The grand ballroom of the Elmsworth Hotel was nothing short of a fairytale. Chandeliers sparkled like constellations overhead, casting a soft golden light on the ocean of guests swaying and swirling in silk and satin. Everyone wore masks—ornate, glittering, mysterious—making it impossible to distinguish friend from foe, stranger from lover.
Calla stood at the top of the marble staircase, her breath caught in her throat.
Her dress, a deep sapphire blue that clung to her curves before flowing like water down her frame, shimmered with every step she took. A delicate silver mask adorned her face, lined with crystals that reflected the chandelier light. It had taken her three days and Scarlett's fierce intervention to find the perfect outfit, and now, as the crowd below parted like waves around royalty, she finally understood why.
"You're going to stop hearts tonight," Scarlett had said earlier, adjusting the straps of her gown in the dressing room. "Especially his."
Calla had rolled her eyes, but deep down, her heart had fluttered at the thought. It was ridiculous. Absolutely foolish.
And yet here she was, scanning the crowd not for investors or connections—but for one man.
Damien Aldric.
She descended slowly, her hand brushing the marble railing for support, heels clicking softly on each step. The music swelled below—violins whispering promises and secrets, the bass of a cello anchoring them like gravity.
When she reached the floor, she was swept into a sea of rich perfumes, murmured gossip, and masked smiles. Waiters weaved between guests with flutes of champagne. A woman in emerald laughed too loudly, her mask perched carelessly on her nose. A man in a raven-feathered cloak passed by her, bowing slightly before vanishing into the crowd.
Where was he?
"Looking for someone?"
The voice came from behind, low and smooth like aged whiskey. Calla turned, her heart hitching.
The man who stood there wore a classic black suit, tailored to his tall, broad-shouldered frame. His mask was simple—matte black with silver edges—but it did little to hide the chiseled jawline or the familiar cold fire in his eyes.
"Damien," she breathed, barely above a whisper.
He offered her his hand. "Shall we dance?"
Calla hesitated only for a second before placing her gloved hand in his. His fingers closed around hers with a heat that sent chills down her spine.
He led her to the center of the ballroom, where the music swelled again, the orchestra sensing something momentous unfolding.
Their bodies moved in harmony, each step a word in a conversation neither was ready to voice aloud. Damien's hand rested just above her waist, the other holding hers, guiding her effortlessly through the waltz.
"You clean up well," Calla said, trying to sound flippant, her voice half-smothered by the tension between them.
"You always look like you walked out of a dream," he replied.
Her breath caught. "Flattery isn't your style."
"Neither is jealousy. But I saw you with Ethan Grey earlier."
Her brows lifted behind her mask. "You noticed?"
He spun her gently, his lips near her ear as he whispered, "I notice everything about you."
She was suddenly grateful for the mask—how it hid her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips. "You're the one who walked away," she said, her voice trembling slightly as he pulled her close again.
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"From me."
The music slowed, shifting into a softer, more intimate rhythm. The room seemed to dissolve around them, the noise fading into a distant hum. Calla felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of her gown, the pulse at her neck fluttering like a captive bird.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Leaving?"
"Yes."
The single word landed with the weight of a confession.
"I never stopped thinking about you," he continued, his voice raw. "Every morning, every night. But you deserved more than a man who didn't believe in love."
Calla swallowed hard. "And now?"
"I don't believe in love," he said, his tone unwavering. "I believe in you."
Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. "Damien…"
He leaned in, just enough that their foreheads nearly touched. "Tell me to stay away, and I will. Tell me this doesn't mean anything."
She didn't say a word.
Because she couldn't.
Because the heat between them, the unspoken years, the gravity that always pulled them back into each other's orbit—it was too real to deny.
Before she could speak, applause erupted around them. The music had ended. The world had returned.
Calla stepped back, the spell broken.
"I—" she faltered. "I need some air."
She didn't wait for his reply. Her heels clicked hastily as she made her way to the terrace, the cold night air embracing her like a lifeline. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her fingers gripping the stone railing as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
Behind her, the door opened again.
"I thought I'd lost you," Damien said softly.
She turned slowly, her mask still hiding most of her expression.
"This isn't easy," she whispered. "You hurt me, Damien. You left without a word."
"I know. And if I could undo it, I would."
She shook her head. "People don't get to just… come back."
He took a step closer. "But sometimes they do. And sometimes, they come back for the right reasons."
Calla looked up at the sky. Stars blinked down like distant witnesses.
"I want to believe you," she said. "I just don't know if I can."
Damien reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out something small—a pendant. Her mother's pendant. The one she'd lost the day he left.
"I kept it," he said. "I wasn't ready to let go."
She stared at the silver charm in his palm, her fingers trembling as she reached for it. It was warm, as if it had never left his skin.
"I'm not perfect, Calla," he said. "But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere this time."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Just stood there, pendant in hand, heart in pieces.
Then, slowly, she closed her fingers around the charm and nodded.
Just once.
The wind rustled the edges of her gown. Somewhere inside, the music began again. But here, on the terrace, it was just the two of them—and the long road back to each other.