Ashley's POV
If sin had a scent, it would be the perfume I wore that night — jasmine and recklessness.
The zipper slid up the back of my black gown, hugging me like temptation itself.
In the mirror, I didn't look like Ashley Walter — daughter of media king Marcus Walter, fiancée to the most boring man alive, and prisoner of a legacy I never asked for.
No. Tonight I looked like the kind of woman who might ruin her life on purpose.
"Perfect," Chloe said, tilting her champagne glass as she admired me. "No one's going to recognize you behind that mask."
"Good," I murmured, fastening the delicate black lace across my face. "That's the point."
Because tonight, I wasn't the woman trapped in a hollow engagement to Richard Thorne — the golden boy of Wall Street, the one my father handpicked to 'secure our legacy.'
Tonight, I wasn't the puppet daughter of a man who could destroy entire companies with one phone call.
Tonight, I was no one.
Or at least, I wanted to be.
"Still thinking about him?" Chloe's voice was teasing, but sharp underneath. "You've been off ever since he canceled your Paris trip."
"He said he had work."
"He always says that."
I turned away. I couldn't tell her the rest — that Richard hadn't touched me in months, that he flinched from my hand like it burned him. That sometimes, I heard him whisper another woman's name in his sleep.
"Forget him for one night," Chloe said, looping her arm through mine as she dragged me toward the door. "Everyone who's anyone will be at the gala. Billionaires, heirs, sinners… and the best part? Masks mean no consequences."
"Come on," Chloe said, linking her arm through mine. "One night. No names, no cameras, no Marcus Walter breathing down your neck.
You deserve to have a little fun before your father marries you off to the devil."
"I thought I already was."
The Château Noir Gala shimmered like temptation dressed in diamonds.
The ballroom glowed gold, every chandelier reflecting a hundred untold sins. Masks glimmered, laughter tangled with violins, and the air hummed with champagne and secrets.
Everywhere I looked, power wore a disguise.
I moved through the crowd like smoke, half-hidden behind my mask, sipping wine that tasted like courage.
For the first time in years, I wasn't being watched. I wasn't being her — Marcus Walter's perfect daughter, a pawn in someone else's deal.
"Smile, darling," Chloe whispered before slipping away with a dark-haired stranger.
So I smiled. I smiled until my cheeks hurt, until the sound of laughter felt like static in my skull.
That's when I saw him.
A man at the edge of the ballroom — tall, broad shoulders beneath a black suit, a silver mask that caught the light every time he moved. He wasn't dancing. He was watching.
Me.
For a second, my pulse faltered. Then he lifted his glass slightly — an unspoken invitation.
I told myself not to. I didn't come here for a story. I didn't come here for trouble.
But I crossed the room anyway.
Up close, he smelled expensive — cedarwood, rain, danger. His voice was low, confident.
"You don't look like you belong here."
"Neither do you," I said.
He smiled behind his mask, and somehow that made it worse. "Maybe we're both pretending."
I should've walked away. Instead, I let him take my hand. His touch was warm, firm, and it burned right through the silk of my gloves.
He led me to the dance floor just as the orchestra shifted to something slow — the kind of music made for bad decisions.
"Who are you?" I asked softly.
"Someone you'll forget in the morning."
I wanted to believe that.
But the way he looked at me — like he already knew the parts of me I'd buried — made forgetting impossible.
The world narrowed to the space between us. His hand pressed lightly against my back, guiding me in time with the music. His thumb brushed bare skin, and I felt it everywhere.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"Maybe I'm nervous."
"Maybe," he said, leaning closer, "you're alive."
The words hit deeper than they should have. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until he caught my chin, tilting my face toward his.
And then he kissed me.
Slow. Confident. Certain.
The kind of kiss that made you forget why it was wrong.
We didn't make it through the rest of the song.
We barely made it out of the ballroom before the need between us became too sharp to ignore. He led me down a quiet hallway, one hand on my wrist, the other tracing lazy circles along my pulse.
No words. Just heat and breath and silence.
The door to one of the suites clicked shut behind us, muffling the sound of the party.
"Tell me your name," I whispered.
He paused, his lips ghosting over my throat. "No names."
For a heartbeat, I hesitated. Then I nodded. "No names."
That was how it happened — the night that rewrote the rules I'd lived by.
One reckless choice, one stranger's touch, one lie I'd tell myself for weeks: that it didn't mean anything.
By the time dawn painted the city gold, I was awake. He wasn't.
I watched him sleep, the half-light catching on the strong line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the rise and fall of his chest. Without the mask, he looked younger. Softer. Dangerous in a different way.
On the nightstand lay his cufflink — sleek, silver, and engraved with two letters.
A.J.
I turned it over in my fingers, the metal cold against my skin.
A.J. Whoever that was, I'd never see him again. That was the deal.
I left the cufflink on the table, slipped back into my gown, and walked out before he could open his eyes.
The elevator doors closed behind me, and for a moment I just stood there — the quiet hum filling the space where my heartbeat should've been.
Outside, the city was already waking. Paparazzi flashed outside the hotel entrance, their cameras hungry for scandal. They didn't know the heiress they were searching for had just committed the biggest one of her life.
My phone buzzed with a message from Richard:
Running late for brunch. Don't be mad. Love you.
I almost laughed.
Love. Such a pretty word for something that had never felt less real.
As the car pulled away from the hotel, I looked out the window — the city lights fading into daylight. My lipstick was smudged. My mask was gone. My heart was beating too fast.
And deep down, I already knew.
Something had changed.
I just didn't know yet how much.