Page 24 of The Owner's Temptation

That’s what Eve told us during training. And yet, no one explained whoheactually is. A figurehead? A myth? Or a man?

I guess I’ll find out soon.

Eve strides ahead with effortless confidence, leading us past the long line of eager guests waiting outside. The doorman clocks her immediately, nodding in recognition before pulling open the heavy doors without hesitation.

No words are exchanged.

No questions asked.

Just silent acknowledgment as we step inside.

Behind us, the line groans with collective frustration, but no one protests. The Masquerade has its own rules, its own hierarchy, and we’re apparently above the waitlist.

Inside, the first entrance is deceivingly normal—a dimly lit lounge with moody lighting and a slow, pulsing bass humming beneath the chatter of the evening guests. But we don’t stop there.

Eve leads us past a set of velvet ropes, where another level of security waits. Here, the shift in atmosphere is palpable. The air is charged, thick with exclusivity.

Two men stand beside the entrance to what I assume is the real club, both dressed in all black. One wears a sleek tailored suit, the other… a simple pair of slacks and a black leather collar that sits snug against his throat.

My gaze barely flicks toward him before I look away, my cheeks warming.

"Pick your poison," the suited man purrs, sweeping his hand across a red felt board lined with a selection of black masks.

Each one is different. Some simple and elegant, others more elaborate with intricate designs or embellishments. A few are animalistic—sharp, pointed fox masks, curved feline styles.

I reach for one with sleek black bunny ears.

Eve hums, a slow, knowing sound as she watches me fix it over my eyes, adjusting the elastic band beneath my hair.

“Oh, going for prey tonight, Sienna?” She fastens a delicate lace mask over her own face, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Idolove being chased myself.”

I swallow, pulse kicking up.

Prey.

The word settles over me in a way that makes my skin prickle, but I square my shoulders, determined to play along.

“Maybe I just like the aesthetic,” I say, forcing a smirk as I meet her gaze.

Eve laughs, looping her arm through mine as she leads us toward the next set of doors. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “Aesthetic or not… the wolves in here will see you for exactly what you are.”

As doors open, and the Masquerade swallows us whole, I wonder for myself, what exactly that could be.

The moment we step onto the second floor, the atmosphere shifts.

It’s warmer here, heavier, infused with something I can’t quite name. The lighting is low and decadent, casting everything in a golden glow. Wall sconces flicker against dark velvet drapes, the soft hum of music weaving through the murmur of voices.

Lust.

The second floor of The Masquerade. Where all desires begin.

I lift my glass of champagne, taking a slow sip as my gaze sweeps the room. The bubbles fizz against my tongue, but the light taste does nothing to soothe the anticipation curling low in my stomach.

Harper is already inside somewhere with Adriano, leaving me with the group of Ledger girls, each of us marked by our black masks and red wristbands.Look, don’t touch.That was the rule for tonight. A safety net. But as I take in my surroundings, I wonder if watching is all we’re supposed to be doing.

The first area we enter looks almost normal—like any high-end cocktail lounge in the city. Plush booths curve around intimate tables, expensive liquor gleaming in delicate glasses.

A woman reclines against a velvet chaise, her silk dress slipping down her shoulder, exposing a sliver of lace. A man beside her trails his fingertip up her bare thigh, his expression unreadable. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t stop him. If anything, she leans in.

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