Late, 30 minutes late. It's extremely late for Anastasia, and it doesn't resemble her. Will she even come?

She's been so tense every time Nate has mentioned the masquerade, yet it isn't like her to cancel without telling him. Every time she's avoided him, she's always texted him, and now, she's promised she wouldn't run away anymore. Nate believes her words and the determination he's seen in her eyes.

So now he can only wait and fight the urge to reach for his phone, while also battling all the dreadful scenarios in his head.

She will come; she has to. It may be stupid, but the thought of his angel being here in this crowd of masked people makes it easier. He doesn't need alcohol or an escape to face all those pointless conversations and appearance games when she's there. Besides, even if it's just for a few minutes, it's an opportunity to spend more time together when the clock is ticking against them.

Speaking of time, 33 minutes, he's never been such a stickler for the time, but the seconds are starting to resonate inside his head.

'Where are you?'

His fingers are already rushing to type on his phone. 

After all, maybe she's already there and he hasn't spotted her, since she's refused to show him her dress or even tell him anything about her outfit. He still pictures the sparkle in her mystic eyes when she's said he would have to recognize her. She's really different, and of course, she will stand out in this sea of masked silhouettes.

Yet it doesn't stop him from watching the entrance and all the surroundings like a hawk.

"Captain Johnson?"

His attention is pulled by two figures approaching.

"Yes. Good evening, Colonel." Nate nods, recognizing easily the man's strict presence along with his wife by his side, a woman with more forms but with the same imposing gait as the colonel Munoz. "Mrs. Munoz."

"I almost didn't recognize you," the colonel notes. "Your wife had an interesting idea. It's hard to know whom we're talking to!"

This is the goal! Nate thinks to himself, concealing his proud smile for having come up with this idea.

"This is really original, and the party is beautiful," Mrs. Munoz adds, glancing around with wide eyes as she appears as puzzled by the theme as her husband.

"Thanks, I'll tell Pamela." Nate throws an umpteenth glance around, taking the opportunity to check the people more than the surroundings that he already knows.

Though he must admit that Pamela has done an amazing job at organizing this ball. It's like even the yard has got dressed up to the nines and has put on a mask. 

The trees have put on fairy lights and airy black and white draperies. A part of the lawn has been masked with a shiny platform to form a dancefloor with a small stage near their pavilion, and tables displaying delicate crockery full of various mouth-watering and sophisticated food are occupying the rest of the space, along with as many guests walking between them. Finally, in this early nighttime, there are many plays of lights and shadows with the paths and nooks of the garden, enhanced by all the feathers and aerial bubble sculptures arranged everywhere. 

Pamela has wanted her acceptance party to be memorable, and the scenery is already set for it.

However, Nate forgets everything around when a divine apparition attracting all the lights passes the entrance. 

A marvelous silhouette is wrapped in a fuchsia gown strewed with golden details until the corset, where the two colors are forming a fine entanglement hugging the slim waist under, and at the top, the low-cut neckline lets appear the luscious cleavage. Even if he already knows the owner of this beautiful dress and mesmerizing body, his gaze still slides higher, where a few fallen strands from a sophisticated bun are framing a delicate face. There, a mask in the same fine colors is concealing the identity of its owner, yet it does nothing to hide her beauty.

Sensing eyes burning her milky skin, her eyes meet Nate's, and they recognize each other in the distance as she offers him a stunning smile, shining more than her whole outfit, and the deep pink of her lips is tempting him more than anything else. He lets her know clearly through his gaze, and he can guess her cheeks are matching the colors of her outfit, even if, with the mask and faint lighting, he can't see it.

"Who is it?"

They aren't alone, and Nate realizes she hasn't only caught his eyes as everyone seems to be captivated by this angelic silhouette.

"I don't know..." he manages to stammer, suddenly aware that he hasn't been breathing until now.

"Her dress is..."

"Breath-taking," Nate breathes out before Mrs. Munoz can finish her sentence, and he clearly isn't only talking about the dress.

However, something else comes stifling his lungs as a man appears beside her. His two-faced gray mask is hiding his face, but from the way he is wrapping his arm around Anastasia's delicate silhouette, he can easily guess that it's her fiancé.

Watching them, powerless and so far, it recalls memories of the Charity Ball, except that now, the hate and anger toward this man are so much fiercer. He's been the last person Nate has expected to see here. How can Anastasia have done this to him?

He can't breathe; he's suffocating in a sourness that wraps around his ribcage and poisons his whole body. It worsens, the more he watches them, yet he can't look away, and his eyes are noticing more breath-taking details about Anastasia: the black ribbon of her mask entangled in her golden locks, the way her almost-bare shoulders are tensing with her fiancé's closeness, and how behind her mask, she is now carefully avoiding Nate's piercing gaze.

Why has she come with him? Has he imposed his presence? Nate's fists are itching to wrap around the man's neck, but instead, they're gripping his glass so tightly that it might break at any second.

"Excuse me, I think I should go see if my wife needs help," he rushes, not even waiting for an answer and not caring if he's being disrespectful as the glass has been cracking under his wrath. 

He's fighting the last shreds of his self-control to not head straight to the 'charming' couple. That would be reckless, and this whole masquerade now appears less like a good idea. He understands why Anastasia has been so unsure and nervous, and he would have never imagined this. She's unpredictable, the tornado Anastasia who always blows him away in every possible way, good or bad, best or worst.

Now, she's the only one who can soothe the storm growing inside his veins, and he pulls out his phone, since it's his only way to reach her, while his eyes don't leave her silhouette a second.

"Oh, Nate baby, you're here! With those masks, I couldn't find you! Why did you have to choose such an ordinary tux?" Pamela appears in front of him, blocking his view and his fingers on the phone as she grabs his arm. "I need you to introduce me for my speech."

"I thought it was Madison who was supposed to do it?" he asks, his voice sounding harsher than usual through his gritted teeth, yet he can't help it, and Pamela doesn't even notice anyway. 

"Yeah, but she's already drunk." She rolls her eyes, her tone almost as seething as his because her supposed friend is putting her party and reputation at risk. "I already wrote you something. You just have to read it." She hands him her phone, and all the blood that has been boiling in Nate's veins leaves his face as he skims the lines on her phone.

He has to read all those praising words in front of Anastasia, who is here with her fiancé? It isn't that he doesn't think those words of Pamela: 'beautiful', 'dynamic', 'sophisticated', and some others. Yet it feels wrong, and this masquerade that he's been eager for is now turning his stomach.

"I need a strong drink," he mutters.

"Don't get drunk too," Pamela warns him as he heads for the closest bar, and it would be easier if he could, but he doesn't have enough time for this.

"We're late."

Anastasia tries to suppress the roll of her eyes, and she hopes her mask can hide the annoyance bubbling inside. 

"I know, but I've already told you we did the best we could. Sienna had to do some last-minute alterations to the dress. She's already really kind to offer me a dress for free," she points out, her hands instinctively brushing the smooth fabric of her gown.

She can't believe she is wearing such a sumptuous dress. She has never really been interested in all of this, but tonight she feels like a princess. Actually, she feels like this since the moment she has crossed Nathaniel's gaze on the other side of the yard. His eyes are shining much more than she could have ever dreamed, and she could stare at them forever. Though she is now avoiding them because she isn't alone anymore, and while those dark eyes are still burning her skin, she can't face their ardor.

"Still, I don't like to be late," Fergus argues, repeating himself for the hundredth time.

Well, maybe it hasn't been the same words, but the idea has been the same the whole journey to here, and each time, a little bit more regret to have asked him to accompany her has crept up her insides, along with more tensions. However, she hasn't really had a choice. Standing here alone in the den of all those big cats has been unimaginable, and who else could she have asked?

"Me neither, but it's no big deal." She can see with his widening eyes – and she knows it herself – that those words don't resemble her. So she tries to find more logical arguments. "I mean, there are still people arriving. At those parties, people are never on time." She nods behind, where many masked silhouettes are still showing up at the entrance.

"Yes, but we aren't like these people. I still don't understand how you got invited." 

Her chest shrivels upon those words, and even as Fergus is glancing around, it is such a contrast with how she feels in Nathaniel's eyes.

"I told you they liked my speech and how much money they've collected thanks to it..." she repeats her lie one more time, trying to sound as convincing as all those times before when she forces her tensed shoulders in a shrug. "And I don't know... maybe they want to encourage social mix like for the Charity Ball."

She is now carefully avoiding two pairs of eyes, giving her the opportunity to observe the surroundings, and as she has imagined, the garden is big, sophisticated, and it looks expensive, probably like the rest of the house.

However, her admiration stops between the large rectangular fountain and the row of illuminated trees as her gaze catches two particular silhouettes, fitting perfectly in the surroundings: Nathaniel and his wife, who has joined him. It is of course normal, yet it doesn't make it less bitter to watch.

"We should thank the hosts for the invitation then."

The hosts, the perfect couple there. Anastasia freezes.

She doubts Nathaniel has informed his wife that he has invited his... – what is she for him? 'Let it be' partner? She knows exactly the real word in the pit of her stomach.

It hasn't been the smartest idea to bring Fergus here, or even herself. She isn't acting smartly these days, but luckily, her brain is getting used to lying and diverting.

"Later. We have time, and I'm sure they're busy. Why not get a drink first?" She grabs Fergus's hand, probably the most eager gesture she has had with him tonight, and she leads him to the farthest bar in search of a distraction for Fergus, but also for her own thoughts.

She finds it in the drinks, or at least, she tries as the sour taste of alcohol hits her throat on her first swallow of champagne, yet she keeps drinking with each praising word from Nathaniel about his wife.

He is standing on the small stage, under a pavilion floodlit with fairy lights that are highlighting all his features and almost make him glow like a halo. His stance is so strong and assertive that he looks like a god, and if she didn't know better, she wouldn't notice the light tension in his jaw and how he keeps scratching his nose. 

She wonders if he has had his usual tequila before this, and mostly, she wonders what he can be thinking as his gaze is sliding all over the crowd but never nearing her direction, the same way she has done it minutes ago. It is almost ridiculous, and if she wasn't drowning in a bitterness that isn't only the alcohol from her now-empty glass, she could laugh.

These are just a few compliments that she doesn't doubt are true, yet hearing them from Nathaniel's sweet lips are making it sour. They only remind her who Pamela is for Nathaniel and who she, Anastasia, is, a stray kitten no matter the shiny fabrics she can wear.

She shrinks on her spot, and as Nathaniel passes the mic to his wife and she jumps on his lips, Anastasia feels everything inside shriveling to nothing. Fergus is right; she has no reason to be here, and this is surely the clearer reminder.

She has expected it would be like that, trying to prepare herself. Yet the way Pamela wraps her arms around Nathaniel's neck, how their lips are meeting, even if it's just for a few seconds, and how his lips are tinted with her dark lipstick afterward are still crushing her chest. 

Standing there watching this feels wrong. She has no reason to be here; she shouldn't be here, and she has known it since he has invited her. 

So why has she even come? Because despite all her hesitations until the last minute, she has known she would come anyway for many reasons: Sienna and her talents that deserve to be seen, the tickling curiosity to see Nathaniel's house, and maybe just the simplest argument that Nathaniel has laid to convince her, but that, she can't recognize it in front of the 'perfect couple'.

She wants to run away, bury herself under the covers and forget all this masquerade. The worst is that it isn't under any covers that she wants to hide; it is under the ones that feel like home perched in a big sequoia. But anyway, she can't escape anywhere with Fergus around.

"I'm going to the bar," she whispers to him.

"For a drink again?" His severe gaze judges her harshly before she can even reply.

"No, of course not. For some appetizers... my head is spinning..." Her head is spinning indeed, but not because of alcohol; she actually needs more to stop the spirals of her mind, and as soon as she is out of her fiancé's radar, she orders a stronger drink.

"Do you have some appetizers?" she finally asks after a while.

The tequila has been stronger than she has imagined, and even if it's a great sweetener to listen to the speech of Nathaniel's wife and silence her thoughts, now, she needs something to swallow everything.

Nathaniel is watching her. She can feel it tingling her skin, yet she hasn't looked back, and she doesn't even know why.

"Here, we have an assortment of caviar petit fours." The waitress pulls her out of her thoughts, placing various plates covered in black and white squares, and if Anastasia had little appetite remaining before, it all vanishes in the turn of her stomach at this sight.

"Um... don't you have something without caviar?"

"They are the best and finest caviar, Miss," the waitress assures her with a gentle smile.

"Yeah, I don't doubt it, but I don't like it. Besides, they're expensive, and their carbon footprint is horrible. I don't know why people still eat it." Her arguments are probably useless, and the waitress only offers her a sorry expression, yet it might be some kind of survival reflex in case of stress to defend causes that she finds important.

"I agree! And on top of that, they taste like shit." A voice comes up from beside her, and she is glad to find someone who thinks like her in this crowd of majestic big cats.

Though it doesn't last as she turns to meet a clear gaze that widens with the recognition of who she is, and any sympathy that she could have heard in his voice is annihilated by the judgment in his eyes. 

Before she can even try for a cordial greeting, the man straightens and turns around, leaving her alone to cower in her corner like the stray kitten she is, and raise her almost empty glass of tequila to her lips.

To Darrell, another person close to Nathaniel who reminds her she isn't at her place here.

Speaking of people close to Nathaniel, she doesn't even get to swallow her gulp that someone else walks up to her again.

"Hello."

She recognizes the smooth and elegant voice instantly, and if for the past fifteen minutes that it has been echoing around, it has made her simmer in her corner, now, from just above her shoulder, the same voice is freezing all her muscles.

She doesn't even know how she manages to turn around and put up a smile – maybe the hope that she is mistaken? That it isn't the one she thinks it is? That the greeting isn't directed to her? That her restless mind is tricking her? 

But she is never wrong, and she quickly realizes there is no one else, not even the kind waitress, around. Besides, the woman's brown eyes are leaving few doubts as they are fixed intently on her, even though Anastasia doesn't understand why her in the hundreds of guests, or maybe she just fears to know why as she tries to reply the most naturally possible with her heart thumping loudly in her throat and threatening to crush her vocal cords.

"Um, hello."

What else is she supposed to say to Nathaniel's wife? A pinch of guilt is stabbing her stomach, but she can barely feel it as all the worst scenarios are already forming in her mind. 

In front of Pamela's majestic presence, she is even regretting Darrell's judging eyes. This woman is much more intimidating because, despite her wide smile and sophisticated manners, she could be the death of her.

But she doesn't know, she tries to reason herself and her creeping fears. Pamela is probably just being a nice host, welcoming her guests, like Nathaniel has described her as generous and outgoing.

"Um, congrats... It's really a sumptuous party." Although her words are honest, she has to force another smile, and it's such a contrast with Pamela's bright one, which doesn't seem to require her any effort in her muscles.

"Thanks." 

Now, after this simple and mundane interaction, she just prays that Pamela will walk to another guest; that's what Anastasia is, just another guest. Yet the strength with which she grips her almost-empty glass of tequila isn't like any other guest, and behind her mask, she is still the stray kitten waiting for her doom in front of the elegant puma.

"Your dress has caught a lot of attention..." 

This isn't what Anastasia has expected, but as Pamela looks up and down her dress once more, she understands that it is what her large eyes have been observing.

"Oh, um, thank you. It's a friend who has made it. She's really talented, isn't she?" She passes her fingers on the delicate fabric once more, yet this time, it isn't to appreciate its smoothness as she is focusing on Pamela's gown from closer.

Her dress has nothing to envy to Anastasia's; it looks as precious and even more eye-catching with its sparkling silver color attracting all the fairy lights around, and it is fitting perfectly Pamela as much literally as figuratively. However, Pamela's gaze appears stuck on Anastasia's dress.

"And your mask..." She steps closer to admire the subtle object on Anastasia's tensed features. "I can't recognize you behind..."

That's the aim, Anastasia thinks, and she hopes it will stay this way as Pamela's eyes are narrowing, and the silver reliefs of her mask are only deepening the way her gaze is piercing through Anastasia to try to guess her identity.

"I've organized all the invitations, so I should know you."

Anastasia has never been more thankful for the mask hiding her face than in this instant because she feels all the blood leaving it as she tries to search for a plausible lie. 

"You've organized it all? That's an impressive work!" she tries; Fergus and his distraction techniques seem to be rubbing off on her, but it can indeed be really useful.

"This accent..." Pamela purses her lips. "I think I've already heard it..."

This is it. Anastasia gulps, and it is sourer than anything she has tasted tonight. Her heart is thumping loudly, mixing with her rushing thoughts, and everything around disappears: the crowd, the party, the luxurious setting... There is only Anastasia, her hammering heart, Pamela's sharp gaze, and blurry clouds from a hell that appears clearer and closer.

It is surely curiosity in Pamela's eyes; nevertheless, Anastasia doubts it will stay that way if she discovers the truth, which Anastasia is trapped with. If she says her name, she will have to justify who and why she has been invited, and it risks turning out suspect or even straight guilty. But the only other option is to walk away, and it would make her as suspect.

Coming here has definitely been a bad idea. It is playing with fire, and even if she is frozen on spot, she knows she will end up burned down.

She opens her mouth to speak or breathe, but nothing comes out, nor in, and the silence and Anastasia's chest are finally filled by something else.

"Pamela!" a voice that her heart recognizes instantly calls, and the next second, Nathaniel appears next to them, saving Anastasia from suffocating once again. Her hero.

Yet right now, 'her hero' is wrapping his arm around his wife's waist.

"The photographer wants to take photos of you before the night falls completely," he rushes, knowing this excuse will pull Pamela away from Anastasia, and it's the truth, even if Nate is the one who has pressured the photographer for this.

The second he's glimpsed the two women together, his heart has stopped, and seeing the distress on Anastasia's features, which her mask can't hide to his attentive eyes, has restarted it in a desperate frenzy. This is what he's been dreading about tonight, and his eagerness to see Anastasia might have blinded him about this possibility. 

He's really thought he could prevent it from happening, since his eyes are always drawn to Anastasia. Yet just a quick sermon from Darrell that has caught all his attention, and this has happened.

It is like fire meeting ice, and he just hopes it's still soon enough to prevent a disaster. He can't even think of the what-ifs of Pamela finding out the truth, and shivers are breaking down his spine as she turns back to Anastasia.

"Yes, let me just–"

"He's waiting." He tugs Pamela away a little bit more roughly than usual, and the guilt for all of this will certainly creep under his skin later, but right now, his heart is pumping something stronger and more desperate in his veins with Anastasia so close and in danger.

She's all that matters as he risks one quick meaningful glance at his angel's eyes, and it's enough to warm him up inside before he walks away with Pamela.

Anastasia is once more left alone in her corner to watch them disappear behind all the people roaming around, chatting, dancing, or admiring the garden, while she stays unmoving, still dazed by everything that has just happened, and most importantly what could have happened.

Though what has left her even more stunned is how Nathaniel has once again soothed all her torments with just one look. She should be mad at him, but she doesn't even remember why. The only thing she can't forget is the sour pain inside her chest as she is left alone, and she finishes the last swallows of her tequila, praying it will give her strength because this is just the beginning of the night.

So, finally, the masquerade is here, and Anastasia too! But has it really been a good idea? It's been a close one with Pamela! 😰 And so far, there has been more bitterness than time together!

What do you think of this encounter with Pamela btw? And also, did you expect that Anastasia would bring Fergus? Were you as shocked as Nate? 😲😅

Do you think they will manage to sneak some time together? Or will there be more dangers and jealousy? 😏😉🤭🤫

Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments, and vote ⭐ if you liked it! 

I love you, my little rays of sunshine 😘❤

PS: You can see Anastasia's mask in the banner above! It's actually one of my Venitian masks (much more beautiful than the virus masks, but don't forget to wear those to protect yourselves! 😷)