Chapter 5: Masks and Mirrors

The ballroom glittered like a fever dream. Or maybe that was just my conscience.

I had crossed a line the moment I told the check-in hostess, "I'm Sienna Stone." There was no going back now. The velvet rope had lifted, the heavy mahogany doors had swung open, and I had stepped out of my life and into my sister's.

The Grandeur Hotel lived up to its name. The ceiling was a fresco of storm clouds and cherubs, illuminated by chandeliers that dripped crystal like frozen tears. Beneath them, the city's elite swirled in a kaleidoscope of silk, satin, and secrets.

Everyone was masked.

It should have been terrifying. Instead, it was intoxicating.

Behind the stiff black lace of my mask, I wasn't Aria the coder. I wasn't the disappointment. I was an enigma. I felt the gaze of the room slide over the black silk dress Sienna had forced me into, but for the first time, I didn't want to shrink away. I wanted to see what it felt like to burn.

"Champagne, madam?" A waiter materialized at my elbow.

"Please," I said, my voice dropping a register to mimic Sienna’s smoky affectation. I took a flute, ignoring Sienna's 'detox' rule for the second time tonight. The bubbles bit pleasantly at my tongue, grounding me.

I scanned the room, my heart doing a traitorous double-time against my ribs.

I spotted Marcus immediately.

He was near the orchestra pit, laughing with a group of older men who looked like they owned small countries. He looked handsome in a classic tuxedo, his blonde hair perfectly coiffed. He was the picture of the doting fiancé, playing the role of the successful CFO to perfection.

Stay out of his way, Sienna had warned.

It was a strange instruction. Shouldn't a fiancée want to be by her future husband's side? But I wasn't about to argue. The last thing I needed was Marcus realizing his 'soulmate' was actually the twin sister he’d met maybe three times.

So, I turned my back on him and waded into the crowd.

The Performance

"Sienna! Darling!"

A woman in a peacock-feather mask descended on me, her fingers dripping with emeralds. "We haven't seen you since the charity polo match! How is the brand?"

I didn't know this woman. I didn't know if Sienna liked polo. But tonight, I was improvising code in real-time.

"Thriving," I said, flashing the bright, practiced smile I’d perfected in the mirror. "We're actually pivoting toward more... sustainable partnerships this quarter."

"Oh, brilliant," the woman cooed. "Always ahead of the curve."

It was terrifyingly easy. I moved from group to group, a shark in black silk. I discussed charity galas I’d never attended and dropped buzzwords about 'synergy' and 'brand elevation.'

I realized something startling: I was good at this.

When I wasn't being Aria—the awkward, defensive sister—I could be charming. I could be witty. The mask was a shield, and behind it, I was invincible.

"The architecture of this room is fascinating, isn't it?" I found myself saying to a real estate mogul near the bar. "The way the architraves mimic the French Baroque style while integrating modern acoustic dampening—it’s a masterful use of space."

The mogul blinked, his bushy eyebrows rising above his gold mask. "I... yes. I suppose it is. You have a keen eye, Miss Stone. I thought you were in... social media?"

I froze. Sienna wouldn't know what an architrave was. Sienna would talk about the lighting for selfies.

"A hobby," I recovered quickly, taking a sip of champagne to hide my dry throat. "Aesthetics are everything in my line of work."

"Indeed," he nodded, impressed.

I excused myself, my pulse thrumming. That was close. Too close.

I retreated to the edge of the dance floor, needing a moment to recalibrate. Couples were swaying to a slow, melancholic waltz. The movement was hypnotic—a sea of color and anonymity.

I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched. Not by the crowd, but by something singular. Something dangerous.

I turned.

Across the room, leaning against a pillar of dark marble, was the man in the black shirt.

Noah West.

He hadn't moved since I entered. He stood in a pocket of stillness amidst the chaos, holding his whiskey like a weapon. He wasn't wearing a mask, and the naked intensity of his face was more concealing than any disguise.

He was looking right at me.

Even from this distance, the connection was electric. It snapped through the air, bypassing the noise, the music, and the lies.

My breath hitched. He thinks I'm Sienna, I reminded myself desperately. He hates influencers.

But he pushed off the pillar.

He was coming toward me.

The Approach

He moved with a predatory grace, the crowd seeming to part for him instinctively. Up close, he was devastating. He smelled of expensive scotch, sandalwood, and cold winter air. He was taller than I expected, looming over me in a way that should have been intimidating but felt strangely protective.

He stopped a foot away. Close enough for me to see the flecks of gold in his dark irises. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

"I don't believe we've met," he said.

His voice was a low baritone that vibrated in my chest. It sounded familiar—like a voice I’d heard in a dream, or perhaps over a headset late at night.

"I..." I hesitated. My throat felt tight. "I'm Sienna."

His eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping over my face, lingering on the black lace mask. He didn't offer his name. He didn't need to.

"You're not what I expected," he said bluntly.

"Oh?" I tilted my head, channeling a confidence I didn't feel. "And what did you expect, Mr. West?"

A flicker of surprise crossed his face at the use of his name. "Vapid. Loud. Glued to a phone."

"I'm multitasking," I lied smoothly. "I'm currently uploading this conversation to the cloud with my mind."

The corner of his mouth twitched. A almost-smile. It transformed his face from severe to breathtaking.

"Impressive bandwidth," he countered. "Tell me, Sienna. What does an influencer think of the NeXus acquisition rumors? Or do you only track the stock market of likes?"

It was a test. He was mocking me, baiting the shallow girl he thought I was.

I met his gaze head-on. "I think market consolidation is inevitable, but if NeXus sacrifices their creative independence for capital, the Titan engine will stagnate. Innovation doesn't happen in a boardroom, Mr. West. It happens in the dark, when you're breaking things to see how they work."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Noah stared at me, his eyes widening slightly. The boredom was gone, replaced by a sharp, hungry intelligence.

"You know the Titan engine?"

"I know... things," I whispered, realizing I’d gone too far again.

"You're not like the others here," he murmured, taking a step closer. The space between us vanished.

"How do you know?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "You can't see my face."

"I don't need to," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips. "I can hear it in your voice. You sound... real."

Dangerous. This was so dangerous. I was drowning in him, and I hadn't even touched him.

The music swelled—a haunting violin solo.

"Dance with me," he said. It wasn't a question.

I should have run. I should have found Marcus. I should have faked a fainting spell.

"Okay," I breathed.

The Dance

He led me onto the floor. His hand settled on the small of my back, his touch burning through the silk of the dress. It was a possessive grip, firm and grounding. I placed my trembling hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath the tuxedo jacket.

We moved together effortlessly. I wasn't a dancer—Sienna was the one who took ballroom lessons—but with him, I didn't need to think. I just followed.

"You're trembling," he noted, pulling me fractionally closer.

"It's cold," I lied.

"Liar."

The word was a caress. He spun me, the world blurring into streaks of gold and black, and when I came back to him, our bodies pressed flush against each other. My chest against his. My secret against his truth.

"Who are you really?" he whispered into my hair.

"I told you," I gasped, my heart hammering against his chest. "I'm Sienna."

"Sienna Stone is engaged to my business partner," Noah said, his voice tightening. "Sienna Stone cares about diamonds and follower counts. She doesn't talk about breaking code in the dark."

He pulled back slightly, looking down at me with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"You feel different," he said. "You feel..."

He didn't finish. Instead, his gaze dropped to my mouth again. He leaned in. The world fell away. There was no ballroom, no Marcus, no lies. Just the magnetic pull of a man who saw the parts of me I usually hid.

He was going to kiss me.

And god help me, I was going to let him.

NO.

The reality crashed back in like a bucket of ice water.

I was wearing a mask. I was pretending to be his business partner's fiancée. If he kissed me—if he kissed Sienna—it would destroy everything. It would destroy NeXus. It would destroy my sister.

And it would break my heart when he realized I was a fraud.

"I need air," I gasped, tearing myself out of his arms.

"Wait—"

I didn't wait. I turned and fled, weaving through the dancing couples, my black dress trailing behind me like a shadow. I pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the balcony, the cold night air slapping my flushed skin.

I gripped the stone railing, gasping for breath, my mind reeling.

What have I done?

The glass door opened behind me.

I froze.

"Sienna, wait."

My blood ran cold. He had followed me. He thought he knew who I was. He thought he was chasing the beautiful, engaged socialite.

He had no idea he was chasing the girl who had loved him from behind a screen for years.

I squeezed my eyes shut beneath the mask.

Don't turn around, Aria. Don't let him see you.