Chapter {10}: A New Game
Chapter Ten: The Masquerade
Lolita's hands trembled as Monica snapped her fingers, summoning the same guard who had brought the envelope. The man stepped forward, this time carrying an elegant designer box. Its polished surface gleamed under the chandelier's light, reflecting the tension in the room. Monica gestured toward it with a faint smile, her icy demeanor softening just slightly.
"Inside, you'll find everything you need for tomorrow," Monica said smoothly. "The ball is at the Moline Hotel. It's a masquerade, so you'll need this."
With deliberate care, Monica lifted the lid to reveal the box's contents. A stunning golden mask lay atop layers of silk, its intricate design catching the light in a mesmerizing display. Beneath it were clothes—a flowing black gown with shimmering golden accents, perfectly tailored heels, and delicate jewelry that sparkled like stars.
Lolita's breath hitched, though she quickly masked her surprise.
"You'll wear this," Monica continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. "The mask is key. Sofian SAI will be there, and so will I. I'll guide you through everything, but remember—tomorrow is your first step. Make it count."
Lolita's lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded curtly. "Fine."
Monica's smile sharpened. "Good girl."
----
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the bustling streets as Lolita made her way home. The weight of Monica's offer bore down on her shoulders, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the designer box Monica had handed her—a symbol of the new life she was being dragged into.
When she arrived at their modest home, Matteo was the first to greet her. His small frame darted toward her like a bullet, his thin arms wrapping tightly around her waist.
"Lolita! You're home!" he exclaimed, his voice full of joy that momentarily lightened the heavy fog in her chest.
She forced a smile, ruffling his dark hair as she crouched to meet his wide eyes. "Of course, I'm home. Where else would I be?"
Matteo grinned, oblivious to the storm raging within her. "I thought maybe the market kept you late again."
Lolita set the box on the rickety table near the door, a faint frown creasing her forehead as she replied, "Not today. Go wash your hands. Dinner won't cook itself."
Matteo darted off, leaving Lolita alone with the box. She stared at it, her heart pounding as if it contained something far more sinister than clothes. Taking a deep breath, she opened it carefully.
Her gaze focused on the sleek black gown which shimmered under the dim light, its fabric so fine it felt like liquid beneath her fingertips. Beside it lay the golden mask, intricately designed with swirls and patterns that caught the light like fire. Monica's voice echoed in her mind: "Wear this. He'll notice you."
Lolita clenched her jaw and snapped the lid shut. She had no choice now.
---
The evening sun bathed their home in a golden glow as Lolita busied herself in the kitchen. The familiar rhythm of cooking offered a brief respite from her thoughts. She chopped vegetables with practiced precision, her hands moving on autopilot while her mind replayed Monica's cold, calculated smile.
Matteo chatted away from the corner of the room, his stories of the day blending with the sizzle of oil in the pan. She nodded and murmured responses, her focus split between the meal and the storm in her chest.
After dinner was prepared, she took a moment to steel herself. The evening routine was a sacred ritual—one she wouldn't let Monica or her schemes taint. Lolita entered their mother's small room, her chest tightening at the sight of the frail woman lying motionless on the bed.
Her mother's eyes fluttered slightly as Lolita approached, a faint acknowledgment of her presence. "Hey, Mama," she said softly, her voice trembling. "It's time to freshen up."
Lolita gently lifted her mother, cradling her fragile frame with a tenderness that belied the day's weight. The basin of warm water was ready, and Lolita worked methodically, wiping away the dried saliva and sweat that clung to her mother's skin. She hummed softly as she worked, an old lullaby their mother used to sing.
When the bathing was done, Lolita dressed her mother in a fresh gown and prepared the evening meal. She sat beside the bed, spooning the warm soup carefully into her mother's mouth.
But as always, the process was messy. A dribble of soup spilled from her mother's lips, trailing down her chin and onto her clothes. Lolita sighed, setting the bowl aside to clean her mother again.
"It's okay, Mama," she murmured, her voice soft and reassuring. "We'll get you clean again."
The second bath of the evening was slower, Lolita's hands gentle as she wiped away the food. The soiled clothes were tossed into a basin of soapy water, and after laying her mother down, Lolita carried them to the bathroom to wash.
---
The backyard was quiet, the cool night air wrapping around her as she stepped outside with the freshly cleaned clothes. The stars blinked faintly overhead, their light casting shadows across the small yard. She clipped the damp clothes to the line, her hands moving automatically.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the masquerade ball. She could see it in her mind's eye—the grand chandeliers, the polished floors, and the sea of masked faces. Among them, Sofian SAI would be waiting, unaware of the storm about to enter his life.
"Fifteen million pesos," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible. It was enough to save her family, to lift them out of this cycle of poverty and despair. But at what cost?
The creak of the gate jolted her from her thoughts. Matteo peeked out, his small face curious. "Lolita, are you okay?"
She forced a smile, waving him over. "I'm fine, Matteo. Just tired."
He padded over to her, his bare feet silent on the dirt. "You've been working so much lately. You need rest."
Lolita knelt to his level, placing her hands on his small shoulders. "I'll rest soon, I promise. But for now, I need you to help me, okay?"
Matteo nodded eagerly, and together they finished hanging the clothes.
---
Later that night, after Matteo had fallen asleep and the house was quiet, Lolita sat alone at the small table. The box sat before her, its contents untouched since she had first opened it.
She reached for the mask, holding it up to the faint moonlight streaming through the window. The gold glinted, its delicate design both beautiful and intimidating.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, her voice heavy with resolve. "I'll play your game, Monica. But on my terms."
Lolita set the mask down and leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. The stars outside seemed distant, their light dim against the darkness of her thoughts.
For her family, she would face the unknown. She would walk into the lion's den, wearing the golden mask of a stranger. And when the time came, she would prove that she wasn't just another pawn in Monica's game.
She was Lolita—and she wouldn't be controlled.