Rome — Villa Miani
"Dance with me. Or walk away, and pretend you didn't hear what I'm about to say."
Ariella froze.
The voice didn't match any face in the ballroom. But it curled into her ear like smoke.
She turned slowly.
A man stood there — tall, sculpted in black. His tuxedo was sharp, his mask matte and plain. No glitter. No flair. Just... shadow.
"Excuse me?" she said, confused.
He didn't answer. He simply offered his hand.
She looked down at it. Then back at him.
The orchestra swelled around them. People laughed. Glasses clinked.
She didn't move.
"If you don't take my hand," he said, voice calm, "you'll regret it."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning."
There was something in the way he said it. Controlled. Cold.
Her fingers twitched.
Against every rule her brothers drilled into her, she gave in.
She placed her hand in his.
He didn't smile. He just led her toward the dance floor — like he'd already known she would.
Minutes earlier, she had been standing beneath golden lights, smiling like a puppet.
Villa Miani sparkled like a dream — or a trap. Chandeliers poured fire down from the ceiling. Velvet curtains swayed against tall windows. The perfume in the air was as thick as the lies being told.
Everyone wore masks.Not all of them were physical.
Ariella's midnight-blue gown wrapped around her like water. Her black lace mask hid half her face, but it wasn't hiding her thoughts. Not tonight.
Because tonight, her father was finalizing a deal.And she was the part no one discussed out loud.
"Smile," Matteo had whispered earlier, voice smooth. "You're a DeLuca. Not a statue."
"I am smiling," she hissed back.
"Fix it. They're watching."
"Let them watch."
"Ariella—"
She'd walked away before he finished.
Across the ballroom, her father stood with a stranger. Older. Wealth radiated from his shoes to his eyes. He didn't smile. He didn't blink.
He just stared at her like she was already his.
Her fingers curled around her champagne glass. She didn't drink. Her stomach twisted too tightly.
I'm not yours to trade, she thought. Not this time.
Then... that man.
The one in black.
Now, she moved in his arms — one step, two, glide — though she barely noticed the music. His grip wasn't tight. But it didn't have to be. He danced like a soldier, not a lover. Calculated. Certain.
"You're in danger," he said, low.
"You think I don't know that?"
"No. I think you're pretending it's fine."
"You don't know me."
"I know who your father's making a deal with. I know what he wants in return."
Her steps faltered.
"Who told you that?"
"Someone who remembers what it's like to be bought."
His words didn't hit her like a slap — they bled slowly, like truth.
"Why warn me?"
"Because I owe someone. And they once loved your mother."
Her eyes widened.
"What's your name?"
"I'm not giving it to you."
"Then why should I trust you?"
He leaned in slightly. Not close enough to threaten. Just enough to haunt.
"Because I'm the only one here who's not interested in owning you."
Ariella stopped dancing.Just like that.
"I should call Matteo over."
"Do it. But by the time he gets here, the man your father's negotiating with will already think you're his."
"He's not."
"Not yet."
Her throat felt dry. Her hand itched to pull away.
But her feet didn't move.
His gaze locked on hers through the mask.
"Leave this ballroom. Now. Walk out the side terrace. I'll have someone waiting."
"If I do that, my father will—"
"Be forced to choose. You, or the deal."
She exhaled slowly. Her lungs burned like she'd been holding that breath all night.
"I don't even know who you are."
"You will."
He let go of her hand.
Gone.
Vanished into the gold and marble.
She turned — heart thudding, head spinning. She searched the room. Nothing. No sign of him.
"Ariella, cara mia," her father's voice called across the room, warm and polished. "Come."
She didn't move.
Not immediately.
Because she still felt that man's presence like a shadow wrapped around her spine.
Who are you?Why do I believe you?And why do I want to follow you?
She glanced toward the terrace.
Then at her father.Then at the man beside him — the older one in navy. He was still watching her. Still waiting.
Her skin crawled.
Her hand was still trembling.
This night isn't over.
She didn't know his name.Didn't know where he came from.Didn't even know if he was telling the truth.
But she knew this:
That masked stranger wasn't done with her.And neither was fate.