“You’re not supposed to know it’s me,” she said, her voice muffled slightly by the ornate black and gold mask covering her face. Her dark curls spilled over her bare shoulders, catching the flicker of candlelight from the chandeliers above.

Lila had always been the kind of woman who turned heads, even in a room full of masks and glittering gowns. Her emerald dress clung to her curves, the slit revealing just enough leg to make Walter’s gaze linger. He adjusted his own mask, a simple silver one that did little to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. They’d known each other for years, but tonight felt different—charged, like the air before a storm.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize your laugh?” Walter said, stepping closer. His hand brushed hers as he reached for a glass of champagne from a passing tray. She didn’t pull away. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping, “you’re the only one here who’d wear heels that high.” Lila tilted her head, her lips curving into a smile he couldn’t quite read. “Careful, Walter,” she said softly. “You might regret figuring me out.”