The Red Peacock Mask

I took a deep breath and wiped the remaining moisture from under my eyes. The stylists came back into the room and quickly helped me put on the champagne silk dress. They brushed my hair into soft waves and applied a light coat of powder to hide my swollen eyelids.

Just as they finished fixing the back of my dress, the bedroom door opened again.

Dorothy stood in the doorway. He was wearing a dark, custom-tailored suit that made him look tall and broad-shouldered. His short dark hair was combed back neatly, revealing his sharp jawline and clear, handsome face. My heart skipped a beat the moment my eyes met his.

He stepped into the room and looked at me carefully. His brows pulled together into a slight frown. “Evelyn? Are you ready?”

“Yes, I just finished,” I said, trying to force a normal smile.

He stepped closer to me, his sharp dark eyes inspecting my face. “Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

I turned my head away slightly, pretending to fix my earring. “No, I’m fine. A bit of powder got into my eye while the makeup artist was working. It just stung for a second.”

Dorothy looked at me for a moment longer. He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but he swallowed his words and nodded. “All right. Everyone is waiting in the main hall. Let’s go down together.”

We walked down the wide grand staircase side by side. As we entered the main ballroom, vibrant orchestral music filled the air. Golden chandeliers hung high from the ceiling, casting a warm light over hundreds of wealthy guests.

To my surprise, the banquet was not an ordinary dinner. It was a masquerade ball. Servants in white gloves stood near the doorway, holding silver trays loaded with intricate eye masks made of feathers, velvet, and silk.

“Pick one,” Dorothy said softly, turning toward me.

I looked at the silver tray and chose a simple, delicate white lace mask adorned with subtle silver glitter. Dorothy selected a plain black leather mask that covered the upper half of his face, making his dark eyes appear even deeper and more mysterious.

We tied our masks on. The lively music changed into a slow, elegant waltz. Guests stepped onto the polished dance floor in pairs.

Dorothy turned to me and held out his right hand, his posture polite and handsome. “May I have this dance, Evelyn?”

I placed my hand in his. His palm was warm and large. He led me gently into the middle of the dance floor. One of his hands rested lightly on my waist while the other held my hand securely. We began to move smoothly with the rhythm of the music.

Dancing with him felt like a dream. For a few minutes, I forgot about the apartment keys in my room, the heavy check, and my mother’s cold words. I only wanted to focus on his warm touch and his gentle breath near my cheek.

Suddenly, Dorothy’s steps became unsteady. He stumbled slightly, his body leaning heavily against mine.

“Dorothy?” I asked in alarm, quickly grabbing his arm to keep him upright.

His skin felt unusually hot through his suit jacket. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and a faint red flush had climbed up his neck to his cheeks. His eyes looked hazy and unfocused.

“I... I feel strange,” he muttered in a low, raspy voice. “My head is burning.”

I looked at the half-empty wine glass he was holding in his left hand. A terrifying thought crossed my mind. Someone at the banquet must have tampered with his drink—a heavy drug mixed with strong alcohol.

“Come with me,” I whispered urgently. “We need to get you out of here before anyone notices.”

I wrapped his arm over my shoulders and supported his weight. We quietly slipped past the dancing crowd and walked out of the loud ballroom, taking the quiet back stairs up to his private bedroom on the second floor.

I pushed open his bedroom door, guided him inside, and helped him sit down on the edge of his large bed. Dorothy leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees while he panted heavily. His breathing was rough, and sweat was dripping down his forehead.

“Sit still, Dorothy. I will go down and fetch some cold water and ice for you,” I said, turning around to head toward the door.

Before I could take a step, Dorothy reached out and grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. His hand was burning hot against my cold skin.

“Don’t go...” he rasped out, his dark eyes looking up at me through his mask. “Evelyn... please... help me...”

My heart began to beat wildly against my ribs. A rush of heat hit my face. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at him. Did he want me? Was he asking me to stay with him in the way a man asks a woman?

For one brief second, a flicker of crazy hope filled my chest.

But then, Dorothy’s head drooped slightly. His dry lips parted, and a soft, desperate mutter came out of his mouth.

“Call... call Clara... please... bring Clara here...”

The world around me seemed to freeze instantly.

Clara. She was his official partner, the beautiful high-society lady his family wanted him to marry. The woman everyone said was perfect for him.

My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. A sharp, stinging pain spread right through my chest. Even in his intoxicated, drugged state, when he was completely out of control, the woman he called for was not me. He would never choose me.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced my voice to sound steady. “All right... I will go find Clara for you.”

I pulled my wrist away from his hot grip and walked toward the bedroom door. But as my fingers touched the cold metal door handle, I stopped.

I stood in the doorway, staring at the dimly lit hallway outside.

Tomorrow morning, I would pack my bags and leave this mansion forever. I would move into that small apartment, far away from this house, far away from the Vance family, and far away from Dorothy. Once I left, I would just be an ex-stepsister. I would never have another chance to be close to him.

A dangerous, obsessive thought suddenly flared in my mind: Why couldn't it be me? Just for tonight... why not me?

Why did I always have to be the obedient, quiet girl who stepped back and surrendered everything? Why couldn't I have one night with the man I loved, even if it was built on a lie?

My hands began to shake as my inner desire completely overtook my reason.

I turned around and walked over to the side table near the door where Clara had left her personal belongings earlier. Sitting on the marble top was Clara’s unique masquerade mask—a distinctive, bright red peacock mask adorned with gold lace.

I reached out, picked up Clara’s red peacock mask, and unfastened my own white lace mask. I placed Clara’s mask over my face and tied the black ribbon tightly behind my head.

I walked back into Dorothy’s dark bedroom and locked the heavy door softly from the inside.

Dorothy was leaning back against the bed pillows, his eyes half-closed as the drug raged through his blood. Hearing the sound of footsteps, he lifted his heavy head and looked toward the door.

“Clara...? Is that you?” he called out in a hazy, curious whisper, trying to see through the little light .

I did not utter a single word. I knew that if I spoke, my voice would give me away.

Instead, I walked over to the wall and switched off the small bedside lamp. The bedroom instantly fell into pitch-black darkness. The only light left was a tiny sliver of pale moonlight peeking through the thick velvet curtains, then I took a step toward his bed.