Chapter 9 — Masks and Names
Amanda didn't even spare the woman another glance.
Like air.
That's how she treated her.
Aurum followed half a step behind as they walked past the blonde gatekeeper without breaking stride. No argument. No raised voice. No explanation. The guards at the VIP entrance hesitated for a split second — then allowed them through.
Because confidence is its own credential.
Inside, the gala was everything she expected.
And worse.
Crystal chandeliers hung like dripping diamonds from the ceiling. The room shimmered with gold accents, polished floors, soft orchestral music floating in the background. Expensive perfume mixed with aged wine and ambition.
Ambition had a scent.
It smelled sharp.
Heads turned.
First subtly.
Then openly.
Men paused mid-sentence. Women's eyes narrowed just slightly. Conversations stuttered and resumed.
Amanda could feel it — the gawking.
Not because they knew her.
They didn't.
They were trying to place her.
And they couldn't.
Her gown curved around her body perfectly. The silk hugged her waist, defined her hips, fell in controlled elegance to the floor. She walked slow. Deliberate. Never rushed.
Inside, though?
Her heart was beating just a little faster.
So this is what it feels like…
To be watched.
But not pitied.
Not belittled.
Admired.
Measured.
Desired.
She reached a seating area near the front — close enough to the stage to matter, far enough to observe.
On the opposite side of the hall, the "normal patrons" sat — still rich, still powerful — but not elite enough for this section.
Hierarchy.
Even among the wealthy, there were ladders.
Amanda sat gracefully, crossing one leg over the other.
Aurum remained standing slightly behind her chair, alert, eyes scanning.
Amanda leaned back slightly and smiled at her.
"This place is noisy," she murmured. "Is this what rich people enjoy?"
Aurum's lips curved faintly.
"Most of them don't enjoy it, ma'am. They put on a mask of joy. They attend for connections. For leverage. For appearances."
Amanda hummed softly.
So it's all theater.
Interesting.
Her eyes scanned the room again.
Men laughing too loudly.
Women smiling too tightly.
Deals being whispered in corners.
Everything felt… performative.
Just then, a waiter passed by.
Silver tray balanced expertly in his hand. Crystal glasses filled with dark red wine. He was walking briskly toward a large table slightly elevated from the others.
Amanda followed his path.
There he was.
Sir Gustavo Adolfo.
Mid-fifties. Thick mustache. Expensive suit stretched slightly over a well-fed stomach. Rings glinting under chandelier light. People leaned toward him when he spoke.
The current highest figure in attendance.
Not that he was anything compared to Arthur.
But Arthur wasn't here.
And nobody knew who Amanda truly was.
Not yet.
The waiter's expression was determined.
Focused.
He wants the tip, Amanda thought.
She had seen scenes like this countless times in movies.
The glamorous woman lifting a drink effortlessly.
So, on impulse — playful and curious — she extended her hand toward the tray.
Her fingers brushed the stem of a glass.
The waiter's eyes snapped to hers.
And what she saw there was not professional politeness.
It was disgust.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
"Are you mad?" he snapped quietly, pulling the tray slightly away. "This is for Sir Gustavo Adolfo."
Amanda blinked slowly.
Calm.
"Oh," she said lightly. "You could always get him another one."
The waiter's jaw tightened.
He looked her up and down — not with lust like the others.
With judgment.
"You people think you can just walk in and touch anything," he muttered under his breath.
Her smile didn't waver.
"You people?"
He exhaled sharply, clearly done entertaining her, and walked straight to Gustavo's table.
Amanda watched him go.
And then—
She smiled.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Amused.
Because that reaction?
That was honest.
Aurum shifted slightly.
"Should I—"
"No," Amanda said softly. "Let them show themselves."
Seconds later, another figure approached her.
A woman this time.
Slim. Nervous but kind eyes. Another tray in her hands.
"I'm so sorry, miss," she said warmly, offering a fresh glass of wine. "He can be a fool sometimes."
Amanda accepted the drink gently.
The cool stem pressed against her fingers.
"Oh?" she replied, faintly teasing.
The waitress smiled apologetically. "He thinks sucking up to Gustavo will change his life."
Amanda chuckled softly.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Cynthia."
"Nice to meet you, Cynthia."
"And you are?"
Amanda opened her mouth automatically.
"Oh, I'm Amanda Gr—"
She paused.
Grayhound.
The name hung in her throat.
Technically… they were practically married.
He just hadn't announced it.
But there was something delicious about this anonymity.
About watching people behave without knowing who she was.
Seeing their true selves.
She smiled smoothly.
"Amanda Gra…lio."
The lie rolled off her tongue effortlessly.
Bold.
Confident.
No one had "Gralio" on the invite list.
But who was going to check right now?
Cynthia didn't question it.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Gralio," she said warmly before hurrying off.
Amanda took a slow sip of wine.
Rich. Smooth. Expensive.
She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the subtle chaos around her.
Then—
Splash.
Cold.
Shocking.
Icy liquid drenched her face and upper chest.
The gasp that left her lips was involuntary.
Water dripped down her hair. Soaked into her makeup. Slid down the curve of her neck into her dress.
For a split second, the entire hall went silent.
Amanda blinked water from her lashes.
And slowly looked up.
Sitris.
The woman from the entrance.
Blonde perfection twisted into a wicked smile.
"You think you can just waltz in here?" Sitris said loudly enough for surrounding tables to hear. "Whores like you sneak in hoping to sleep with someone important."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Amanda didn't stand.
Didn't scream.
Didn't wipe her face immediately.
She just looked at her.
Calm.
Cold.
Measured.
Aurum moved faster than thought.
Her hand cracked across Sitris's face with a sharp, echoing slap.
The sound was clean.
Precise.
Sitris stumbled back half a step, clutching her cheek.
Aurum stepped forward, voice sharp as steel.
"Do you know who you're speaking to?"
The hall erupted into whispers.
But before Amanda could even process the shift—
Five men in black suits appeared.
Fast.
Efficient.
They grabbed Aurum's arms from behind, restraining her.
Sitris straightened, fury flashing in her eyes.
And then—
A shadow fell over Amanda.
Gustavo Adolfo himself stepped forward.
Large.
Imposing.
Used to obedience.
Sitris moved closer to him instinctively.
Of course she did.
She was his.
And he?
He was about to flex his power.
Completely unaware of whose name he was about to challenge.
Amanda finally lifted her hand.
Slowly.
She wiped a drop of water from her cheek.
Her expression?
Serene.
Her eyes?
Unreadable.
Inside, though?
Her pulse had sharpened.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
Because now—
Now the masks were truly off.
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The end.....