Hosting was always the worst part.
The masquerade gala was everything my daughter, Emily, wanted it to be—lavish, glittering, the kind of spectacle that would flood tomorrow's headlines with photos and praise. The chandeliers burned like constellations above us, music from the string quartet drifted through the air, and the marble floors gleamed under the golden light. Guests wore their wealth like armor—gowns shimmering with beads, tuxedos tailored within an inch of their lives, masks so elaborate they looked more like crowns.
And me?
I was the centerpiece. Dr. Dominic Sterling. Billionaire gynecologist. Widower. Father. Host. The man who shook hands, smiled politely, listened with measured patience as people fawned, begged, or maneuvered for a connection to my empire.
I had become a symbol long ago. Not a man.
That was why I hated these nights.
---
"Dr. Sterling!"
A familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation. I turned to see a woman gliding toward me in crimson silk. Her mask glittered with rhinestones, her lips painted blood red.
She pressed a manicured hand to my sleeve, her nails sharp against the fabric of my tuxedo. "You've outdone yourself again. This gala is breathtaking."
I offered her a small smile, one that didn't reach my eyes. "The event planner will be pleased to hear that."
She laughed, the sound a little too rehearsed. "Oh, come now. We both know it isn't the chandeliers or the champagne people come for. They come for you."
Her fingers tightened slightly on my arm. "Perhaps later, when you're free, you'll save me a dance?"
Her eyes gleamed with expectation. I'd seen that look countless times. Women came to me not for who I was, but for what I could give them—power, prestige, money. It was never about me. It hadn't been in a very long time.
"Perhaps," I said, stepping back just enough to force her hand to drop.
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Then she recovered, curtsied, and drifted back into the crowd in search of easier prey.
---
Another approached not long after, a blonde in emerald, mask encrusted with pearls.
"My husband adores your hospitals," she cooed, though her eyes were firmly fixed on me, not the man standing two steps behind her. "Truly, you've changed the lives of so many. But tell me, Dr. Sterling, who changes yours?"
The innuendo was clumsy, heavy-handed. I excused myself with a murmured, "Enjoy your evening," and left her pouting in my wake.
And so it went. One after another. Women who wanted to be noticed, men who wanted investments, colleagues who wanted favors.
None of them saw me. Not really. They saw the mask I had worn long before tonight—the name, the reputation, the unreachable figure.
And I played the role, because it was easier that way.
---
But then… I saw her.
It was chance, at first. My gaze sweeping across the dance floor, catching on a figure in navy near the edge of the crowd.
She didn't glide like the others. She didn't flaunt herself with false laughter or calculated touches. She stood a little apart, clutching a slim clutch in her hands, watching the crowd with eyes half-hidden by a silver mask.
Eyes that looked… real.
I shouldn't have noticed her. Not when I had an entire room vying for my attention. But I did.
Her gown was simple compared to the rest, though it fit her beautifully, hugging her form in ways that didn't scream for attention but quietly demanded it. The silver mask caught the chandelier's glow, but couldn't hide the sharp intelligence behind her gaze.
There was uncertainty in her posture, a tension in her shoulders that told me she wasn't at ease here. And yet, she hadn't run. She stood her ground, determined.
Different. Striking.
I found myself watching her longer than I should.
---
I turned back to a conversation with a senator, nodded through his talk of policy, but every few seconds my gaze betrayed me. It drifted back to the woman in navy, as though pulled by an invisible thread.
And then our eyes met.
Even across the ballroom, the jolt was undeniable. She froze. I stilled. Something electric passed between us, a recognition I couldn't place but couldn't ignore.
And then—she moved.
---
Before I could decide whether to approach her, she was already crossing the floor.
The crowd parted around her, her gown swaying with each step, her mask gleaming under the light. She stopped in front of me, bold in a way that made my brows lift.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said, her tone half-playful, half-challenging. "You came here alone?"
For a heartbeat, I simply stared at her. Most people addressed me with reverence, stiff and cautious. This woman? She looked me straight in the eye and teased me.
"Not exactly," I replied at last, keeping my voice smooth. "I came with acquaintances."
She tilted her head, unimpressed. "Acquaintances don't count. What I want to know is if you're here with someone special."
Her boldness tugged something out of me I hadn't felt in years. My lips curved, the faintest shadow of a smile.
"No," I said simply. "Just me."
Her smile widened, triumphant, as though she'd won something important. And damn me, but it made me want to keep talking.
---
The orchestra shifted to a slower melody, couples drifting onto the floor. I should have excused myself, returned to the safety of routine. But the weight in my chest—the one I'd carried since Olivia's death—felt lighter for the first time in years.
This woman wasn't like the others. She didn't want Dr. Sterling, the billionaire host. She wanted something else. Or maybe nothing at all.
I found myself leaning closer, lowering my voice just for her.
"And you?" I asked. "Did you come here alone?"
Her lips curved, the mask glinting as her eyes sparkled with unspoken secrets.
"Maybe," she said softly. "Maybe not."
And just like that, I knew—
My carefully constructed world had shifted.
And this stranger in navy was going to be the most dangerous mistake of my life.