C5 Cracks in the Mask

Aria stared at her reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls, holding her breath until the doors closed. Only then did she allow her shoulders to drop and her polished mask to slip—just for a second.

He knew.

Cassidy Lorne hadn’t said it outright, but his eyes—those cold, steel-gray eyes—had narrowed just enough to make her pulse spike. And that smirk. That damn smirk. It was the same one he gave her right before he kissed her at the ball.

She had gone into this job thinking she could handle it. That she could compartmentalize the woman from the masquerade and the architect in the boardroom.

Clearly, she had underestimated the danger of proximity.

Back in her office two floors below Cassidy’s, Aria paced. She ran her fingers through her hair, cursing silently. This project was her big break. She couldn’t afford to let one night ruin everything. And she definitely couldn’t let him ruin her.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her spiral.

It was Kendra, her assistant. “You’ve got an email from Mr. Lorne’s office,” she said, setting a printed note on the desk.

Aria unfolded it slowly.

> Dinner. 7 PM. Chez Langston. Non-negotiable. —C.L.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Not a meeting. Not a briefing. Dinner.

The kind of move that wasn’t professional—but wasn’t entirely personal either. He was testing her. And she couldn’t afford to flinch.

She exhaled, grabbed her phone, and sent a two-word reply:

> Confirmed. —A.W.

---

Later that night…

Chez Langston was candlelit, quiet, and outrageously expensive. The kind of place where secrets were exchanged under crystal chandeliers.

Cassidy was already seated when Aria arrived—black suit, no tie, relaxed posture. But his eyes? Sharp as ever.

“You showed,” he said, rising slightly.

“I don’t back out of professional obligations,” Aria replied coolly.

He smirked. “Let’s not pretend this is professional.”

“I’m here to talk about the headquarters project.”

“Sure,” he said, pouring her a glass of wine. “Let’s talk... design choices. Like the woman who danced with me under a false name.”

Her hand froze on the wine glass.

“Don’t worry,” he added, voice low. “I haven’t told anyone. Yet.”

“Because you’re not sure,” she countered, lifting the glass to her lips. “You don’t know if I’m her.”

Cassidy leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I know exactly who you are. The only question is—why are you pretending you don’t know me?”

She met his gaze, calm but burning inside. “Because that night was a mistake.”

“Was it?” he asked. “Because I’ve been trying to forget it. And failing.”

A long silence stretched between them.

And then Aria said softly, “What do you want from me, Cassidy?”

His expression shifted. “The truth.”

She stood slowly. “Then earn it.”

And just like that, she walked away—leaving him staring after her, hooked deeper than ever.