Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"It felt like something old, it felt like something holy, like souls bleeding, so it fеlt like what I've known."
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As we reached the place where the event was being held, Harlan pulled out an intricate ivory and gold mask adorned with flowers that matched my dress.
"A masquerade ball." He said, holding up a delicate mask which I took gingerly.
I blinked in surprise, my fingers brushing over the intricate details of the mask as he placed it gently over my face, securing the ribbon at the back of my head.
His own mask was white, and just like the one from the Phantom of the Opera and I would be lying if I said he didn't look even more handsome.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my voice a mix of curiosity and nervousness when Harlan looked at me, brushing my hair away from my eyes gently.
"Because I enjoy surprises, butterfly. And tonight, you'll be the most captivating one." He spoke, my lips parting before he looked behind me and took a heavy breath, getting out of the car,
I stepped out of the car with Harlan's help, the cool evening air brushed against my bare shoulders, causing a slight shiver to run down my spine.
I glanced over at Harlan who was adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, his every movement dripping with confidence. He didn't speak as we approached the entrance of the mansion, the glow of chandeliers spilling out into the night and my arm linked with his.
I swallowed as we walked toward the entrance and the moment we crossed the threshold, it was as if the world had shifted.
The grand ballroom was filled with people dressed in opulent gowns and sharp suits, their faces concealed by ornate masks. Soft classical music floated through the air, blending with the low hum of chatter.
But the moment Harlan and I entered, all eyes turned to us.
I could feel the gazes of both men and women following our every step. Some were admiring, others envious, but all of them were captivated.
Harlan's arm was firmly around my waist, pulling me close as we walked further into the room, and the sense of power that radiated from him was palpable. He exuded an authority that made everyone stop and take notice.
I caught a glimpse of appreciative stares from a few women, their eyes lingering on him with a mix of admiration and desire. Men, too, watched him with a combination of respect and jealousy.
But it was the way their gazes flicked to me, sizing me up, that made me realize something: to them, I wasn't just a beautiful woman. I was his—an extension of Harlan's power, his dominance, but also his equal.
As we moved through the crowd, Harlan was approached by several men, all of them speaking in hushed, reverent tones.
Each one greeted him with deference, and Harlan nodded with a cold, controlled smile, his grip on my waist tightening ever so slightly when their eyes lingered too long on me.
