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My jaw is set in a firm, unyielding line—evidence of how badly I want to leave this party. Behind my mask, my steely eyes, framed by the faintest lines of age, show a hint of annoyance.
I shoot another disinterested glance at Chris beside me.
“So, how's that new app coming along?” I ask. “I hear things are supposedly moving forward with the beta testing.”
"Yeah, it's getting there," Chris mutters, sounding as boring as I feel. "We still have loads of testing and research to slog through before it gets even close to launch. Too many bugs to work through, you know."
“I guess that’s why you went for the espresso, huh?” I say, taking another sip of my whiskey, the amber liquid offering a fleeting escape from the rowdiness around us.
“You got that right,” Chris responds.
Suddenly, a group of young girls clad in masquerade masks barges their way to the bar. They're giggling and stumbling in their enthusiasm, seemingly oblivious to the fact that their entrance disrupts the little comfort we have found here.
As they jostle past, one of them carelessly bumps into Chris, making him spill some of his meticulously crafted espresso martini. His expression shifts from mild annoyance to a deeper irritation.
"Fuck—" He quickly grabs a napkin, but it's too small to pick up the mess entirely.
I grumble under my breath as I quickly grab another napkin to pass along, unable to hide my disdain for their lack of consideration.
“Typical,” I mutter to Chris, who nods in agreement, his eyes following the girls as they seek for the bartender's attention.
Chris chuckles, his voice low and slightly amused. “Sometimes, Alex, you've got to step out of your comfort zone. The mask provides excellent privacy. Oh, and remember—Ben doesn’t give a damn fuck if we’re enjoying ourselves.”
I shake my head, gazing at the lively dance floor and the twirling figures. “This is anything but comfort, and I'd rather be anywhere but here.”
Chris leans closer and speaks in a secretive tone. “Well, think of it this way. No one knows who we are with these masks on. We can let loose a little and be someone else for the night.”
I nod slowly, conceding to the logic of his words. “I guess you have a point. But it's just not my scene, Chris.”
He shrugs, sipping what is left of his martini with a nonchalant air. “Not mine either, but sometimes, you've got to shake things up. Who knows, you might even have a bit of fun.”
I grumble again, but there's a glimmer of reluctant amusement in my eyes. “We'll see about that,” I mutter, taking another sip of my drink and silently wishing for the night to pass quickly.
The music pounds relentlessly through my chest, and I can feel the beat slowly draining from my limbs. Yes—loud and crowded events have never been my cup of tea, and the twinkling lights that everyone seems to find charming are just painful in my eyes. Every voice in the room clamors for attention, and I can't focus on any one conversation beyond catching bits and pieces.
My gaze sweeps across the crowded dance floor, and that's when I notice her.
Wow…
I blink a few times, trying to focus to make sure I’m not imagining her after having a few drinks.
A captivating figure moves with an effortless grace, her curly brown hair cascading down her shoulders, a striking contrast to the mask that conceals her identity. She's wearing a tiny black dress that clings to her every curve.
Her confidence is alluring as she dances with those long, toned legs of hers.
Her presence is magnetic, drawing the attention of those around her. I can't help but stare as she moves to the rhythm of the music, a silhouette of sensuality against the vibrant backdrop of the dance floor.
She's…gorgeous.
Suddenly, she turns, her movements graceful and mesmerizing. Our eyes lock from across the pulsing dance floor. Even from this distance, I can see her eyes gleaming with a mysterious charm.
Time stands still as we hold each other's gaze, the chaotic world around us fading into the background. The music and the chatter of the partygoers become distant echoes, and I'm drawn in completely, captivated by the intensity of our unspoken connection.
“You good, Alex?” Chris, always the observant one, brings me back to reality.
Blinking myself back to reality, I take another sip of my Macallan 18.
I mumble quietly, not sure how to put what I feel into words.
