Chapter 6: The Masquerade Ball I

Monday came too quickly.

Elena woke up alone,Marcus had already left for Boston. No goodbye, no kiss, just a text sent at five AM: Flight’s early. See you Thursday.

Thursday. Three days of freedom. Three days when she didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to smile, didn’t have to be the wife of a man who loved someone else.

She should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt empty.

Victoria called at noon. “He’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“Vic, I don’t…”

“I don’t care what you don’t feel like doing. You’ve been locked in that house for a week like a prisoner. You’re coming out with me, and that’s final.”

Elena wanted to argue, but she was too tired. “Where?”

“There’s a charity gala tonight. The Masquerade ball, very fancy, raises money for children’s hospitals. I have an extra ticket.”

“I can’t go to a ball, Victoria. I look like…”

“You look beautiful. You always do. You just can’t see it anymore because Marcus spent five years convincing you otherwise.” Victoria’s voice softened. “Please, Elena. Just one night. Wear a pretty dress, hide behind a mask, and remember what it feels like to be someone other than Marcus Thorne’s forgotten wife.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Someone other than Marcus Thorne’s wife. When was the last time Elena had been just herself? Not a wife, not a disappointment, just Elena?

She couldn’t remember.

“What time?” she asked quietly.

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something gorgeous.”

Victoria hung up before Elena could change her mind.

Elena spent the afternoon in a daze. She showered, dried her hair, stared at her closet for twenty minutes trying to remember what she used to like wearing before Marcus. Everything looked wrong, too bright, too bold, too much.

Finally, she pulled out a dress she’d bought three years ago and never worn. Marcus had hated it, said it was too revealing, too attention-seeking. It was a deep emerald green, silk that clung to her curves, with a neckline that showed her collarbones. Beautiful and completely inappropriate for a wife who was supposed to fade into the background.

Perfect.

She put it on, added simple jewelry, her own, not the pieces Marcus had given her, and did her makeup carefully. Not the natural look Marcus preferred, but something bolder. Smokey eyes, red lips, color in her cheeks.

By the time Victoria arrived, Elena barely recognized herself.

“Holy shit,” Victoria breathed when Elena opened the door. “You look, Elena, you look stunning.”

“It’s too much…”

“It’s perfect. Marcus is an idiot.” Victoria handed her a gold mask decorated with delicate filigree. “Put this on. Tonight, you’re not Elena Thorne. You’re anyone you want to be.”

The gala was held at the Plaza Hotel, in a ballroom that looked like something from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, hundreds of people in elegant gowns and tuxedos, all wearing elaborate masks.

Elena felt like she’d stepped into another world.

“Champagne?” Victoria pressed a glass into her hand before she could protest. “Don’t argue. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I’m a doctor who knows when my best friend needs to get tipsy and have fun.” Victoria clinked her glass against Elena’s. “To freedom.”

“It’s not freedom if I have to go home in three days.”

“Then to three days of pretending.” Victoria drank, then grabbed Elena’s hand. “Come on. Let’s find you someone to dance with.”

“I’m married, Vic…”

“Your husband is in Boston with his supposedly-dead ex-girlfriend. I think the rules of marriage are a little flexible right now.”

Elena wanted to argue, but Victoria was already pulling her into the crowd. The ballroom was packed, easily three hundred people, maybe more. Everyone wore masks, some simple, some elaborate. It made everyone equal somehow, all identities hidden behind silk and feathers.

Victoria introduced her to people, names Elena immediately forgot. A lawyer, a banker, someone who owned hotels. They all smiled politely, made small talk, looked right through her the way people always did.

Elena was used to being invisible.

But then someone looked at her and actually saw.

He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. His mask was simple black leather, covering the upper half of his face. But his eyes were visible, storm-gray and intense, and they were focused entirely on Elena.

“Dance with me,” he said. Not a question, but not quite a demand either. His voice was deep, slightly accented, Italian, maybe.

Victoria nudged Elena forward. “Go.”

Before Elena could protest, the stranger took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. The orchestra was playing something slow and elegant. He pulled her close, one hand on her waist, the other holding hers, and began to move.

Elena forgot how to breathe.

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” he said quietly, his mouth close to her ear. “From that conversation about real estate portfolios.”

“Was it that obvious I was bored?”

“Your eyes glazed over after about ten seconds.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m Dante.”

“Elena.” She paused. “Just Elena.”

“Just Elena,” he repeated, like he was tasting her name. “Are you here alone?”

“With a friend.” She didn’t mention Marcus. Didn’t want to think about him right now.

“And the friend doesn’t mind you dancing with strangers?”

“The friend insisted on it, actually.”

Dante laughed, a low warm sound that made something in Elena’s chest tighten. “Smart friend.”

They danced in silence for a moment. He was good—confident, leading her effortlessly through the steps. His hand on her waist was warm even through the silk of her dress.

“You’re tense,” he observed. “When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

The question caught Elena off guard. When was the last time? Before Marcus, probably. Before she’d started second-guessing every choice, every word, every breath.

“I don’t remember,” she admitted.

“That’s a crime.” His hand tightened slightly on her waist, pulling her closer. “Beautiful women should do exactly what they want, exactly when they want. Life’s too short for anything else.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“And hard to do. I know.” He spun her gently, then pulled her back. “But tonight, you’re wearing a mask. You could be anyone. Do anything. No one knows your name, your history, your obligations. For a few hours, you’re free.”

Free. God, when was the last time she’d felt free?

“What would you do,” Dante asked softly, “if you were really free? If nothing was holding you back?”

Elena thought about it. “Paint,” she said finally. “I used to paint. I was good at it. But I stopped.”

“Why?”

“Because someone told me I wasn’t good enough.” The words came out before she could stop them.

Dante was quiet for a moment. Then: “Someone lied to you.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve never seen my work.”

“I don’t need to. I can see it in your eyes, you miss it. People who aren’t good at something don’t miss it that much.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Let me guess. A man told you that you weren’t good enough.”