The grand doors swung open with a low, resonant whisper, silencing the chatter like a spell cast over the room. Conversations faltered, laughter faded, and a charged stillness swept through the air, as if the entire ballroom was holding its breath.
Lilia's eyes, previously fixed on the glow of the screen, shifted almost instinctively. She wasn't the only one. Every head turned toward the figure stepping through the doorway, an unspoken gravity pulling their attention.
Her breath caught. He didn't just enter; he arrived, commanding the space as though it existed solely for him. The air seemed to shift, bending to his will, and in that moment, the world felt smaller, centered entirely on him. Even her father, the unflappable titan of industry, straightened his back as he stood straighter, a rare flicker of surprise glinting in his sharp eyes.
The man strode forward, his movements precise and unhurried, yet each step reverberated with purpose. He was tall—imposingly so—but it wasn't his height that made the room feel dwarfed. It was him. The quiet confidence in his posture, the raw magnetism that seemed to ripple in the wake of his presence. People parted for him without thinking, their instinct to yield immediate and absolute.
Lilia leaned forward, the pulse of her curiosity betraying her usual composure. The light from the chandeliers caught his hair—a striking silver that gleamed with an almost otherworldly brilliance. It wasn't the gray of age, but something vibrant and alive, each strand catching the glow like threads of molten moonlight. A few locks slipped forward, brushing against his chiseled features and softening the razor-sharp perfection of his face.
A mask veiled the upper half of his visage, its sleek black surface adding to the enigma that shrouded him. Far from hiding him, the mask magnified his allure, drawing every gaze to the mystery beneath. His eyes, intense and unyielding, swept over the room with a piercing gaze that made her spine tingle. They were a storm—dark, deep, and utterly unreadable.
He wore a dark golden suit, the fabric catching the light in subtle flickers that hinted at its luxury. The tailoring was impeccable, the material hugging his frame as though it had been crafted just for him. Even his shoes, polished to a mirror finish, added to the image of perfection he embodied. He wasn't simply a guest in this room—he owned it, every inch of it, without a single word.
Lilia's gaze lingered, her heart racing as she realized she had been staring. She blinked, her attention shifting back to his hair, that impossible silver. At first, she thought it might be dyed, but there was something about its natural luster that made her doubt the thought.
A soft giggle beside her shattered her focus.
"Oh my, what a handsome and mouth-drooling sight, I must say," Sabrina murmured, her voice dripping with playful admiration.
Lilia turned to her sister, a mix of surprise and disbelief coloring her features. Sabrina's expression held a hint of pride, as though she had some unspoken claim to the mysterious man who had captured everyone's attention.
When Lilia turned back to the figure, her chest tightened—he was gone.
Her eyes darted across the room, scanning the crowd for the silver-haired enigma. How could someone so commanding simply disappear? And more importantly, why did it bother her so much?
A voice interrupted her frantic search, grounding her in reality.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. John," her father said warmly.
Mr. John. The name tugged at something in her memory, a faint echo that refused to take shape. Lilia turned her head, curiosity sharpening, and her gaze landed on a man standing beside her father. He appeared to be in his late forties, his refined features and confident posture marking him as someone of importance. His tailored suit and polished demeanor only added to his air of authority.
But her attention quickly shifted to the figure beside him.
The younger man caught her eye immediately. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his brown hair slightly tousled in a way that seemed both effortless and deliberate. A royal blue mask adorned the upper half of his face, concealing his features but adding a layer of intrigue. His presence was quieter than the silver-haired man.
Wait, why was she still thinking about him….
Lilia tried to pull her focus away, but then he smiled—a simple gesture that held an unexpected warmth. It froze her in place. Yet it wasn't just his smile that had her rooted to the spot—it was his outfit.
Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of light—a diamond. Her breath caught in her throat. The shimmering stone was identical to hers, matching in hue and brilliance. Even the tones of his mask and suit mirrored her own.
Coincidence? The word felt hollow. This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be. The alignment of their attire felt deliberate, as though someone had orchestrated it.
Her curiosity swelled, a bubbling force she couldn't suppress. She stared at the younger man, as if by sheer will she could extract answers from his calm demeanor.
"Oh my, fate truly is real!" her mother's delighted voice broke through Lilia's thoughts, brimming with excitement. "They're already getting along, even though they've just met!"
Lilia blinked, the words snapping her back to reality. 'Getting along?' What was her mother even talking about? And what did fate have to do with her curiosity about a stranger who shared her diamond—or rather, her outfit? If someone saw them, they might even mistake them for a couple.
"Lilia, dear, come here," her mother said, her tone gentle yet insistent.
Reluctantly, Lilia stepped forward, the heaviness in her chest growing with each step. Her eyes flickered toward the group ahead, a strange unease creeping into her chest.
"This is Mr. John," her mother said, her voice soft and angelic, as though delivering the most significant introduction of Lilia's life.
Lilia forced a polite smile, nodding respectfully. "Nice to meet you, Mr. John."
The older man's smile widened, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her stomach churn. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as though he knew far more than he should.
"She's truly beautiful," Mr. John said after a moment, his voice smooth and rich. "The mask can't even hide her… what do the younglings call it these days? Her 'lethal face.'"
Laughter erupted from her parents and Mr. John himself, but Lilia felt frozen in place. Her polite smile remained, though it no longer reached her eyes.
"Don't mind me, dear," Mr. John said with a chuckle, his tone dripping with charm. He turned slightly, gesturing toward the younger man beside him.
"This is my son, Lowell."
Lowell stepped forward with a confidence that matched his father's, though his demeanor carried a quieter intensity. He inclined his head slightly, his royal blue mask catching the light as he addressed her.
"Really nice to meet you, Miss Lilia," he said, his voice smooth and steady. Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "Or should I say, Mrs.?"
Lilia's eyes widened, caught off guard by his boldness. Before she could respond, Lowell reached for her hand. His movements were deliberate, his touch light yet firm as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips.
The kiss was brief, a mere brush against the fabric of her gloves, yet it sent a jolt through her. She stiffened, her surprise barely masked by her composed exterior.
"What a gentleman," her mother remarked, her voice brimming with approval.
Lilia glanced at her mother, startled by the delighted tone. Her father chuckled in agreement, as though this interaction were perfectly natural. Lowell straightened, his faint smile unwavering as his gaze locked with hers.
Lilia's mind raced, confusion and unease battling within her. There was something unsettling about this man, something she couldn't quite place.
Finally, she found her voice. "I would say you should call me Miss, as I am not married, sir," she said, her tone steady but laced with subtle defiance.
Her mother's expression faltered, a flash of displeasure crossing her face.
If only she knew that the man standing before her is her husband-to-be.