Sofia's POV
Masquerade Ball — Amari Mansion
The ballroom looked like a scene out of a forbidden fairytale.
Gold chandeliers rained light onto velvet floors. Live violins echoed off crystal walls. The air smelled of roses and secrets. Everyone glittered. Everyone was masked. Everyone was pretending.
Including me.
I wore a champagne-gold mask that matched my dress, delicate lace tracing around my eyes. A stranger looked back at me in every reflection. I didn't feel like Sofia Amari anymore.
Maybe I wasn't.
The wine had numbed the sharp corners of my thoughts. I was warm, dizzy, floating. The kind of float where you're still painfully aware of how much you're faking your smile. But at least I didn't have to talk.
Zayn had been pulled into a circle of business moguls, laughing stiffly like he wanted to be anywhere else. For once, we had that in common.
I slipped away from the dance floor, my heels silent on the marble as I wandered toward the back of the ballroom. A few masked guests stood by the open bar, their voices a blur of gossip and expensive perfume.
"Too much wine," I murmured, leaning against a pillar.
"You think?"
I jumped.
He was beside me—again.
Khalid Voss.
Black mask. All-black suit. No name tag. No smiles.
He didn't need one.
I knew it was him from the way my body reacted—tense, aware, drawn.
"You really like lurking, don't you?" I said, cheeks warm.
"I prefer watching," he replied, lifting a glass to his lips. "It's more interesting when people don't know they're being seen."
"Well, now you're being watched too."
"Am I?" he asked, turning fully toward me. "By you?"
I blinked. The heat behind my mask had nothing to do with wine anymore.
"You should go back inside," I said, mostly to myself. "This isn't safe."
"Neither are you," he said softly.
My heart stuttered.
I laughed—nervous, stupid. "You don't even know me."
"I know cages," he said, voice low. "I know rebellion when I see it dancing in a gold dress."
I stared at him, unable to move.
And then—I did the dumbest thing.
I reached out, caught his wrist, and pulled.
---
We slipped out the side door, unnoticed in the shimmer and swirl of masked dancers. The hallway was quieter. Cooler. Gilded walls framed oil paintings I never bothered to look at. My heels tapped until I stopped near the end, where the shadows were thick and the silence thicker.
I turned to face him.
He looked down at me, unreadable.
I didn't think.
I didn't breathe.
I kissed him.
Just a soft, drunk, defiant little peck.
His lips didn't move at first. He just stared at me like he was waiting for me to realize what I'd done.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked.
His voice wasn't mocking. It was careful. Controlled.
"I do," I whispered, chest heaving. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
For a second, nothing.
Then he moved.
He pressed me back against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other ghosting along the side of my waist.
I gasped—but not in fear.
His mouth hovered over mine, close enough to steal my breath. "Tell me to stop."
I didn't.
I couldn't.
I tilted my chin up in answer.
And then he kissed me.
No—he claimed me.
There was nothing soft or hesitant this time. It was fire meeting fire. Lips crashing like waves. His body pinning mine against the cold wall as if trying to memorize every inch without permission. I felt the tension unravel in both of us, a coil of restrained chaos finally let loose.
His hand gripped my waist like he needed something to hold on to.
I gave in like I was tired of pretending I didn't want to.
Our masks shifted. His breath tasted like spice and danger. Mine? Like wine and recklessness.
And then—
Click.
Click.
A gasp.
A flash of light.
My heart stopped.
We broke apart like lightning split us.
My hand flew to my mouth. His hand clenched into a fist. Footsteps pounded down the hall—fast, panicked, high heels scraping the floor.
Someone had seen us.
Someone had taken a photo.
Khalid's breathing was ragged. His jaw was tight. He looked at me like I had just shattered something sacred.
"I—" I started.
But I didn't know what to say.
Was it the wine?
Was it curiosity?
Or was it the truth I hadn't admitted until now?
"I shouldn't have—"
He cut me off. "Don't lie to yourself now."
Then he turned and walked away, the shadows swallowing him up like he'd never been there.
And me?
I stood in the hallway, mascara smudged, lips swollen, heart breaking for a crime I didn't know how to regret.