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The meeting loomed closer with each passing minute—my chance to stand up for what mattered most. But deep down where truths whispered and hid in shadows, I feared seeing him again not as an adversary but as the man who made me forget everything except his name on my lips.
I paced the floorboards of the community center, my shoes clicking a staccato rhythm that matched the hammering of my heart. The air hummed with a tension I could taste, thick as the dust motes dancing in slivers of sunlight through the blinds. My mind spun, each thought colliding with the next—how to fight, how to persuade, how to protect this place that was so much more than walls and a roof.
“Mila, you’re going to wear a path on the floor,” Melody teased, her smile a gentle attempt to ease my nerves.
I stopped and shot her a half-hearted glare. “I might just do that.”
Josie chimed in. “You’ve got this. You know what’s at stake.”
I nodded, my jaw setting with resolve. “Yeah. I know what I need to say. It’s just…” I trailed off, not wanting to admit that it was him—Cassius Portman—that had me unraveling.
“Just what?” Josie pressed, leaning against a table laden with pamphlets and sign-up sheets.
“It’s just facing him,” I admitted with a sigh. “After that night, it’s like he’s two different people in my head—the one who could change everything for us here and…the other one.” I couldn’t bring myself to elaborate; they wouldn’t understand the maelstrom he stirred within me.
“The man behind the mask,” Melody offered softly, understanding more than I wished she did. I told them about the ball, about the dance, but left out the bit about the best sex of my life.
“Exactly.” I shook my head as if to dislodge his haunting presence from my thoughts. “But tonight, it’s not about masks or masquerades. It’s about standing up for what we believe in.”
“You’re not alone in this,” Josie reminded me firmly. “We’re all behind you.”
I glanced around at the faces gathered, each one set with the same stubborn defiance that fueled our fight. This center was more than an after-school program or a food pantry; it was the heartbeat of our neighborhood—a place where kids could find laughter instead of loss and where elders shared stories that wove us tightly together.
As the time drew near, I steadied myself against a chair, my hands gripping the cool metal. In moments like these, when the future balanced on a knife-edge of words and wills, I found clarity—a blazing certainty that we were fighting for something irreplaceable.
“Mila,” Josie said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s time.”
With one last look at my reflection—a woman steeled for battle—I stepped forward to meet Cassius Portman and defend our lifeline with everything I had.
Chapter Thirteen
Cassius
After the ball Mila was nowhere to be found. I remembered combing through the throngs of people, my gaze catching every glint of blue fabric, hoping to spot that distinct royal hue she wore. But it was as if she’d vanished into thin air.
In my office the next day, a list of attendees lay sprawled across my desk, a futile attempt to find her name among the donors and socialites. I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming on the mahogany surface as I ran through the previous night’s memories.
“Stuart,” I called out to my assistant who hovered near the door, his eyes glued to his notepad.
He approached, pen poised. “Yes, Mr. Portman?”
“Have you checked with security? Any record of a Mila on the guest list?”
Stuart shook his head. “I’ve inquired with hotel staff and security. No one seems to know who she is.”
I sighed, rubbing the tension from my jawline. The list before me was no more than a catalogue of the city’s elite—names I knew all too well—but she was not among them.
Later that day, I found myself at the scene of our encounter—the now empty ballroom—where workers dismantled decorations and swept up remnants of celebration. I approached one of the waiters, a middle-aged man with immaculately ironed uniform.
“Excuse me,” I began casually. “You wouldn’t have happened to see a woman in a royal blue dress at the ball last night? Maybe noticed where she went?”
The man paused and scratched his head thoughtfully. “Lots of fancy dresses last night, sir. But blue… yeah, there was one gal. Didn’t catch where she went though.”
I thanked him with a nod and retreated to my thoughts.
The masquerade ball’s anonymity had been its appeal; yet now it mocked me with its effectiveness. Mila—the name that had been so easily offered amidst laughter and champagne—was all I had left of her.
As evening drew its curtains across the city skyline once more, I found myself at my penthouse’s wide windows staring into the glittering urban abyss below. The fleeting nature of our interaction gnawed at me—Mila had become an enigma wrapped in blue silk and mystery.
