Behind The Mask | 18+

Lila Hart had been working at Black Enterprises for three years, two months, and sixteen days. Not that she was counting.

Except she absolutely was.

She stared at the email on her screen, reading it for the third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less infuriating.

Ms. Hart,

Your proposal for the Jensen account lacks the strategic depth I expect from senior marketing directors. Revise and resubmit by end of day. This is not a suggestion.

—DB

No pleasantries. No acknowledgment that she'd spent two weeks on that proposal, working late into the night, perfecting every detail. Just cold, cutting dismissal in five sentences.

Damien Black, CEO of Black Enterprises and certified bastard, had a gift for making her feel simultaneously incompetent and furious with just a few typed words.

"Let me guess," came a voice from her office doorway. "Another love letter from our fearless leader?"

Lila looked up to find Sophie Reynolds, her closest friend at the company and fellow survivor of the Damien Black experience, leaning against the doorframe with two cups of coffee.

"He hated the Jensen proposal," Lila said flatly, accepting the cup Sophie offered. "Wants it completely revised by tonight."

"Of course he does." Sophie settled into the chair across from Lila's desk. "Did he specify what was wrong with it?"

"'Lacks strategic depth.' Whatever the hell that means."

"It means he's in one of his moods." Sophie took a sip of her coffee, her expression knowing. "I heard he tore apart the entire finance presentation yesterday. Made Jenkins actually cry. A grown man, Lila. Crying."

Lila shouldn't have felt that small surge of satisfaction, but she did. At least she wasn't alone in being on the receiving end of Damien Black's impossibly high standards.

The man was a legend in the business world—took over his father's company at twenty-eight and tripled its value in five years. At thirty-three, he was ruthless, brilliant, and completely untouchable. Forbes called him a visionary. The Wall Street Journal called him a shark. Lila called him a nightmare wrapped in an expensive suit.

A devastatingly handsome nightmare, but still.

"I don't understand him," Lila muttered, pulling up her proposal to start the revision she absolutely did not have time for. "Nothing is ever good enough. I could hand him a proposal written by God himself, and he'd probably send it back with notes."

"That's because he's perfect," Sophie said with exaggerated drama. "Haven't you heard? Damien Black doesn't make mistakes. Doesn't have weaknesses. Doesn't have a life outside this building, as far as anyone can tell."

That was true. In three years, Lila had never heard anyone mention seeing him at a restaurant, a bar, a charity gala—nothing. He arrived before everyone else and left after everyone else, his personal life a complete mystery. No girlfriend anyone knew about. No friends. Just work, control, and those ice-blue eyes that seemed to see through every defense.

She'd been in exactly three meetings with him personally. Each one had left her feeling flayed open and exposed, like he could see every insecurity she tried to hide. He had a way of looking at people that made them want to either run or confess their deepest secrets.

Lila had wanted to do both.

"Earth to Lila." Sophie waved a hand in front of her face. "You zoned out. Thinking about the proposal or about how Black's eyes are basically illegal?"

"The proposal," Lila lied, feeling heat creep up her neck.

"Sure." Sophie's grin was wicked. "Well, while you're definitely thinking about work and nothing else, I'm leaving before I get caught up in whatever chaos you're about to unleash revising that thing. Drinks tomorrow night?"

"Can't. I have… plans."

Sophie's eyebrows shot up. "Plans? You? The woman who hasn't had plans that didn't involve Netflix in six months?"

Lila felt her face flush deeper. She'd been keeping this secret for two weeks now, ever since she'd submitted the application on a wine-drunk whim at midnight. She hadn't expected them to accept her. Hadn't expected to actually go through with it.

But her life had become so small. Work, apartment, work, apartment, with the occasional coffee with Sophie breaking up the monotony. She was twenty-nine years old, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt anything close to excitement or desire or the kind of aliveness that made you feel like you were actually living instead of just existing.

The Society had seemed like madness when she'd first heard about it—whispered about in the dark corners of internet forums, spoken of in hushed tones by people who claimed to know people who'd been there. An exclusive club where the city's elite went to shed their daytime personas and explore the kinds of desires polite society pretended didn't exist.

Lila had never considered herself adventurous. But something about the idea of being someone else for a night, of surrendering control instead of constantly fighting for it, had called to something deep inside her.

"Just… a thing," Lila said vaguely. "A friend's party."

"Lila Hart, are you being mysterious? I don't think I've ever seen you mysterious."

"There's a first time for everything. Now get out of here before Black finds us gossiping and fires us both."

Sophie laughed, but she left, and Lila was alone with her proposal and the weight of tomorrow night pressing against her chest.

She could still cancel. Probably should cancel.

But she wouldn't.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of revisions and caffeine. Lila worked through lunch, through the afternoon coffee break, through the normal end of the workday. By seven PM, the office had mostly emptied out, leaving only the die-hards and the desperate still clicking away at their keyboards.

She was putting the final touches on the revised proposal when her phone buzzed with a calendar reminder: 8 PM meeting with DB—Conference Room A.

Lila's stomach dropped.

She'd forgotten. In the chaos of revising the proposal, she'd completely forgotten about the monthly senior staff check-in. Just her, Damien Black, and an hour of explaining her department's performance while he picked apart every decision she'd made.

"Shit," she muttered, grabbing the printed proposal and her laptop. She had five minutes to get to the top floor.

Conference Room A was exactly what you'd expect from a CEO who valued control and intimidation in equal measure: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a table that could seat twenty but usually only held two, and lighting that somehow made everyone look either powerful or terrified depending on which end of the table they sat at.

Lila had always been on the terrified end.

She arrived two minutes early—showing up late to a meeting with Damien Black was basically career suicide—and found the room empty. She set up her laptop, arranged her notes, and tried to calm her racing pulse.

The door opened precisely at eight PM.

Damien Black didn't walk into rooms—he commanded them. Six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, wearing a suit that probably cost more than Lila's monthly rent, he moved with the kind of confidence that came from never having to doubt yourself. His dark hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it, and those ice-blue eyes swept the room before landing on her.

"Ms. Hart." His voice was deep, controlled, with just a hint of something rough underneath. "I trust you received my email."

"I revised the proposal." She slid the document across the table, proud that her hand didn't shake. "I believe you'll find it addresses your concerns."

He picked it up, and Lila watched as his eyes moved across the pages. She'd learned to read his expressions over the years—or rather, learned to read the micro-expressions that flickered across his face before he locked them down. A slight tightening of his jaw meant he disagreed. A barely-there narrowing of his eyes meant he was intrigued but wouldn't admit it.

Right now, his face was completely blank.

"Better," he said finally, setting the proposal down. "Not perfect, but better. You're capable of this level of work, Ms. Hart. I expect it from the start in the future, not after revision."

It should have felt like a compliment. Instead, it felt like being told she'd barely met the minimum standard.

"Of course, Mr. Black," she said, forcing professionalism into her tone.

"Now, let's discuss your department's Q3 performance."

The next forty-five minutes were exactly as excruciating as expected. He questioned every campaign, every budget decision, every metric. Lila defended her choices, provided data, and tried not to notice the way his fingers drummed against the table when he was thinking, or the way his eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her skin feel too tight.

By the time he finally dismissed her, Lila was exhausted, frustrated, and more convinced than ever that tomorrow night's escape couldn't come soon enough.

The red door didn't look like the gateway to another world.

But Lila knew better now, standing in front of it twenty-four hours later, her heart threatening to break through her ribs.

She'd spent the entire day in a state of nervous energy, barely able to focus on work, jumping every time someone knocked on her office door. She'd left early—something she never did—claiming a headache that wasn't entirely a lie.

The drive to the address Madame Rousseau had provided had taken her to a part of the city she didn't know existed: old warehouses converted into something elegant and secretive, cobblestone streets that belonged to another century.

Now, wearing a dress that made her feel like a different person and a mask that hid everything but her mouth, Lila reached for the handle.

The door opened into crimson light and the scent of expensive candles and expensive secrets.

The Society was more beautiful than she'd imagined—all dark wood and darker shadows, chandeliers that cast golden pools of light, and people moving through the space like phantoms. Everyone wore masks. Everyone belonged here in a way she definitely didn't.

A woman in a silver mask approached with a gentle smile. "First time?"

"That obvious?"

"Only to someone who remembers. My advice? Breathe. Trust. Remember that you chose to be here." The woman touched her arm briefly. "Your assigned partner should be here soon. He requested you specifically."

Lila's stomach flipped. "Requested me?"

"We don't reveal much about our members, but I can tell you he's experienced. Very experienced. You're in excellent hands."

The woman glided away, leaving Lila alone in the current of masked strangers. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server and tried to look like she knew what she was doing.

"Lila Hart."

Her name cut through the music, the crowd, everything.

She turned slowly, and her breath caught in her throat.

He stood in the shadows at the edge of the room, tall and commanding even at a distance. His mask was black leather, covering most of his face, leaving only his strong jaw visible and—

Oh God.

Those eyes.

Ice-blue eyes that had haunted her thoughts for three years. Eyes that had torn apart her proposals and her confidence in equal measure. Eyes she would recognize anywhere, mask or no mask.

No.

It couldn't be.

Damien Black took a step forward, into the candlelight, and Lila felt the world tilt on its axis.

"Shall we begin?"