Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN IN THE SILVER MASK
The bodyguard stopped in front of me.
Up close, he was even larger than he had looked from the stage.
“Mr. Vale wants to speak with you.”
My fingers tightened around the champagne tray.
“Why?”
His expression did not change.
“Because he asked.”
“That’s not actually an answer.”
For the first time, the man blinked.
Behind him, a few wealthy men were openly watching now.
I suddenly understood how ridiculous I must look.
Borrowed dress.
Borrowed heels.
Silver mask hiding half my face.
A diner waitress pretending she belonged in a room where one table probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
I glanced toward Marcus.
He gave me a desperate little motion that clearly meant:
Go.
So I went.
The bodyguard led me across the nightclub.
Adrian Vale never looked away.
That was somehow worse than if he had.
He sat alone at the center of a curved black booth, one hand resting near an untouched glass of whiskey.
Everything around him felt expensive and controlled.
I felt neither.
The bodyguard stopped.
“Miss…”
“Lila Hart.”
Adrian repeated it.
“Lila.”
His voice was low.
Calm.
Not threatening exactly.
But impossible to ignore.
“Yes?”
“Take off the mask.”
I hesitated.
“Why?”
A man standing nearby coughed.
Apparently no one asked Adrian Vale why.
His mouth shifted slightly.
“Because I’d like to see your face.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
I realized too late what I had said.
The bodyguard looked at me as if I had just volunteered to die.
Then Adrian laughed.
Not loudly.
Just once.
But every person around us noticed.
I stared.
He looked almost surprised himself.
“Sit.”
“I’m working.”
“I’ll pay for the time.”
“That’s also not how jobs work.”
“It is here.”
I looked toward Marcus.
He was now pretending not to know me.
Traitor.
Adrian motioned toward the empty seat across from him.
“Five minutes.”
I sat.
Only because my knees were shaking.
He studied me.
Not like a man looking at a woman.
Like a man examining a mystery he did not appreciate.
“You don’t belong here.”
“I’ve been getting that impression.”
“You’re not one of Marcus’s regular employees.”
“No.”
“Why tonight?”
“Emergency server.”
“Why?”
I frowned.
“You interrogate everyone who brings champagne?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
Something dark passed through his eyes.
“That is what I’m trying to understand.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
He leaned closer.
For one insane second, I thought he was going to touch me.
He didn’t.
Instead, he looked directly at my silver mask.
“Where did you get that?”
“The dressing room.”
His face changed.
“Which dressing room?”
“Backstage.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Marcus.”
Adrian looked over my shoulder.
The bodyguard immediately moved.
I turned.
“What?”
Adrian stood.
“Take it off.”
This time, I did.
The moment I placed the silver mask on the table, Adrian picked it up.
He turned it over.
Something tiny had been taped inside the lining.
A photograph.
Old.
Faded.
Adrian froze.
I looked at it.
The picture showed a younger Adrian standing beside a blonde woman in front of a lake.
He looked happy.
Almost unrecognizable.
“Who is she?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“My wife.”
I stared.
“I thought…”
“Everyone thinks she died three years ago.”
My pulse jumped.
He turned the photograph over.
There were six words written on the back.
SHE DIDN’T DIE BY ACCIDENT, ADRIAN.
May you like
And beneath them, in fresh black ink:
ASK THE GIRL IN THE MASK.
