Page 64 of Silent Oaths
Istorm up the stairs, my fingers tightening around the garment bag asIgrumble under my breath.Maxwell’sarrogance, his smug little smirks, the way he acts likeIbelong to him—likeIbelong toanyof them—it all drives me insane.
Theabsolute worst part is, he doesn’t even seem to care.He’sso nonchalant about it all, like it’s just a twisted game.
Bythe timeIreach my room,I’mfuming.Islam the door shut behind me and twist the lock, sealing myself away from their constant overbearing presence.Mypulse is still thrumming from the interaction and the wayMaxwelllooked at me, like he was already picturing me in whatever ridiculous thing he picked out.
Ilet out a sharp breath before finally unzipping the bag, half expecting something gaudy or absurd just to piss me off, but whenIpull the fabric out...
It’sbeautiful.
Thegown is black, deep and rich, with an almost ethereal shimmer, like the night sky captured in silk and tulle.Delicatesparkles cascade down the bodice like tiny fallen stars.Theskirt is long, flowing, with layers of fabric that make it look whimsical, like something out of a dark fairy tale.It’selegant yet mischievous.It’s…Maxwell.
Damnhim.
Ibite my lip and run my fingers over the material, unwilling to admit how muchIactually like it.Then,Inotice the mask tucked beneath it, andIpull it free.It’ssilver, intricate, with elegant filigree that swirls out like vines curling over the edges.Theeyes are sharp and feline.
It’sperfect, and that only pisses me off more.
Itoss both items onto the bed and glare at them.Then, a thought creeps in.
Theymight be keeping me on a short leash, but the masquerade ballisan opportunity.Everyonewill be dressed up, faces obscured, bodies pressed into a crowd thick with strangers.IfIplay my cards right,Imight be able to slip away.
Ichew on the inside of my cheek, considering the risks.Maxwellisn’t stupid.Hewon’t let me out of his sight, not for a second, but even he can’t control everything, no matter how much he loves to act like he does.IfItime it right, wait for the perfect moment, maybeIcan disappear into the chaos.
It’snot a solid plan.Hell, it’s barely a plan at all.
Butit’s worth a try.
* * *
Itakeone last look at myself in the mirror, hating thatIdon’t completely loathe whatIsee.Thegown drapes over my body like liquid night.Themask sits perfectly on my face, concealing just enough with the little makeup they gave me—mascara, blush, lip gloss.
Takinga deep breath,Ipull open the door and step out.Myheels click softly against the floor asImake my way downstairs, my fingers gripping the railing tighter than necessary.
ThemomentIreach the landing,Ifeel their eyes on me.
Julianpauses, his hands in his pockets.Theodoredoesn’t react at all, butIsee the subtle way his gaze lingers, taking me in.Andthen, there’sMaxwell.
Mygaze runs over him, taking in his attire for the night—a black tux.
Thesuit jacket is subtly embroidered with swirling patterns that catch the light when he moves, and the silk lapels are just a shade darker than the rest.Hisdress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a teasing hint of skin and tattoos beneath, and instead of a standard tie, he opted for a black silk cravat, loosely knotted, like he didn’t bother making it perfect on purpose.
Hismask covers the upper half of his face, crafted from dark, glossy material, shaped like a clown’s visage.It’splayful and eerie all at once.
Unlikethe gaudy, exaggerated clown masks most would picture, this one is subtle.Theeyes are shadowed just enough to make it hard to read his expression, and the mouth is curved in a clownish grin.It’sunsettling in the wayMaxwellhimself is, never quite giving away whether he’s laughingwithyou or at you.
Maxwell’shead tilts, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.Hedoesn’t bother hiding the way his gaze drags down my body before lazily making their way back up.
“Well, well,” he muses, stepping toward me. “Lookat you, all dolled up like a pretty little prize.”Hissmirk deepens. “Ifyou keep looking this good,Ijust might have to keep you on my arm all night.”
Ifreeze, just for a second.Hiswords settle over me.Ifhe keeps me on his arm all night, how the hell amIsupposed to get away?
Maxwellnotices my hesitation, and his smirk stretches, like he knows exactly what’s racing through my mind.However, instead of calling me out, he simply bows, dramatic and mocking, before offering me his hand. “Shallwe,Starling?”
Ishake off those thoughts and stare at him. “Thisfeels an awful lot like you picking me up for prom.”
Maxwellchuckles. “Ifthis were prom, we wouldn’t be showing up.We’dbe in the back seat of my car right now.”
Iroll my eyes and brush past him, ignoring the heat that threatens to creep up my neck.
