Beneath the Billionairess Mask

If the night had gone according to Seraphina Vale's plan, she'd be at home by midnight, curled up in her worn-out pajamas with her laptop on her knees, finalizing next week's corporate fundraiser budget while sipping stale chamomile tea.

Instead, she was standing in the grand ballroom of the Sterling Hotel, a place so disgustingly opulent it made her teeth ache, directing an army of overpaid caterers and skittish interns like a battlefield general in a silk blazer and four-inch heels that pinched her toes mercilessly.

"Chandeliers dimmed to seventy percent, please. We're going for romantic, not dental-surgery bright," Sera barked into her headset, her eyes scanning the sweeping room with practiced precision. "Yes, seventy, Theo. Not seventy-five, not sixty-five. Seventy."

A harried assistant scurried past with a tray of imported roses, nearly taking out a line of champagne flutes. Sera caught the vase just in time, her fingers brushing the icy glass. Drops of water splashed her wrist, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Miss Vale?" a young server called, breathless. "The ice sculpture's melting faster than planned. The swan's beak-"

"If the swan's beak droops, switch it with the backup in the freezer," Sera snapped. "Go. Now."

She blew out a shaky breath as the kid disappeared. Her reflection glimmered back at her from the polished black marble floors: a fierce woman with deep brown skin, stormy grey eyes lined with dark kohl, and a tightly pinned bun that threatened to come undone from the sheer force of her frustration. A tiny mole under her left eye only seemed to emphasize how tired she looked.

"Deep breaths, Sera," she murmured to herself, adjusting the neckline of her sleek crimson dress. She'd chosen the color deliberately - a subtle statement that even if she was the hired help tonight, she'd never blend in with the suits and shallow designer gowns that filled the room like glossy mannequins.

---

The orchestral quartet in the corner shifted to a sweeping waltz, the golden chandeliers flickering like candle flames. All around her, the city's wealthiest elite schmoozed and clinked crystal flutes, oblivious to the fact that the entire illusion of perfection rested on Sera's exhausted shoulders.

She caught sight of the giant LED screen cycling through carefully curated photos of the couple of the hour: Eryx Kane - the untouchable CEO whose stare could freeze the sun - and his breathtakingly beautiful bride-to-be, Clarissa Mendez.

Each picture was more nauseating than the last. Clarissa draped over Eryx's arm, her diamond engagement ring a small asteroid threatening to blind anyone within ten feet. Eryx's expression never changed: a bored, almost contemptuous indifference that made him look like he'd rather be anywhere else.

---

"Do you think he actually loves her?" a soft voice asked beside her.

Sera didn't jump - she'd trained herself to expect interns and assistants to appear like ghosts at her elbow. It was Theo, her overworked, painfully earnest assistant. He clutched a clipboard to his chest, eyes wide as he stared at the screen.

"Love?" Sera scoffed. "In this room? Don't be cute, Theo."

"But they look so-"

"They look rich," Sera corrected. "Rich people don't need love, they buy it. Now stop gawking and check the champagne tower. One drunk socialite toppling those glasses and we'll be trending on scandal blogs for weeks."

Theo scurried away, muttering apologies. Sera smirked, but the bitterness lingered. She adjusted her headset mic and started pacing the edge of the dance floor, her heels clicking like gunshots.

---

Her phone buzzed. She snatched it up, balancing her tablet in her other hand.

"Mom?" she said, pitching her voice low. "Please tell me Maya's studying."

On the other end, her mother's voice was soft, worn from years of worry and illness. "She's trying, baby. She misses you."

Sera's throat tightened. "I'll be home soon. Don't let her stay up for me."

"She wants you to know she's proud," her mother said, voice warm with a smile Sera could feel through the phone. "You're doing something amazing tonight."

Amazing. Right. Selling her soul for a paycheck that would cover her mother's next round of treatments, her sister's college application fees, and maybe - just maybe - keep the lights on for another month.

"I'll call you when it's over," Sera whispered. "Love you."

She ended the call and slid her phone into her clutch before her eyes could well up. She didn't have time for tears tonight. Not when she was about to pull off the biggest event of her struggling career - a party so flawless that the Kane family would owe her favors for years.

---

But then, Clarissa Mendez disappeared.

Sera spotted the glittering blur of Clarissa's silver gown slipping out a side door, her train bunched in her fists. Odd. Clarissa was the kind of bride who'd rather choke on her Swarovski choker than miss a photo op.

Suspicion prickled at the back of Sera's mind. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the draped tables, the expensive caviar being spooned onto crackers, the CEO's icy eyes tracking the dance floor from across the room like a bored panther in a glass cage.

But Sera was nothing if not stubbornly curious.

---

She slipped behind the velvet curtain lining the corridor and padded down the hallway, heels sinking into plush carpet. She paused near a cracked door, hushed voices trickling out like poison.

"... baby, relax," a man's voice drawled. Not Eryx Kane - his voice was lower, rougher. No, this was... someone else.

Sera pressed her ear to the crack.

"You promised you'd tell him," the man murmured, voice dripping with mock affection. "Or do you like playing the billionaire's doll?"

"Ugh, shut up." Clarissa's familiar high whine made Sera's lip curl. "It's just a contract, babe. The old man's will says he has to be engaged by next quarter. He signs the papers, I get my cut. You get me all to yourself. Everyone wins."

Sera nearly dropped her headset.

A contract? A payoff? The entire fairytale romance - the dazzling ring, the six-figure cake, the orchestra playing sentimental nonsense in the next room - was nothing but a staged performance?

---