Page 2 of The Masks We Break

I huff, leaning back into the bar, and glance over my shoulder to get the attention of the bartender.I need water. Her black locks swing around the sides of her face as she moves. I’m sure it’s a strategic style to keep her peripherals blocked from annoying patrons. After a few moments, I give up and turn back to my father, who is still waiting. “No, sir.”

His jaw tics, but he remains impassive, nodding to a couple as they walk by. “Yet you would have me let you move into Solace Square? You aren’t responsible enough to finalize a schedule. How do you expect to live alone?”

My spine stiffens at his mockery, and I adjust my watch band. For the first two years of college, I’ve been bound by my parents and stuck under their roof. The commute alone is forty-five minutes, and that’s on a clear day—which is rare here. Between football, classes, my father’s mundane meetings, and his forcedseasoningsessions, I need the space.

I need myownspace.

Solace Square is a mile away from campus, hidden deep within the forest. Only the students who have some pull stay in the private community, and a unit just opened for lease. No way in hell I’m missing this over a damn schedule.

I adjust my watch a second time and clear my throat. “I’ll see to it in the morning, sir.”

“And stop putting off that literature class while you’re at it. It’s a basic prerequisite, and you’re lucky they’ve allowed you to continue your degree without it.” My father doesn’t wait for a response and instead sets his drink on the bar and strides through the crowd. It opens for him almost ceremoniously, and I have to bite into my tongue to keep from laughing.

People are disappointing this high in the social ranks. Some of them are imbeciles. Most of them are boring. But all of them are predictable. I can read these people easier than those stupid lit books I’ll soon be forced to study. They know they are merely pawns on the chessboard, doing the bidding of those higher in power. But they would rather be in the game than watching from the sides.

Like me.

I know the role I’m meant to play now—dutiful son and successor, destined to take the reins from my father when the time comes. And while those are my full intentions, my plans for the company differ significantly from his.

Leaning back, I survey the gala and think of my friend Lily and some things she might say to pull me from my sour mood.

“Mrs. Willis got a new boy toy this year, and he is only half her age. So at least this one couldn’t be her grandson.”

“Mr. Morgan over there has a wife that gets her nails done on 5th, and it just so happens Amora saw her without her wig. The woman paid Amora’s nail bill for a year to keep her mouth shut.”

Mundane, petty gossip, but in those moments, it always made me smile. Finally, as if the Universe has decided on mercy, the announcer calls the room’s attention, instructing everyone to find their table so the bidding can begin.

Perfect.

Relief dissolves the mounds of tension in my shoulders, and I waste no time heading for the exit. I pat my pocket twice, and the clink of my keys is a reassurance that freedom is near.

Five steps in, and already I can breathe easier. Two more, and my nerves unwind. One more, and I can feel the breeze calling me to my motorcycle just a few feet from the door.

Then everything and everyone around me melts into the background. Turns out, the Universe didn’t decide on mercy after all.

My eyes start at the bottom of a deep crimson dress pooling on the floor before working their way up. The loose satin fabric cinches at the waist of its owner then turns into lace and sequins, catching every fragment of light and reflecting it in bursts of shimmers. The low neck showcases smooth porcelain skin and a set of breasts I wish to sink my teeth into.

Her obsidian hair has gotten longer, letting the ends kiss her collarbone as she surveys the gala floor. She pushes her hexagon frames back, and finally, those hazel eyes land on me.

A foreign ache radiates across my sternum, and I have the strange urge to breathe a little faster to accommodate the suddenly thin air.

Remy fucking Solace.

Oh, puppet. I’ve missed you.

TWO

Iread an average of two hundred books a year. All of them are of a different romance trope, but my favorites revolve around a bad boy. A guy with a troubled past and hurt so deep, he thinks no one can fix it—until he meets his wallflower.

The upstanding girl who wants nothing more than getting good grades and staying out of the turbulent waters that boy is sure to cause. But when he meets her, she’s all he wants. All he thinks about—everything he ever needed to change himself.

And I, Remy Jing Solace, am the literal definition of a wallflower.

I’ve been waiting to walk into my own personal enemies-to-lovers romance for years now, and the moment I met Blaze, I knew. He’s it. He’s the one I’ve been waiting on. The one that’s going to do everything he can to stay away from me. Away from all the love I have to offer, only to fall head over heels for me in the end.

In retrospect, it was probably the only time I’ve ever been wrong aboutanything.

Blaze Bardot. Captain of the football team, broody, commanding, and the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.He’severything I imagine when reading about the main character in those books.

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