Page 226 of Evil Hearts

Midnight Masquerade

By JC Brown

Chapter One

Amelia Lancaster emergedfrom her sleek black car, locked the doors, and made her way up the steep driveway of Shadowfield Manor. Her stilettos clicked against the uneven pavement as her gaze took in the Gothic mansion looming over the estate, an architectural marvel.

Lifting the hem of her dress with one hand, she strolled toward the grandiose entrance, the sounds of conversation, laughter, and music carried on the autumn breeze.

She smoothed a trembling hand over her midnight blue gown, the heavy fabric clinging to her slender frame. Auburn curls tumbled from her intricate chignon, surrounding her dainty features and porcelain skin. A delicate mask of silver filigree framed her bright green eyes.

Ameila paused at the huge double doors. “Maybe tonight I’ll be able to finally break free from all this…honor and duty.”

Stepping into the grand foyer, Amelia felt instantly overwhelmed by the opulence and mystique. The ballroom had been transformed for the Halloween masquerade.

“This is incredible,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the transformation of the ballroom.

Cobwebs floated from the crystal chandeliers, bats dangled from the ceilings, and glinting candelabras pitched quivering shadows onto the walls. The guests’ faces were hidden behindelaborate masks embellished with skulls, pumpkins, and other Halloween-themed symbols.

While she moved through the room, Amelia suddenly felt the burden of her family’s expectations bearing down on her. She hated attending these affairs just to please her family. And the heavy gown seemed to symbolize the traditional values her parents forced upon her. Their request for her to conform to society made her hands clench.

She sighed. At least the delicate mask she wore helped give her a touch of anonymity and freedom. Tonight was a chance to break free from the shackles of her privileged upbringing. Possibly meet someone new—

“Amelia, dearest!” called a high-pitched female voice, pulling her from her reverie. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Amelia nodded, forcing a smile as she engaged in the customary pleasantries. “Thank you, Mrs. Winters. Your dress is exquisite.”

Amelia glided past masked faces, exchanging banal conversations with friends and acquaintances. But her heart ached for something more, for a genuine relationship that would shatter the facade of her gilded cage.

“May I have this dance?” asked a short, balding man, his gloved hand extended toward her.

“Of course.” Amelia placed her hand in his.

Even as they moved gracefully across the marble floor, her thoughts remained elsewhere. The man’s touch was polite but uninspired, and their conversation hardly penetrated the surface of small talk. When the music flowed around them, Amelia found herself glancing toward the French doors that led to the garden. The lure of fresh air and solitude became impossible to ignore.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said, when the song ended.

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped through the crowd and made her way to the French doors. With one last glance over her shoulder at the opulent ballroom, she stepped outside.

The night air was crisp and cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling balminess inside. Above, the sky stretched out in a canopy of glittering stars, an ethereal backdrop that seemed worlds away from the artificiality of the Halloween ball. A gentle gust shook the leaves of the trees surrounding Shadowfield Manor.

Amelia wandered the winding garden paths, her heels clicking on the stone.Click, click, click.Marble statues watched her, their gazes cold and regal among the blood-red roses. She paused at a moonlit pond, its glassy surface a mirror.

“Isn’t it lovely how the night can feel so alive?”

“Most definitely.” A deep voice emerged from the shadows.

Amelia startled. A man stepped out of the darkness. He was tall, devastatingly handsome, with dark hair slicked back. His eyes, a beautiful blue-black in the shafts of dim light, mesmerized her. He wore a suit of timeless elegance, every detail perfect.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said, moving closer. “I’m Dimitri Volkov, the owner of Shadowfield Manor.”

“Amelia Lancaster.” She smiled shyly. “Your gardens are lovely.”

His lips quirked. “Well, it is my home and I do admire beauty.” He cocked his head. “And what brings you to my Halloween ball tonight, Miss Lancaster?”

“An escape, perhaps.” Her expression caught, vulnerable. “A chance to find something real amidst the pretense.”

Her neck grew warm. Amelia’s confession glided on the air like a fragile admission of her deepest desires. She had spent too many nights confined within the expectations of high society,where every interaction felt like a performance and every smile a mask.

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