The moment Anastasia stepped into the ballroom, the air shifted. Conversations stuttered, eyes locked on her, and a collective hush rippled through the crowd. Draped in a crimson diamond-studded gown that hugged her curves like it was stitched from fire itself, she shimmered under the chandeliers, every step leaving behind whispers and envious stares. Her dark brown hair cascaded in soft waves, a striking contrast against the rich red of her dress, and her full lips, painted the same shade of sin, curved in a subtle smirk. The mask she wore—ornate, silver, laced with intricate details—only added to the mystery that made her presence even more intoxicating.
Matt, ever the protective brother, guided her through the sea of people, his grip firm on her arm.
"I knew they'd go all out, but damn," Anastasia murmured, taking in the grandeur of the room—the opulent chandeliers, the gilded décor, the air thick with perfume and secrets.
"Yeah," Matt agreed, though his focus drifted. He wasn't the only one staring. A forceful gaze burned into Anastasia's back. A presence. She turned sharply. Nothing. Just guests mingling, laughing, lost in the illusion of the evening.
"Matty!"
The voice was light, chipper—Jenny Turner. Anastasia barely had time to react before Matt spun around, eyes widening at the sight of his girlfriend. Jenny was stunning in a sleek pink gown that clung to her every curve, her golden blonde hair straight and gleaming under the lights. Her silver mask highlighted the sharp blue of her eyes, and Matt? Matt was a goner.
Without hesitation, he grabbed her face and kissed her deeply, earning an amused smirk from Anastasia, who turned away to grant them privacy.
"You are breathtaking, babe," he murmured against Jenny's lips.
"Thanks, Matty," she giggled. "But you totally ruined my lip gloss."
Matt smirked. "Oh, I can't wait to feel that lip gloss on my—"
"Matt!" Anastasia snapped, giving him a sharp glare. Jenny burst into laughter.
As the ballroom music swelled, Matt grinned and extended a hand like a proper gentleman. "Miss Turner, may I have this dance?"
"You may." She took his hand, and the two disappeared into the dance, leaving Anastasia momentarily alone. Fine by her. She needed a drink.
At the refreshment table, she caught a glimpse of a girl eerily similar to Jenny—same height, pink dress, long, straight pastel-pink hair, but piercing green eyes.
"Hello," the girl greeted with a warm smile.
"Hello," Anastasia replied, studying her curiously. "Are you related to Jenny?"
"Jenny who?" The girl tilted her head. Anastasia pointed to the dance floor. "Oh. No, my sister's here, but that's not her. Though, I'd love to be her right now, considering she's dancing with that hunk."
Anastasia smirked. She couldn't deny Matt was easily one of the best-looking guys in the room.
"They a couple?"
"Yes, sorry," Anastasia said with a polite smile.
"Pity. If they ever break up, let me know. I'd love to take a bite out of that." The girl winked.
Anastasia raised a brow. Bold.
"I'm Bailey," the girl introduced herself.
"Ana." She kept it short.
"Nice to meet you, Ana." Bailey flashed a grin before sauntering off.
Something about her seemed… familiar.
Before she could dwell on it, another presence loomed. Strong. Commanding.
A tall figure approached—broad shoulders, blue eyes sharp behind a black mask, a jawline that looked like it was sculpted from stone. His suit was perfectly tailored, sleek, and dark, and his confidence was damn near palpable.
"Good evening," he greeted, voice low, rich.
Anastasia barely managed a breathless, "Hi."
He lifted his hand, palm up, gaze locked on hers. "May I have this dance?"
She hesitated. The air between them crackled. But something in his presence—familiar yet foreign—drew her in.
"Certainly."
He pulled her onto the dance floor, one hand firm on her waist, the other clasping hers. The world around them blurred. He moved with effortless grace, guiding her like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"Don't worry," he murmured, sensing her slight hesitation. "I won't let you fall."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. His grip, his stare—it was like he was looking right into her soul. The air between them turned electric.
"Have we met?" she whispered.
"If I had met someone like you before tonight," he smirked, "you wouldn't have been standing alone at that table."
Her breath caught. A smooth talker. But it wasn't just words—his gaze told a deeper story. A knowing.
The music changed, but he didn't let go. He spun her, pulling her back, his lips just inches from her ear.
"I'll find you again," he whispered.
The song ended. He dipped her low, his face hovering just above hers, close enough that his breath brushed her lips. The moment stretched—taut, burning. And then, just as suddenly, he straightened, bowed, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Anastasia standing there, pulse hammering.
What the hell just happened?
She barely had a second to catch her breath before a familiar voice, smug and infuriating, called from behind her.
"Hello, Baby Girl."
Dylan.
She rolled her eyes before turning. There he was—clean-cut, designer suit fitting him too well for comfort, dark brown hair styled to perfection. Damn it. He looked good. She hated that.
"You came," she muttered, unimpressed.
"That's the welcome I get?" He put his hands on his hips. "Cold, even for you."
"What do you expect after our last conversation?" she shot back, crossing her arms.
"Oh, come on, Ana. Let's dance." Before she could protest, he pulled her in.
They waltzed, though Anastasia barely paid attention. Her mind was still stuck on the mysterious man.
Dylan frowned. "Why are you avoiding eye contact?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Fine. Talk."
Dylan sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I just… I want to be close to you."
"You mean you want to sleep with me," she deadpanned.
Dylan hesitated. "I mean—yeah."
She scoffed. "Of course. That's the most important thing to you, isn't it?"
"No! It's just—"
"Then you have a choice to make." She stopped dancing, stepping back. "Because I'm not changing my mind."
She didn't wait for his response. She turned, vanishing into the crowd. Screw this night. She needed to leave.
But first, she needed to find Matt.
As she headed down the hall, a guy pointed to a room at the end. She approached, lifting her hand to knock—
Then she heard it.
"Oh fuck yes, Matt!"
Anastasia froze. Her stomach twisted. That wasn't Jenny's voice.
She shoved the door open.
And there he was. Matt. Half-naked. A girl straddling him.
Not Jenny.
"Matt! What the fuck are you doing?!"