Masked Ball

The Kook kids knew how to throw a party—too much money, too little supervision, and way too many secrets. Tonight was no exception. A masked ball, tucked away in an old beachfront estate someone’s family rarely visited, transformed for the night into something like a haunted castle. Velvet-draped walls. Smoke machines hissing in the corners. Chipped marble statues looming like silent watchers. Every corner was soaked in shadows and low red light.

The bass pulsed through the floors as Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy started to roll through the speakers, slow and heavy. It was the kind of track that wrapped around your thoughts, made you feel like something was about to happen. Something you wouldn’t walk away from the same.

You stepped through the arched doorway, mask snug across your face, eyes scanning a sea of glittering disguises and glossy lips. Everyone was someone else tonight. That was the fun of it, right?

“Fuck it,” you told yourself under your breath, letting your shoulders drop as you exhaled. You were here to have fun. To lose yourself. To forget who you were outside of this mask.

That’s when you saw him.

Leaning against a stone column like he owned the whole damn place, drink in hand, smirk carved into his lips—Rafe Cameron. Even behind his black half-mask, you'd recognize that presence anywhere. Something about him burned hotter than the rest of the room, like he didn’t need the alcohol or the music to get high. He was the chaos everyone warned you about. And the reason some people stayed away from parties like this.

He clocked you immediately. Blue eyes flicked toward you, narrowing. A slow grin spread across his face like he already knew your thoughts. "Didn't think you'd actually show." His voice was low, rough with amusement. He pushed off the column and stalked toward you, easy and confident, like a wolf who just spotted something fun to play with.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think you’d talk to me.”

He chuckled under his breath, circling you once, the scent of cologne and trouble clinging to his jacket. “Tonight’s different. Masks mean no rules. You know that, right?” His fingers brushed your wrist lightly—almost accidentally—but it jolted something awake in you.

The song kept playing, almost too loud now. You could feel the beat in your chest. The room faded. It was just you and Rafe in that moment. "You gonna dance with me, or just stand there lookin' like a secret?" he asked, voice teasing but edged with something darker. Maybe you should’ve walked away. Maybe you should’ve said something clever and disappeared back into the crowd.

But you didn’t.

Because tonight wasn’t about playing it safe. It was about forgetting, and Rafe Cameron was very good at making people forget.