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No,needher.

Not because my father commands it. Not because of heirs and ultimatums. But because she’s the first creature in years who looks me in the eye and doesn’t bend.

The music fades into a softer movement, and I slow our steps, keeping her caged in my arms. “Tell me your name,” I demand.

Her lips curve. “Doesn’t that defeat the point of a masquerade?”

My smile sharpens. I knew she’d say that. “Perhaps. But when the masks come off, you’ll still be mine. Name or no name. Story or no story. That isn’t negotiable.”

She draws in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t pull away. Her fingers tighten around mine. The tremor of it goes straight to my cock, straight to my chest, where hunger and fury twist together until I can hardly breathe.

I don’t care what game she’s playing. I don’t care why she’s here.

She’s already chosen.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Natasha

The champagne is flat. Or maybe it’s just my tongue, bitter with the taste of resentment.

All around me, feathers and jewels glitter under the chandeliers, masks gleaming like a hundred false smiles. The air reeks of money, musk, and a kind of arrogance that thinks it will last forever.

It won’t. Not if I can help it.

I’m not here for the music or the dancing. I’m here because this world runs on blood and secrets, and for once in my career I’m going to get both on record. No more cupcake shop reviews. No more society fluff about who wore which dress to which charity gala. I’m better than that. I’ve always known it.

And if I have to slip into a masquerade like this to prove it, so be it.

I keep to the edges, scanning faces, or at least masks, for cracks. Watching who leans close to whisper, who keeps their hand too long on someone else’s back, who hides the shake in their fingers with a fresh pour of vodka. These people think the masks make them anonymous, untouchable. But to me, the masks just make them careless. I’ve already identified several senators, a judge and the chief of police…

My ticket was acquired through a friend of a friend, a favor I’ll never be able to repay. It doesn’t matter. This is my one shot. The front-page story that could change everything.

Then he blocks my view.

Tall, broad shoulders filling a matte black silk shirt like it was made for him. I suppose it probably was. A silver gilt mask catches every thread of light. He moves with the kind of controlled lethality I’ve only ever seen in war footage.

And his eyes, dark and sharp, watching me the way a wolf watches something it already considers dinner.

I tell myself not to flinch, not to look away. He’s just another Bratva son, drunk on power and family name. Exactly the kind of man I came here to catalogue, to expose.

But when he speaks, his voice curls low and smooth, licking over my skin like smoke.“You know the whole point of a masquerade is the anonymity. You can be anyone you want for one night.”

My fingers tighten on my glass. I shouldn’t answer. But my mouth has always been quicker than my caution.

“Is that so?” I meet his gaze, steady, daring. “And what if I like being myself?”

The faintest quirk of his lips. Dangerous. Intrigued. I take a sip of my champagne in a bid to slow the moment, read the context between his words…

A hand extends. Commanding. “Dance with me.”

Every nerve screamsno. Getting too close to someone like him could ruin everything. He’ll see too much, suspect too much. But turning him down would make me stand out even more.

So I slip my hand into his. Warm and strong. Unrelenting.

The music swells, and suddenly I’m moving with him across the floor, caught in his current. His palm presses firm againstmy back, pulling me closer than the choreography demands. My body wants to stiffen, but I force myself to flow, to match him beat for beat.

He bends, lips grazing my ear. “Most women here want to be chosen. You look like you’d rather burn the whole place down.”