicule tonight. I mean, with the way she was dressed, it was only expected, but coming face to face with a mockery this blatant sent a sting of humiliation so sharp and hot coursing through her. Even greater was the boiling hot rage that threatened to unleash itself, that threatened to make her go apeshit on the useless woman’s ass.

Barbie opened her mouth, a reply forming like venom on her tongue, but then a low, familiar voice cut through the noise.

“That’s enough.”

Knight.

Yes. This was the moment where he’d make himself her enemy, take the side of the pretty girl, and join in the fat girl ridicule.

This was the moment that would make her kill him without any hesitation or regret whatsoever.

Although his mask concealed half his expression, the fury in his tone was unmistakable. But none of it was directed at her.

The crowd went still. The woman in crimson blinked, her painted lips parting in shock. “Pardon?”

“You. Apologize,” he said softly.

The woman let out a brittle laugh. “What? To her? B—but it was an accident!”

Knight’s head tilted. “All the more reason why she should hear how sorry you are. Come on,” he pressed, the words saying he had all the time in the world, his tone, however, saying the complete opposite, “Before I make you wish you had.”

The air tightened, a tense electricity hovering in the air as everyone watched with bated breath, suddenly mesmerized.

The woman’s eyes darted to the circle forming around them, then back to him. “Of course,” she stammered shakily, stepping back. “My mistake.”

Barbara’s heart thudded softly as the world and the woman who had ruined her dress moved on away from the little incident.

The apology had been mediocre at best, but it wasn’t like she had ever gotten one before anyway.

And she had only one person to thank for this miracle.

The very man she had been sent to kill tonight. 

Knight approached her slowly, his movements deliberate, measured, an apex predator's grace tempered by curiosity and mercy.

He stopped just a breath short of her.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, glancing at the torn fabric where the table's edge had nicked her thigh. “May I?”

Before she could answer, he retrieved a napkin from a passing tray and bent low, pressing the cool fabric gently against her skin. His touch careful, almost reverent, and yet somehow, dangerously erotic. The contact shot heat through her veins, so familiar it made her dizzy with lust and need, frightening her so much that she backed away in fear, as though burnt.

“I…I’m fine,” she managed, her voice low. “It’s nothing.”

He looked up then, their eyes locking through the slits of their masks, even as he rose to his feet.

For one aching moment, the world around them disappeared—the music, the murmurs, the glittering falseness of it all. There was only him, and the memory of everything she’d sworn to forget.

“It’s not nothing. You shouldn’t let people treat you like that,” he said.

Barbara nodded gratefully, suddenly unable to bring herself to say anything. She forced herself to let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

His words cut deeper than she expected.

He straightened, still watching her, critically, almost as if he were... worried.

For some reason, she felt anger, more at herself than him.

She was not supposed to be seeing him as human… as one who deserved her mercy?

Not when her freedom depended on it.

Perhaps, she could goad him on some more. Taunt him until he revealed the true monster underneath.

“And who made you brand ambassador for the plus-sized?” She sneered at him, “Listen, you may have saved me tonight, but come on, don’t pretend like this is something you do on the daily. I won’t have you patronize me. You helped me out. For that, I thank you. Now, good day.”

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm.

This was her chance.

She could lace his hand with the deadly poison she had carefully prepared for the night, the one that will slowly poison his blood, ensuring that he was gone by morning.

She could put her knives to use, call it self-defense.

She could do any of that and so much more, and she didn’t know why, but something told her that he knew what she was capable of too...

And yet, rather than be scared, humor danced on his lips.

“I see you want to play the oblivious card, but come on… Dahlia,” he trailed off, his eyes shining with mischief as Barbie’s eyes widened in surprise.

He knew who she was.

“Did you really think you could get away from me like that? You wound me.”

Ah, fuck.

Now that just made things a lot harder, didn’t it?