𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

...🫀...

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕

🖌️ | 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 | 🖌️

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬.

The soft glow of the evening light filtered through the windows, casting shadows across the room. I barely paid attention to the newscaster's voice echoing from the screen, my mind too preoccupied to focus. The tension in my muscles still hadn't eased from last night.

"—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," the TV blared, and my eyes flicked up.

There, standing next to his parents, was Sebastian. His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, and his cold brown eyes scanned the crowd like he owned the room. His mother, Queen Eliana, looked regal as ever, her olive skin glowing under the spotlight, while King Lorenzo stood tall beside her. But it wasn't them that held my attention—it was him.

I shifted on the couch, the memory of last night creeping into my mind—the way Sebastian had almost kissed me, how close he had been, the charge in the air between us. I couldn't shake the feeling that lingered, no matter how hard I tried to dismiss it. I didn't want to feel anything for him. Not when I knew how it would end. Not with my condition hanging over me like a ticking time bomb.

Isabella nudged me, drawing me out of my thoughts. "You're spacing out, Vi."

"Huh?" I blinked, glancing at her.

"Mother loves her parties," Isabella repeated, rolling her eyes with a grin. "The masquerade for Sebastian's ball? Apparently, it's her idea."

The word "masquerade" barely registered. My gaze drifted back to the screen where Sebastian was speaking, his voice rich and smooth as he discussed the upcoming event.

"Masquerade?" I repeated, snapping back to attention.

"Yeah. My parents are obsessed with their traditions," Isabella said, sitting up straighter. "The first king of Valeriano threw a masquerade to find his wife or something like that. Since Sebastian will be the 100th king, it's their way of honoring him."

I nodded absently, my thoughts still tangled in the mess of feelings that came with thinking about him. "Why a masquerade, though?"

"It's just an excuse to keep up the theatrics, really. But if you ask me, it's a way for my parents to find him a new betrothed," Isabella said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

A new betrothed?

"Why would he need a new one?" I asked.

Isabella's eyes darkened, her usual playful demeanor fading for a moment. "Because the last one...well, let's just say she broke his heart. It's complicated."

I frowned.

She broke his heart?

The newscaster's voice pulled me back to reality. "The ball, happening in less than twelve hours, promises to be a night of grandeur and intrigue. We'll be keeping you updated."

I turned the TV off with a click, sinking back into the cushions. 

Whatever this was between Sebastian and me, it couldn't go anywhere. 

He hated me, and I hate him...right?

"So," Isabella started, breaking the silence, "do you want to come to the ball?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "I don't know, Izzy. It's a masquerade for royalty. I'm sure the last thing anyone wants is some girl from Brooklyn crashing their event."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "You're not just some girl, Violet. You're my best friend. And besides, you can be my plus one."

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Vi, it's one night. One night where you can forget about everything else. Please?" Her voice softened, and I could hear the concern in it.

"Izzy..." I sighed, the weight of my words pressing heavily in the air between us.

"Please. Just...just for me. Let's go. Have fun. You deserve that much, don't you?" she pleaded, her eyes wide with sincerity.

I swallowed hard, torn between the walls I had built around myself and the temptation to let them fall just for one night. But I couldn't. Not when my heart was a ticking time bomb, not when I knew this—whatever this was that I felt for Sebastian—could only end in pain.

"I'll think about it," I muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Isabella's smile was small but hopeful. "Good. That's all I'm asking."

I nodded, though my mind was already spinning.

One night.

One ball.

Maybe it'll be fun. 

...🫀...

⚜️ | 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 | ⚜️

The sharp tug of my tie brought me back to the present. I stood in front of the gilded mirror in my room, the reflection staring back at a perfect replica of what everyone expected me to be. The black tuxedo fit impeccably, every seam tailored to perfection. I tugged at the tie again, loosening it just enough to breathe. This wasn't for me—it never was. It was for the crown, the title, the legacy I'd inherited the day I was born.

Behind me, the heavy curtains shifted in the breeze from the open balcony doors. The faint hum of activity from the grand hall below seeped in through the cracks of the estate. Maids scurried, party planners barked instructions, and the faint clinking of glass echoed through the marble corridors. A masquerade for the 100th king.

Historic.

Momentous.

Another bloody performance.

I stepped away from the mirror, slipping into the dim light of my room. The grandeur of it—the high ceilings, the ornate crown molding, the antique furniture polished to a gleam—was suffocating. Even here, in my so-called sanctuary, there was no escape.

Leaning against the granite railing of the balcony, I let the cool night air brush against my face. New York sprawled below, a maze of glittering lights and chaos that somehow mirrored my own. The city felt alive, untamed, and infinitely more real than the life I was expected to lead.

The sound of approaching heels pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be downstairs, Sebastian?" my stepmother, Eliana, asked softly. Her voice was always calm.

I glanced over my shoulder. She stood just inside the room, dressed in a deep emerald gown that matched the opulence of the estate. Her light brown hair was pinned elegantly, a few loose strands framing her face. She looked every bit the queen, but there was warmth in her eyes—a rare softness that reminded me she wasn't born into this life.

"The ball doesn't start for another two hours," I said, turning back to the city. My fingers curled over the edge of the railing. "Plenty of time for everyone to pretend they like each other."

She walked closer, her heels clicking softly against the tile until she stood beside me. "It's more than just a party, you know."

I raised a brow. "Oh, I'm aware. It's a calculated move, like everything else. A way to parade the perfect family, ensure the world that we're united, strong, untouchable." I scoffed, the bitterness in my voice sharper than I intended. "And, of course, a convenient opportunity for Father to find me a wife."

Eliana tilted her head, studying me with that quiet patience she'd mastered over the years. "He just wants what's best for you."

"Does he?" I laughed humorlessly. "He doesn't know me, Eliana. He knows the idea of me—the crown prince, the future king. But me?" I gestured to myself, the frustration boiling over. "I could be anyone."

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, "Sebastian, you're allowed to feel this way. But you're also allowed to want more."

I shook my head, the words grating against the walls I'd built. "Wanting more gets people hurt. I've seen it. I've lived it."

"You're talking about Elizabeth." Her voice didn't falter, but it wasn't a question.

My jaw tightened at the name. The memory of her betrayal was a scar I carried beneath the layers of duty and decorum. "Elizabeth was a mistake I don't intend to repeat."

Eliana leaned on the railing beside me, her eyes fixed on the city below. "I didn't love your father when I met him," she said after a pause. "In fact, I couldn't stand him."

That caught me off guard. I turned to her, my brow furrowing. "What?"

She smiled faintly. "It's true. He was arrogant, stubborn, and so sure he could win me over with his charm alone. It was infuriating."

I tried to picture my father as anything less than the imposing figure he always was—unrelenting, larger than life. "And yet here you are. Queen of Valeriano."

"Because he worked for it," she said simply. "Day after day, he showed me there was more to him than what the world saw. And slowly, I let myself believe it."

Her words lingered, pressing against the parts of me I'd locked away. "That's different," I said finally. "You had time. You weren't carrying the weight of a crown, an entire country."

She turned to me then, her expression both fierce and kind. "Sebastian, do you think your father wasn't hard on you because he didn't care? He's hard on you because he sees what you can become. Because he knows how heavy that crown will be."

I looked away, the weight of her words settling over me like a second skin. "It doesn't matter," I muttered. "I can't trust anyone. Not anymore."

Eliana reached out, her hand brushing my shoulder briefly. "Maybe not yet," she said softly. "But one day, you'll find someone who changes that. Someone who doesn't just see the crown but sees you."

Her words stirred something in me, something I wasn't ready to confront. I straightened, shrugging off the moment and the vulnerability that came with it. "You sound like a romantic," I said, forcing a smirk.

She laughed the sound light but knowing. "Maybe I am. But sometimes, Sebastian, it's the romantics who survive the hardest battles."

I watched as she left, her gown trailing behind her. Alone again, I turned back to the city, the weight of the crown pressing heavier than ever. And in the silence, one face lingered in my mind—wild curls, green eyes, and a fire that matched the city's lights.

Violet Gray. 

The one I couldn't stop thinking about—and the one I could never let myself have.

...🫀...

🖌️ | 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 | 🖌️

The coffee had gone cold. I swirled its remnants in the porcelain mug, watching the dark liquid lap against the edges. My reflection in the faint sheen of the black surface stared back, a reminder of how tired I looked. The café buzzed with the kind of energy that only the Upper East Side could muster—stylish women discussing gallery openings, businessmen barking into their phones, and the occasional tourist snapping a picture of their overpriced lattes.

Across the room, a familiar voice floated over the noise. I glanced up from my mug. Blair Waldorf, effortlessly draped in a cream trench coat and oversized sunglasses despite the overcast sky, held court at a corner table. Her posse hung on her every word, heads nodding in synchronized agreement.

Blair leaned forward, her voice a conspiratorial whisper just loud enough to carry. "Only the crème de la crème will be at the Kingston masquerade tonight. It's not just a party—it's history. The rest of the city can only dream of an invitation."

Her tone was sharp, like the edge of a polished diamond, and I could almost feel the sneer behind her words. I tried to focus on my coffee, but the mention of the masquerade clawed at me. Sebastian's face flashed in my mind—intense, inscrutable, and frustratingly magnetic. I shoved the thought away and grabbed my bag, dropping a few bills on the table.

Time to go.

The boutique Isabella had mentioned was only a few blocks away. As I walked, the chilly autumn wind swept through the streets, leaves scattering like whispers against the pavement. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, the black crop top I'd thrown on this morning doing little to block the cold.

I rounded a corner, eyes on the boutique's glossy window display, and slammed straight into someone. My shoulder hit hard, and I stumbled back, the impact jolting me out of my thoughts.

"Watch where you're going," a clipped voice snapped.

I looked up to see Blair, her icy brown eyes narrowing as she assessed me. She didn't bother hiding her disdain, the corners of her perfectly painted lips curling into a smirk.

"New girl, huh?" she said, her tone drenched in condescension. "Next time, try looking where you're walking."

She flicked an invisible speck of lint off her coat and breezed past me, her entourage trailing like designer-clad shadows. I bit back a retort, my hands clenching at my sides. Rolling my eyes, I pushed open the boutique door.

"Finally!" Isabella's voice greeted me before I even had a chance to fully step inside. She emerged from behind a rack of sparkling gowns, her brown hair swept into an elegant updo that somehow still looked casual. "I thought you got lost or something."

"Nope," I said, my voice flat. "Just delayed by the queen of the Upper East Side."

Isabella grinned knowingly. "Ah, Blair. She thinks she owns this city."

"Oh, really, I couldn't tell," I muttered.

"Come on," Isabella said, grabbing my hand and pulling me further into the store. The air smelled of expensive perfume and new fabric, the soft lighting glinting off sequins and jewels. "I found the perfect dress for you."

I dug my heels in. "No."

She spun to face me, hands on her hips. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, I'm not going to the masquerade," I said, crossing my arms. "I don't do balls. Or masquerades. Or whatever this is."

Isabella's eyes widened in mock horror. "You're going."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Her tone was firm, but there was a glint of amusement in her expression. "And don't argue with me. It's perfect because no one will even know it's you. You'll be in a mask! It's literally anonymity wrapped in luxury."

I shook my head. "Isabella, I appreciate the thought, but I'm not cut out for this kind of thing."

Her expression softened, but she didn't back down. "Violet, let me be your fairy godmother for one night. You don't have to make any grand appearances or talk to anyone you don't want to. Just...come with me. For me?"

She gave me that look—the one that could melt glaciers. I sighed, the tension in my shoulders loosening just a fraction.

"I'll try on the dress," I conceded.

Isabella's face lit up, and she practically bounced on her heels. "That's all I needed to hear!" She grabbed a gown from the rack—a deep emerald green with intricate beading that shimmered like starlight—and thrust it into my arms.

"Try this," she said, steering me toward the dressing rooms.

"I don't even like green," I grumbled.

"You'll like it when you see yourself in it," she replied, practically shoving me into the dressing room. "Trust me."

The curtain swished shut behind me, and I stared at the gown, my reflection in the full-length mirror staring back. This wasn't me. It was too much—too glamorous, too perfect, too alive. But as my fingers brushed over the fabric, soft and cool against my skin, something stirred in me. A whisper of something I couldn't quite name.

Maybe, for one night, I could pretend.

...🫀...

The clock on my phone glowed in the dim interior of the limo.

Two hours.

The ball had been in full swing for two hours. I twisted my fingers in my lap, my fingers catching on the hem of my gown. The longer I sat here, the more foolish I felt. The Kingston masquerade was already a spectacle without me adding to it. Yet here I was, late and perched in a sleek car that practically screamed for attention, all because Isabella had insisted.

I sighed and glanced out the window. The sprawling Kingston Estate loomed ahead, a fortress of glittering lights. I could already hear the faint murmur of the crowd and the occasional cheer from photographers stationed at the gates.

The driver opened the door, and I stepped out onto the red carpet. Camera flashes exploded like fireworks, blinding me for a moment. The paparazzi buzzed, shouting questions I had no intention of answering.

"Who is she?"

"Is she one of the royal guests?"

"Over here, miss!"

I ignored them, lifting the hem of my gown to keep the delicate fabric from dragging as I ascended the marble steps. The murmurs followed me, their curiosity palpable. I kept my gaze forward, my mask shielding more than just my identity.

The grand doors opened, and the sound of the ball washed over me. Laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the hauntingly beautiful melody of a string quartet filled the air. The grand hall was everything I had expected and more. Golden light cascaded from crystal chandeliers, illuminating the sea of masked faces. Women in jewel-toned gowns floated across the marble floor, their partners leading them in intricate steps.

I rested my hands against the fabric of my gown, smoothing it as though it might still my nerves. My pulse thundered in my ears, louder than the music.

"Here goes nothing," I murmured.

A butler standing near the entrance gave me a subtle nudge, gesturing for me to descend the staircase. I swallowed hard, gripping the rail for support. Each step felt deliberate, as though time itself had slowed. My skirts whispered against the marble, and I kept my head high, refusing to falter under the weight of so many stares.

When I reached the final step, the music faltered into a brief, barely noticeable lull, yet it felt deafening. I glanced around, my eyes darting from one masked stranger to the next, searching for Isabella. Then my gaze caught something—or someone.

Familiar brown eyes, piercing even beneath a black mask.

Sebastian.

He stepped forward, his tuxedo impeccably tailored, his presence commanding in a way that made the room shrink around him. He extended a hand toward me, and for a moment, I froze. My heart raced as I stared at his outstretched hand, every instinct screaming at me to retreat.

"Così bella," he murmured in Italian, his voice rich and smooth, the words reverberating through me.

I didn't trust my voice, so I simply placed my hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent an electric current up my arm, and my pulse quickened. The music swelled again, and Sebastian led me onto the dance floor.

His hand settled lightly on my waist, the other holding mine with practiced ease. "Relax," he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "I don't bite."

I swallowed back a retort, forcing myself to focus on the steps. I let him guide me, our movements fluid as we glided across the floor. Around us, the other couples followed suit, but they were little more than a blur in my peripheral vision. All I could see, all I could feel, was him.

Sebastian twirled me, and the motion sent my curls cascading over my shoulders. My gown swirled around me, its emerald green fabric catching the light like a jewel. For a moment, I forgot myself. I forgot the pounding of my heart, the weight of the secrets I carried, and the inevitability of my fate.

When the dance ended, Sebastian's hand lingered on mine. His lips parted as though he was about to speak, but a woman appeared at his side before he could. She placed a hand on his arm, her tone lilting as she claimed his attention.

"Sebastian," she said with a dazzling smile. "Dance with me next?"

He hesitated, his eyes flickering to mine. For a brief moment, I thought he might refuse, but then he nodded, allowing her to pull him away. The spell broke, and I stepped back, retreating into the crowd.

I moved through the sea of bodies, my chest tightening every step. The mask suddenly felt suffocating, the weight of the evening crushing down on me. A hand caught my arm, and I spun around, only to find Isabella grinning at me.

"I told you he wouldn't notice," she said, her voice triumphant. "And by the way, every girl here is jealous of you. They've been trying to get him to dance for hours."

I glanced around, noticing the pointed stares from women scattered along the room's edges. The envy in their eyes was unmistakable, making my skin prickle.

"I need some air," I muttered.

Isabella's smile faltered, but she didn't stop me as I turned and slipped down a long hallway. The noise of the ball faded with each step, replaced by the quiet rustle of my gown. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I made my way toward a set of glass doors. I pushed them open, stepping into the cool night air.

The gardens stretched before me, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. I wandered through the winding paths, the scent of roses and jasmine filling the air. My hands brushed against the petals of a nearby flower, the delicate texture grounding me.

I sank onto a stone bench, my gown pooling around me. The stillness of the garden was a stark contrast to the chaos inside, and I closed my eyes, letting the night wrap around me like a balm.

But even here, I couldn't escape him. The feel of his hand on mine, the way he'd looked at me—it was all too much. I ran a finger along the edge of a rose, the thorn pricking my skin just enough to sting. The pain was familiar, far more reliable than whatever confusing swirl of emotions Sebastian had stirred in me.

I couldn't let myself feel this way. Not for him. Not for anyone.

Because feelings lead to attachments. And attachments, for someone like me, were a luxury I couldn't afford.

...🫀...

The garden was quiet, except for the faint music murmur drifting from the estate. I traced a fingertip over the edge of a rose, its petals soft and cool beneath my touch. The air smelled of jasmine and freshly cut grass, the crisp autumn night wrapping around me like a cocoon. I needed this silence, this pause from the glittering chaos inside. The gown, the mask, the people—it was all too much.

Then I heard it. A voice, low and rich, slicing through the stillness.

"I found you."

My heart leaped into my throat as I turned. Standing just beyond the lantern-lit path was Sebastian. The black mask covering his face did nothing to obscure the intensity of his gaze. He stepped closer, the sound of his polished shoes soft against the garden's stone path as he took off his mask.

"I didn't think I'd find you out here," he said, his voice laced with something unreadable.

Amusement?

Curiosity?

Annoyance?

I stood, the skirt of my gown spilling around me like a pool of emeralds. "Parties aren't really my thing," I said, keeping my tone even, testing if he'd recognize my voice.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks. "I can see that. So, what is your thing?"

He stopped two steps from me, close enough that I could feel his presence but not so close as to suffocate me. I swallowed, my mind scrambling for an answer.

"Um...painting," I blurted.

His brow arched. "Painting?"

"Yes." I cleared my throat, hoping I didn't sound as awkward as I felt. "It's calming."

"Interesting," he said, his voice soft, yet it carried weight. He closed the remaining space between us, so close now that I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. "And what does someone like you paint?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but another voice shattered the moment.

"You said he came out here, Eliana?"

Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening. A second voice followed, lilting and firm. "Oh, Lorenzo, leave him be."

Without hesitation, he grabbed my arm, his touch firm but not rough, and pulled me further into the garden. My back met the hedge, its branches prickling through the thin fabric of my gown.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice close enough to send a shiver down my spine.

"It's fine," I whispered, my hands resting instinctively against his chest. Through the fabric of his tuxedo, I could feel the steady beat of his heart.

The night air carried the crisp scent of autumn leaves and freshly turned soil, mingling with the faint perfume of the roses lining the garden path. My breath hitched as Sebastian's hand closed around mine, his grip firm but not forceful. His dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked to mine briefly before pulling me forward.

The murmurs of voices trailed behind us, fading into the rustle of hedges and the soft pad of our footsteps. The further we moved from the light and music of the ballroom, the heavier the silence became, like a thread winding tighter with each step.

"Where are we going?" I finally whispered, but the question hung unanswered in the cool air.

He didn't stop until we reached a wooden door tucked into the estate's stone façade. With a slight push, it creaked open, revealing a narrow stairwell bathed in shadows. My pulse quickened, every instinct urging me to pull my hand free and retreat, but the curiosity burning in his gaze held me captive. He ascended the stairs with an ease that belied the tension crackling between us, his hand still wrapped around mine.

When we emerged onto the balcony, my breath caught in my throat. The New York City skyline stretched out before us, a living tapestry of lights and shadows, skyscrapers piercing the inky sky. The noise and chaos of the city felt impossibly far away, as though this moment existed in a bubble of its own.

"Wow," I breathed, stepping forward. My hand grazed the cold granite railing as I leaned over, the sight below hypnotizing.

Sebastian stood beside me, his posture relaxed, though his gaze never left me. "I come here when I need to think," he said, his voice softer now, carrying none of the sharp edges it usually held.

"It's beautiful," I said, still staring at the lights. But when I turned to face him, I found his eyes fixed on me instead of the skyline. The weight of his gaze sent a shiver through me, and I looked away, my fingers tightening on the railing.

"Yes," he said, and the quiet intensity in his tone made my heart skip. 

His lips parted as though he was about to say something, but the sound of voices carried up from below, breaking whatever fragile thread had been forming between us.

"Do you think Nate came out here, Serena?" The voice was familiar, laced with entitlement and curiosity.

Blair. 

My stomach dropped.

Panic rose in my chest, my mind racing. If Blair saw me, she'd know. She'd recognize me despite the mask, and the fragile anonymity I'd managed to cling to would shatter in an instant. Before I could think, before reason could stop me, I grabbed the front of Sebastian's tuxedo and pulled him down to me.

His lips were softer than I expected, warm and unyielding as they pressed against mine. The world melted away for a moment—the garden, the voices, the ball. My fingers clutched the lapels of his jacket, grounding myself in his solidness as my heart thundered in my chest.

Sebastian's arm circled my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, his hand sliding up my back as though he'd decided to map every inch of me. A faint part of my mind screamed at me to stop, but the rest of me ignored it, lost in the intensity of his touch.

"Sebastian!" Blair's voice called, closer now, and the sound jolted me back to reality.

I pulled back, my breathing uneven, and stared into his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but something in his gaze had shifted—something softer yet more dangerous.

He turned toward the door, his jaw tightening. "Leave," he called out, his voice cold and commanding.

There was a pause before Blair huffed and retreated, her footsteps fading. When the door clicked shut, he turned back to me, and before I could think, he kissed me again.

This time, it wasn't a kiss of distraction or avoidance. It was purposeful, raw, and entirely too consuming. His hand cupped the back of my neck, his other arm steadying me as though he feared I might slip away. I clung to him, the layers of silk and lace between us suddenly feeling thin.

He lifted me effortlessly, his strength disarming as he carried me back to a small room off the balcony. He set me on the edge of a dresser, and I gasped softly, my hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the dark strands. The sharp edge of his control was gone now, replaced by a desperation that matched my own.

But then he pulled back, his breathing ragged as his eyes searched mine. His hand moved toward my mask, and I froze.

"Who are you?" His voice was rough, low, and edged with something raw that made my chest tighten. The question held more weight than it should have, yet it hung between us like a thread waiting to snap.

I couldn't breathe.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I felt the room shrink. His gaze burned into mine, searching, demanding an answer. I opened my mouth, but the words lodged in my throat.

His hand brushed my cheek, the warmth of his touch startling against the cold mask of my thoughts. "Please," he said softly, the single word unraveling me.

My eyes darted to the clock on the far wall. Midnight was creeping closer, and reality came crashing back.

"I have to go," I whispered, my voice breaking as I slid off the dresser. The rustling of my gown filled the quiet space, a sound too loud for the fragile moment.

Sebastian stepped back, confusion clouding his face. "What? Why?"

"I just...I can't stay," I stammered, avoiding his eyes. I gathered the folds of my skirt, my trembling hands betraying the storm raging inside me. Every instinct screamed at me to run before I lost myself completely.

"Wait." His voice was sharper now, tinged with urgency. He moved toward me, closing the space between us as my feet faltered. "Just tell me your name."

I froze at the top of the staircase, my heels hovering over the edge of the cold marble step. My breath came in shallow gasps as I looked ahead at the grand doors, their gilded edges glinting in the light. Freedom was so close, but the weight of his question held me in place.

For one fleeting moment, I thought about turning around, pulling off the mask, and letting him see me—really see me. But the fear of what would follow clenched like a fist around my heart. I couldn't let him in. I wouldn't survive it.

Then I felt it. The slipper slid from my foot, its delicate weight slipping away like everything else I couldn't hold onto. The cool kiss of the marble against my bare skin jolted me, and I looked back.

Sebastian stood at the top of the stairs, the glass heel cradled in his hand. His dark eyes locked onto mine, the intensity in them enough to make my resolve waver. There was something unspoken in his gaze—a plea, a question, maybe even a challenge. I didn't know. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

I hesitated; the air between us was thick with everything I couldn't say. Then, with a breath that shook more than I wanted it to, I lifted my skirts higher and fled.

My footsteps echoed down the staircase, quick and uneven, each step a reminder that I was running from him. The heavy double doors of the estate loomed ahead, their ornate handles gleaming like a cruel invitation. I pushed them open, and the night air hit me like a slap.

Outside, the world exploded in flashes of light. Cameras clicked, and reporters shouted, their voices a racket of meaningless questions. The cool air bit at my exposed shoulders, but I didn't stop. The limo was waiting at the edge of the red carpet, its sleek black frame like a promise of escape.

"Miss! Over here!"

"Who are you?"

"Are you with the prince?"

I ignored them all, my heart racing as I reached the car. The driver opened the door, and I slid inside, the smooth leather cool against my back. I slammed the door shut, blocking out the noise as my chest heaved.

"Home," I managed, the word trembling on my lips.

The driver nodded, and the car pulled away, the engine's quiet hum different from the chaos outside. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment as the tension in my body refused to release. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of the city.

Then, as if compelled by something I couldn't name, I looked out the back window.

Sebastian stood on the red carpet, the estate's golden light casting him in shadow. He held my glass heel in one hand, his shoulders tense as if he were bracing against the weight of everything unsaid. His eyes followed the limo, his expression unreadable but impossibly intense.

I turned away, my hands clenching the fabric of my gown as I fought to steady my breathing. The image of him standing there burned into my mind, refusing to be forgotten. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the uneven rhythm of my heart beneath my palm.

This was why I couldn't stay. Why I couldn't let myself feel anything for him.

Because attachments were dangerous. Because love meant letting someone in, and I didn't have enough time to give anyone. I was a ticking clock; he deserved more than the pieces I had left.

The city lights blurred outside the window as we sped away, but my thoughts stayed locked on the estate, on the boy with the glass slipper, and on the part of me I'd left behind.