The champagne was free, the music was loud, and my heart was officially in pieces.
I stood at the edge of the ballroom clutching a flute I had no business drinking (my fourth? fifth?), watching the man I'd loved for five whole years slide a diamond the size of a small planet onto my sister's finger.
Ethan's smile was brighter than the chandeliers. Lilian's laugh floated over the string quartet like she'd rehearsed it her entire life. And me? I was the idiot who had spent the last three months helping plan this "surprise" engagement party because Ethan told me it was for his cousin.
His cousin. Right.
The silver fox mask I'd bought as a joke suddenly felt like the only thing holding my face together. I tipped the rest of the champagne down my throat, the bubbles burning all the way, and decided I was done being the pathetic ex-girlfriend in the corner.
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, I went looking for the bathroom and accidentally found the VIP elevator.
The doors slid open on the top floor (some exclusive lounge I definitely wasn't invited to). The air up here was colder, scented with cedar and something wild I couldn't name. Fewer people. Dimmer lights. Masks everywhere, because tonight the entire hotel was hosting a masquerade for the filthy rich.
Perfect. No one would recognize the brokenhearted fool in the cheap silver dress.
I slipped past velvet ropes and crystal decanters, heels clicking too loud on marble. Somewhere along the way I lost my empty flute and gained another full one from a passing tray. The alcohol hummed warm in my veins, dulling the ache in my chest to a manageable throb.
I just needed five minutes. Five minutes where I didn't have to smile politely while everyone toasted the "perfect couple."
I pushed open a heavy door marked PRIVATE SUITE and stumbled into a corridor lit only by moonlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Wrong turn. Definitely wrong turn.
Before I could retreat, a low voice rolled over me like smoke.
"Lost, little fox?"
I spun around so fast I nearly fell off my heels.
He was leaning against the window, half in shadow, half bathed in silver. Tall (God, so tall), shoulders filling out a black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary. His mask was simple, matte black, covering only the top half of his face, but those eyes… molten gold, glowing faintly in the dark, locked on me like I was the only person in the universe.
My lungs forgot how to work.
He pushed off the glass and stalked forward, slow and deliberate. Every step made my heartbeat trip over itself. When he was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, he dipped his head, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur.
"Silver looks good on you."
I opened my mouth (to say what, I still don't know), and somehow what came out was, "I was looking for the bathroom."
A low chuckle. "Liar."
Then his hand was on my wrist, thumb brushing the frantic pulse point, and the world tilted. Champagne, heartbreak, common sense; everything vanished under the weight of his stare.
I should have pulled away.
I didn't.
He tugged me gently, and I followed like I was on a string. Another door. Another hallway. A private elevator that opened directly into the penthouse suite.
Moonlight poured over a bed the size of my entire apartment.
The door clicked shut behind us.
I remember the mask coming off first (his, then mine). I remember the way he growled when my fingers fumbled with his tie. I remember the scrape of expensive fabric hitting the floor, the shock of cool sheets against my back, the burn of his mouth on my throat.
I remember thinking, just once, This is a terrible idea.
Then his hand slid between my thighs and I stopped thinking entirely.
Hours blurred into heat and teeth and whispered filth in a language I didn't know but somehow understood. He ruined me in the most exquisite way possible, over and over again, until the sky outside turned pale gray and my body felt like it had been rebuilt from the inside out.
When I finally drifted off, tangled in sheets that smelled like him, I was smiling like an idiot.
I woke up alone.
Sunlight sliced through the curtains. The bed beside me was cold.
No note. No number. Just a single black card on the pillow, embossed with a silver crescent moon and nothing else.
My dress was folded neatly on a chair. My shoes were lined up like nothing had happened.
Like I'd imagined the whole thing.
Except my body knew better. Every muscle ached in the most delicious way, and when I sat up too fast, the room spun.
That's when I saw it on the nightstand.
The torn foil packet.
The empty condom wrapper.
My stomach dropped straight through the marble floor.
No.
No, no, no.
I scrambled out of bed, legs shaking, heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe.
I'd just had the best sex of my life with a masked stranger whose name I didn't even know.
And we hadn't used protection.
Happy engagement party to me.