Novel Full Chapter 958: Mask Until They Don’t
Chapter 958: Mask Until They Don’t
The third floor of Celeste’s gallery hit different the second you stepped off the elevator—like the whole space had been dialed down to make you feel every heartbeat twice as loud.
Dim lighting that cost a fortune to look accidental: soft amber spilling across the floor in these slow, deliberate patches while the rest of the room just sank into shadow that felt alive, almost breathing.
The music wasn’t blasting; it was low and constant, bass rolling up through the hardwood, into your soles, your ribs, that quiet part of your brain that forgets you’re supposed to be on your best behavior tonight.
Masks everywhere you looked. Some dripping in feathers like they were ready for carnaval, others straight black velvet keeping it clean and cold, a couple jeweled ones screaming money without saying a word.
Then there was the woman posted by the champagne flutes with the mask that swallowed her whole face except the mouth—lips painted deep red, the only thing showing. Practical for drinking, useless for everything else.
Still, she owned it. Full commitment. You have to respect the dedication.
Celeste had nailed every single detail, same as always. No half-stepping.
Right before I crossed the threshold ARIA hit me with the veto. Calm, no drama, just that smooth voice cutting through: "You’re about to scan every woman in here by scent and signature in thirty seconds and then stand around analyzing the room like it’s a crime scene instead of a party. Give me the ability for tonight."
"That’s mine."
"I’m asking nicely. And we both know what happens when I stop asking nicely."
I laughed under my breath, shook my head, then gave in. Fine. Whatever.
Just like that—gone. The whole enhanced-perception suite switched off and left me running on regular human hardware.
Real talk, though? It was the move. If I’m being straight with myself—and I try to stay straight, because that’s the thin line keeping me from turning into the villain in my own story—
Losing the cheat codes forced me to actually see people the way everyone else does: blurry edges, half-guesses, that messy beautiful not-knowing that makes everything feel alive in this masked party letting the mystery run.
After so long running god-mode vision, dropping back to normal was straight-up unsettling.
I froze at the entrance for maybe four seconds, just sitting in how vulnerable it felt to not already know everything.
Mad respect to anybody who wakes up every day and does life without the cheat sheet.
Even stripped down, though, I still knew my women. Didn’t need supernatural anything for that part.
Eziel slipped away from me in the first two minutes.
The silver trim on her mask caught the light in a way nothing else did, sharp and private. I followed her with my eyes for three seconds, then let her disappear into the crowd. She’d walked off on purpose.
That was her language: "I need space to work, go handle your own shit."
I’ve learned to read Eziel’s signals the way most people read texts. This one was clear. So I turned the other way.
Madison I caught from across the room before the door even finished closing behind me. Green dress. That specific shade she knows damn well stops me cold. I almost laughed out loud—had to bite it back.
She wore it on purpose.
She knew I’d spot it from sixty feet. She knew I’d know it was for me. And she still put it on just to pull that quiet little victory without even looking my direction.
It landed, too. She wins. She always wins.
I’ve stopped fighting it; it’s cleaner to just admit defeat early.
She was talking to some woman I didn’t recognize—could tell from the careful angle of Madison’s smile in the mask, the one she saves for polite distance, not real comfort. The other lady was all animated hands, spilling words; Madison listened with that easy patience she’s got, like she can afford to give anyone a minute of her time.
Meanwhile I’m standing here clocking dress color across a crowded room like some certified simp with binoculars.
Yeah, I’m that guy tonight. Guilty.
Then my eyes landed on Charlotte near the far wall.
She was standing right next to Aurelia Royce.
Okay. That registered.
Aurelia had changed out of whatever power move she wore on the auction stage—now it was darker, closer-fitting, the kind of dress that belongs in this exact lighting.
Her mask covered the top half of her face but left her mouth and jaw completely free to do whatever they wanted: smile slow, sip champagne, calculate three moves ahead.
All of it was showing.
Charlotte’s mask was iridescent, shifting colors every time she moved her head even a little. That wasn’t a last-minute grab; she’d picked it out ahead of time. Which meant she’d known about the masquerade theme before tonight.
Which meant Celeste had given her the heads-up. Which meant Charlotte showed up ready, same as always.
And damn if that preparedness isn’t one of the things that gets me every time—girl doesn’t do surprises unless she’s the one causing them.
Aurelia standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her, though? That was the part that tightened something in my chest.
Not panic.
But I could feel the undercurrent coming off Aurelia the way you feel a storm rolling in before the first drop hits—warm smile, warm voice, but something colder and sharper moving underneath.
She’d dropped 6.7 million on my painting earlier and then casually called it undervalued in the same sentence. I’d mentally flagged the whole exchange: interesting, keep an eye on it. Looked like "later" had turned into "right fucking now."
She had that exact energy I’ve only run into three times in my life. One’s me.One’s ARIA. The third is currently leaning in close to Charlotte, saying something low enough that I couldn’t catch it from here.
Charlotte hadn’t seen me yet—she was angled slightly away, her champagne glass hanging untouched in her fingers.
That’s her tell when she’s locked in, when she’s concentrating instead of just living the night.
I stayed where I was, mask suddenly feeling heavier, pulse kicking a little harder than it should. Part of me wanted to cut straight across the room, slide up behind Charlotte, rest my chin on her shoulder and murmur something soft and stupid like "you good, baby?"
Clingy as hell. Straight cliché.
But also exactly how I’m wired when it comes to her.
ARIA.
"Mm?"
Charlotte and Aurelia.
"I see them." A pause. "Charlotte’s holding it together beautifully, for the record. Her biometrics are elevated but controlled. Whatever Aurelia is saying, Charlotte is processing it without reacting. You should be proud."
I was proud. I was also calculating the exact angle at which I could drift in that direction without making it obvious, which was probably not what ARIA meant by having fun, and ARIA knew that, which is why she said the next thing before I finished the thought.
"Go the other direction. Charlotte doesn’t need rescuing. She needs to have this conversation. Let her have it."
"I know."
"You were about to go anyway."
"I know."
"Just making sure we were on the same page."
I went the other direction. Partly because ARIA was right. Partly because Charlotte would never forgive me for treating her like someone who needed saving from a conversation, and she’d be correct not to.
A waiter appeared with champagne. I took a glass and then remembered the mask and stood there for a second holding a drink I couldn’t consume.
This is my life now. God complex, multiple women, billions in the bank, cannot drink champagne at a party.
Checks out.
It was somehow funnier than it should have been. The night already had this quality to it — everything slightly displaced from normal, operating on its own rules, the masks giving everyone permission to be either more or less themselves depending on what they were hiding under.
A woman found me before I found her.
Eziel had been gone maybe ten minutes when she appeared from my left — and I knew it wasn’t Eziel.
Someone new?
Someone who’d been watching me long enough to time her approach to the exact moment I was standing alone with a glass I couldn’t drink and nowhere particular to be.
Optimal hunting window.
Honestly, respect.
She was wearing a deep wine-colored dress and a black mask trimmed in gold, and her mouth, the only thing I could read clearly, was curved in the particular way that suggested she found the situation amusing and wanted me to know it.
She held her own glass out toward mine.
A toast.
Without a word.
I touched my glass to hers. She drank. I held mine and raised an eyebrow at her over the rim. She smiled wider at the problem I was presenting — the beautiful structural flaw of attending a masquerade party in a mask and then being offered alcohol.
Every woman in the room who’d been waiting their turn watched this exchange with the specific energy of people refreshing their DMs and getting no notification.
I could feel it without looking. The audience.