Masquerade of Shadows

The morning air was tense with something unsaid.

Elira stood by the tall glass window in the guest room of Azriel's penthouse, watching the grey light crawl across the skyline. She had freshened up after a long night of unrest, the weight of the world still lingering on her shoulders. The events of the previous day clung to her like static, unshakable.

It was the next day now—nearly evening—and the shadows outside had begun to deepen, lengthening over the city.

After her shower, she returned to find something on the bed.

A red silk dress.

Fitted, slit high up the thigh, the kind that whispered danger with every movement. Beside it, a pair of black stiletto heels. She stared at the ensemble for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before silently reaching for it.

As she reached for the dress, she hesitated. She remembered Thalia handing her a pile of folded clothes earlier—basic essentials. A hoodie, jeans, some undergarments—practical things. But this? This red silk—this wasn't in that pile. She hadn't seen it with Thalia.

Her breath caught as the realization dawned.

It must've been Azriel.

He likes me in red.

The memory was unshakable—those early moments, their first encounters. His eyes had lingered longer when she wore crimson. His gaze darker. She hated that she noticed.

She hated even more that he did.

As she reached for the dress, her fingers brushed against the smooth, luxurious fabric. It shimmered faintly in the light, vibrant against the neutral tones of the room. She held it up for a moment, her gaze running along the curve of the neckline, the deep slit teasing along the side.

With a sigh, she let her robe slip down and slid into the dress. The silk glided over her skin like temptation incarnate. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and adjusted the straps, her wavy dark hair still damp as it spilled in loose waves over her shoulders, clinging to her skin.

Before fastening the last clasp, she retrieved her dagger—small, curved, lethal—and strapped it to her thigh beneath the slit. The silk covered the weapon perfectly. She wasn't going in unarmed.

The dagger was an old companion now. Part of her like breath and shadow.

When she stepped out of the room and made her way downstairs, the heels clicking against the wood floor, she found Azriel waiting.

He had changed too.

A black suit, tailored to perfection. No tie. The top buttons of his black shirt undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his tattooed collarbone and the hard lines of his chest. The fabric hugged every sculpted angle—broad shoulders, narrow waist, the epitome of lethal seduction.

She stopped on the last step. His eyes moved over her slowly, lingering on the slit of her dress, the way it curved around her hips, her bare collarbones catching the low light.

"You clean up nicely, sunshine."

"Don't start."

Azriel's grin was slow, deliberate. He didn't respond, just turned and placed a coffee cup on the counter with practiced precision.

Azriel's thoughts were a storm.

She wore the red like it was made for her. The slit teasing every step she took. And yet, it wasn't about seduction. It was about power. She wore that dress like armor.

And damn if it didn't make it harder to keep his focus.

"We got the final confirmation," he said coolly. "The email wasn't a trap. Caelum verified the source—routed through five ghost servers, all untraceable. But the intel checks out. The party's tonight."

"We're still doing this?" she asked, jaw tight.

Azriel nodded. "We need that list. This is our best chance."

She crossed her arms. "And I have to play your lover."

He leaned back against the kitchen island, folding his arms. "Unless you prefer to be my fiancée."

"Fuck off."

His smile widened. "Lover it is, then."

She hissed under her breath. "I swear if you touch me—"

"Only when necessary," he said smoothly. "But I warn you, I might need to wrap an arm around you, maybe whisper sweet nothings if anyone gets suspicious."

Her glare was ice. "Try it and I'll gut you."

"Fair warning."

She turned away, then paused.

The tension was broken by Azriel's phone vibrating against the granite. He glanced at the screen. Caelum.

"Yeah?"

A pause.

"They've confirmed it?"

Another pause.

Elira turned slightly, listening in as he walked into the hallway.

"Good. What about Thalia? ...Perfect. Talon got her into the waitress list?"

Azriel's voice lowered, amused. "Remind me to never piss him off."

Another pause. "We'll be ready. See you at extraction point if things go sideways."

He ended the call and returned. "Thalia's in. Talon hacked the registry. She's on the server team near the back corridor. Talon's coming as your bodyguard."

"Because I'm the fragile lady," Elira said flatly.

"Because he's the only one who can deal with you without dying."

She shot him a scowl. "And you think you can?"

He didn't answer. Just looked at her like he could strip her down with a glance. She hated how easily that stare affected her.

Moments later, her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

One photo.

Her mother.

Alive. Bloodied. Tied to a chair.

Behind her—the Hydra symbol.

Her heart dropped.

Azriel noticed instantly. "What is it?"

She turned the phone toward him.

His smile vanished. "Fuck."

"Someone's watching us."

He nodded slowly. "Then we play their game."

She didn't know if she wanted to kill him or use him.

Maybe both.

And that thought?

It terrified her.

Before they left, Azriel opened a drawer and pulled out two intricately designed masks.

"It's a masquerade. Underground crowd. Dangerous. Faces stay hidden unless you're already dead."

He handed her one—black lace with a crimson edge. Dangerous. Elegant.

She stared at it.

"You planned this."

He met her eyes. "I survive because I do."

As they stepped into the elevator, the tension returned like a shadow that never left.

"This doesn't feel like a rescue mission," she muttered.

Azriel smirked. "That's because it's not. It's infiltration."

"With masks and silk?"

"That's how the underground works, sunshine. You bleed in velvet."

She adjusted her mask, giving him a sidelong glance. "You enjoy this a little too much."

He shrugged. "Better than dying in a boardroom."

"You're impossible."

"And you're stunning. In red, no less."

She rolled her eyes. "That wasn't a compliment."

"I know. That's why I said it."

As the elevator dinged at the underground parking, both their expressions darkened.

It was almost eight.

They were dressed.

Prepared for

the night. For the fight.

Their weapons were hidden.

Their lies stitched into silk and steel.

They were ready.

And they were walking straight into hell.

To be continued...