Ruthless Ties

The world zipped past-a speedometer ticking faster and faster while lights danced across skin-but such anguish clung to the pain and anger weighing upon her heart. Words of gold carved over an elegant invitation in her hands were the rudest reminder of everything that she had buried deep inside, the cruellest part of her darksome, gloomy past.

Masquerade Ball: A Night of Elegance and Mystery.

She gritted her teeth. Mystery? The only mystery she wanted to figure out was why the man whom she loved with all her heart betrayed her. This was not a party; it was to be her opportunity to confront him.

Before her now was the entrance to the hotel: a dazzling sight of chandeliers and columns draped in silk. Elara stepped out, her scarlet gown clinging to her body, swaying at every step. A black feathered mask hid her eyes, framing her striking crimson lips.

She took a deep breath, her heart racing. Inside was her ex-fiancé, Victor-the man who had promised her forever but had instead traded her in for wealth and power. For the first time tonight, she would face him.

The ballroom was an ocean of elegance, full of masked men and women whirling in a maze of deception. The music fluttered through the atmosphere, the violins chanting out a haunting serenade. She weaved among the sea of people, eyes keen, heart set.

"Champagne, miss?" A waiter extended a glass flute.

"Thank you," she whispered, reaching for and drinking a sip off it.

Her gaze finally met his. Victor stood near the grand staircase, his smirk well evident even behind the silver mask. He had a glass in his hand and was talking lazily to a tall statuesque blonde.

Her chest constricted. Anger roiled in her belly as memories of his lies scratching her brain raged on. Her fists had clenched.

"Steady, Elara," she whispered, forging ahead.

But before she could get to him, a firm hand clamped on her wrist, spinning her back around. A tall, broad-shouldered man loomed in front of her, his face shrouded in shadows. An arresting black mask with silver swirls now transfixed hers. His sharp, intense gaze held her immobile.

"Let go," she said, her voice low and furious, as her heart raced.

"Not so fast," he whispered, his voice silky, rich, and dangerous. "You certainly seem quite determined to ruin someone's evening."

"That's none of your business," she said shortly, tugging her hand from his grasp.

He bent, his breath hot against her cheek. "When a beautiful woman storms into a masquerade with fury in her eyes, it becomes everybody's business."

"Let me pass," she demanded, her voice cold.

"Or what?" His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile.

Her temper flared. "I'll-"

"Cause a scene?" He arched a brow. "Hardly becoming of someone as graceful as you."

Anger boiled in her stomach. "Who are you?"

"One who loves mystery." His eyes lingered on her lips half a second too long. "But I'll give you an option: go and yell at him and let your anger devour you. or let me steal you from this moment."

Elara's breath caught. Something strange pulled, magnetic and undeniable, fastening her to this man. The room blurred. Victor, her rage-everything save the man in front of her-was hazy.

"One night," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "No names. No regrets. Only freedom."

Her mind screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her. Every nerve hummed with temptation.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked.

"You shouldn't," he said, taking her hand again. "That's the thrill."

For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then, as if possessed by reckless abandon, she nodded.

He steered her through the crowd, past gilded columns and velvet curtains into a private suite above the ballroom. City lights spilled through the window, bathing the room in silver.

As the door clicked shut, silence fell around them.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered.

"Neither should I," he whispered back, drawing near.

Her breath quickened as he reached for her mask, his fingers grazing her cheek. Slowly, he lifted it away, revealing her wide, luminous eyes.

"You're..."

"Beautiful," he finished, his gaze burning into hers.

She felt vulnerable, exposed-but alive. His hand cradled her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. Her heart raced as desire surged through her veins, raw and undeniable.

A blast of lips upon lips, the sudden collision of needs and hungers. She had him clasped so tightly-fingers knotted through his hair-while he laid his mouth on hers in a consuming, fiery passion that could have devoured them both within its vortex.

Time forgot to exist. Cloths fell, like whispers in the dark; skin met with skin, night unraveling in that symphony of heated sighs, and the limbs getting jumbled.

It wasn't lust, but escape-the ache, desperate, shared, bounding two strangers together in one moment of exquisite oblivion.

By the time the sun had started seeping through the window, Elara stirred, aches of her body the most delicious. The heat wrapped her snug, an arm strongly over her waist.

In came the flood of reality.

Her eyes opened, and she stifled a gasp. Thick black hair-the man from last night.

Her hand went to her mouth as her heart racing. Her clothes were scattered everywhere in the room, evidence of her wild decision.

She edged herself slowly out of bed, gathering her things with trembling hands, getting dressed as fast as possible. She even turned her head away, far from the man who unraveled her soul.

She reached the door, her hand throwing one last transient glance.

"No names," she whispered.

With that, she was gone, leaving him with only memories of the night that would change everything.