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...
"But now, you're so far away and I'm down, feeling like a face in the crowd, I'm reaching for you, terrified."
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As the figure stepped into the ballroom, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The whispers grew louder, people recognizing the status of the man who had just entered.
Even without knowing his identity, I could sense his influence—a gravitational pull that drew most eyes in the room towards him.
His dark hair gleamed under the low lights, and his mask, an intricately designed silver piece, left only his piercing, ice-blue eyes visible.
As the man stepped further into view, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression was cold, void of any emotion as he scanned the room with those piercing blue eyes, but when his gaze landed on me, something shifted.
For a brief moment—so fleeting I almost doubted it—a flicker of something strange crossed his face. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on me as if he were seeing a ghost. The icy detachment he carried melted away, if only for an instant, replaced by pure shock.
I could feel the intensity of his stare, and it unnerved me more than anything else I'd experienced that evening.
The man's cold façade cracked further as his eyes darted to Harlan, the disbelief deepening. His lips parted slightly as though he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. The silence between us grew heavy, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
Why did he recognize me? And how?
He glanced back at me, and this time, the iciness that usually marked his features was replaced with a look of genuine surprise.
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to make sense of his reaction, but his disbelief was unmistakable, and it only made me more anxious.
Harlan, however, was anything but unsettled. He stood tall, his expression hardened with the same indifference as before, though the tension between him and the man was palpable.
I could feel the hatred radiating off the man now, his earlier surprise replaced by cold animosity towards the man beside me. His lip curled slightly as he stared at Harlan, as if merely standing in the same space as him disgusted him as he walked over to us.
But despite the hatred that flared in his eyes, there was something different when he looked at me again—something unsettlingly familiar.
It was as if every second he looked at me sent him spiralling into confusion. The sharp lines of his face softened for just a moment, but rather than concern, it seemed more like bewilderment as he came over to us.
"Her?" He finally spoke, his voice low and careful, as if weighing every word with an unmistakable accent, "With you?"
His icy gaze snapped back to Harlan, and for a brief moment, the cold, emotionless mask he wore faltered. His surprise was unmistakable, and the harshness in his eyes faded, replaced with something closer to alarm.
