Page 28 of Misconducts & Temptation

"Good morning, this is The Ritz. How may I assist you?"

"Keaton Douglas," I said, making sure to emphasize my name. "I need access to the footage from last night’s masquerade. Some of my things were stolen."

The line went silent for a moment, then the concierge’s tone shifted to one of compliance. "Of course, Mr. Douglas. We will send over the footage right away."

Before I even hung up, my email pinged with new notifications. They didn’t waste any time when it came to high-profile guests.

I opened my laptop and clicked on the links, eyes narrowing as the first video started playing. The screen filled with swirling bodies in masks and elaborate costumes, all lost in the rhythm of the night.

My gaze swept across the screen, moving from one masked face to another. Time blurred as I sifted through clip after clip, my eyes beginning to cross from staring too long at the endless parade of strangers.

Then I saw her.

She moved through the crowd with an ethereal grace that made her stand out among the chaos. Her simple dress shimmered under the chandeliers, a cascade of green that clung to her curves in all the right places. The mask she wore matched perfectly—black and gold filigree that framed her eyes like a work of art.

But it was her eyes that captured me completely. They were a striking shade of green, bright and full of life even behind the mask’s lace trim.

My heart stopped as I watched her laugh at something someone said, her expression open and unguarded for a fleeting moment before she turned away.

I quickly took a few screenshots and fired off an email to Derek with them attached.

On it

I leaned back in my chair, unable to tear my eyes away from her frozen image on my screen. For once in my life, I felt something more than anger or frustration—something akin to hope.

Finding her was just the first step. Now I had to figure out what came next.

I tossed the phone aside and leaned back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Every detail of that night replayed in my mind—the way her eyes had sparkled behind the mask, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled, and how her touch had felt like fire against my skin.

My father’s words echoed in my head, but I pushed them away. This wasn’t about him or his plans anymore. It was about me taking control for once—finding her and figuring out why she had considered marrying someone like me. Was she really in an arranged marriage? Or was that a lie to garner sympathy?

I traced the edge of the mask with my thumb, feeling its smooth surface beneath my skin. The mask held secrets—hers and maybe even mine.

I wasn't sure what drove her to agree to my proposal or what circumstances led her to my father’s masquerade ball that night. But I intended to uncover every last detail until I understood everything about this girl who dared to slip past all my defenses and ignite something inside me I couldn’t ignore.

For now, I would wait for Derek’s findings and hope he could provide a lead. Time felt both agonizingly slow and blisteringly fast as I clung to this fragile connection—this delicate mask that promised answers just out of reach.

And so, with the mask in hand and determination in my heart, I waited for Derek's reply that would bring me one step closer to finding her again.

Chapter 9

Elodie

Breakfast was a chatty affair. Annabelle and Stephanie chirped away about the masquerade ball, recounting every dress and scandal over their scrambled eggs. I picked at mine, trying to focus on anything but their voices. My stomach churned with nerves and hunger.

Marion’s eyes bore into me from across the table. “Get dressed, Elodie,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “He’ll be here soon to pick you up. And do try, Elodie. Nothing baggy. Remind William you are an actual woman, would you?”

Annabelle snickered, her fork clinking against her plate. “Yeah, Elodie. Maybe try some makeup this time.”

Stephanie added, “It might help if you actually looked like you belonged at Crestwood for once.”

Their laughter grated against my ears, a familiar sound that always made my skin prickle. I took my plate to the sink, the porcelain cool against my fingers as I rinsed it off. The water rushed over the leftover bits of egg, carrying them down the drain with a quiet gurgle.

I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and turned to leave the kitchen. The weight of their eyes followed me as I made my way upstairs to my small room. Their voices faded into the background noise of clinking dishes and murmured gossip.

In my room, I pulled open the closet door and stared at the sparse selection of clothes. Most of them were hand-me-downs or thrift store finds—practical and plain. Nothing that would satisfy Marion’s demand for reminding William I wasan actual woman.

I reached for a simple dress, one that fit well enough without drawing too much attention. As I changed, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being on display, a pawn in someone else’s game.

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