[Rosella – First Person POV]
The invitation was black velvet with gold-foil lettering, sealed with a blood-red wax crest:
> "You are cordially invited to The Midnight Masque. Entrance requires elegance, secrecy, and silence. Unmasking before midnight is betrayal. Bring no shame. Leave no truth."
Dramatic much?
Saint Augustine's wasn't throwing a dance. They were throwing a performance — masks, music, and mayhem all dressed up in couture and hidden intentions.
And me?
I was wearing a gown stitched with borrowed pearls and silent fury.
I didn't come to dance.
I came to watch. And maybe — just maybe — to set a few things in motion.
But then he showed up.
Wearing a black mask and a tux like sin itself.
And everything spun off-axis.
---
[Damien – First Person POV]
I told myself I was only here to observe.
To see who Rosella danced with.
To make sure no one touched her — not really.
But I knew what I was doing the moment I put on the black mask.
I wasn't here to watch.
I was here to test her.
And maybe tempt her, too.
She stood near the staircase, sipping something that looked expensive and not entirely legal.
Gold glitter dusted her shoulders. Her mask was crimson, like temptation dipped in fire.
She didn't see me at first.
Good.
I needed the head start.
---
[Rosella – First Person POV]
The masked stranger cut through the crowd like he owned it.
There was something familiar in the way he moved — like he was used to people making space for him.
He walked straight to me. No hesitation.
"Dance?" he asked.
The voice. I knew it.
He didn't wait for an answer. He just took my glass, set it down, and led me to the center of the ballroom like he had every right to touch me.
Spoiler: he didn't.
But I let him anyway.
The music slowed. The lights dimmed.
And then we were just... moving.
Spinning. Breathing. Matching each other's rhythm like we'd done it a thousand times before.
"You're dangerous," I whispered.
"Only to people who like control," he replied.
---
[Damien – First Person POV]
She was sharper than a blade, and twice as beautiful.
And for some reason, I wanted to see if I could make her lose her balance.
"You trust too easily," I murmured near her ear.
"I don't trust you at all."
I smirked. "Then why are you still dancing with me?"
"Because I like danger."
Touché.
We spun, dipped, paused — a breath too close.
For a second, her hand brushed my jaw. She paused. Her eyes flickered.
Recognition.
But she didn't say my name.
And I didn't say hers.
Because that's the rule: masks on, secrets safe.
---
[Rosella – First Person POV]
I knew it was Damien.
No one else had that voice — silk and storm, arrogance and ache.
But I didn't call him out.
Because part of me wanted this moment to live outside our war.
Outside the eye-rolls and verbal fencing.
Here, in this hidden hour, we weren't enemies.
We were almost... something else.
Until he said:
> "I saw what you did to Veronica. Impressive."
And just like that, the moment shattered.
"I didn't do it for applause," I said.
"I know. You did it to survive. Same reason I do everything."
Silence.
Then he leaned in again, softer.
> "Careful, Rosella. The Thorns play dirty. And you? You're not dirty enough yet."
---
[Damien – First Person POV]
She looked like she wanted to slap me.
Or kiss me.
Maybe both.
I'd take either.
But before she could speak, the music stopped. Lights flared gold. A single bell rang out.
Midnight.
Unmasking time.
She turned to leave — fast, like the spell was broken.
But I caught her wrist, just for a heartbeat.
"You ever think," I said, "that we're not so different?"
She didn't answer.
Just slipped away into the crowd, like a ghost in heels.
And somehow, that hurt more than it should've.
---