Chapter 915:
“Whatever helps you find sleep at night,” Christina replied, a soft chuckle lacing her words.
Lorraine’s fury robbed her of speech. A surge of anger shot through her, and she lifted her hand slightly, ready to slap Christina across the face. Just then, the sharp chime of a broadcast announcement cut through the tension, halting her mid-motion.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin with a little game,” the voice over the speakers declared, smooth and inviting. “Each lady present may choose a mask from the waiter’s tray and invite any gentleman she wishes to dance with.”
At once, a spark of calculation lit Lorraine’s eyes, as if a plan had just fallen into her lap. “Do you dare pit yourself against me?” she asked Christina, her smile steeped in confidence.
Christina arched an eyebrow without even turning her head. “And what exactly would we be competing in?”
“You will invite Mr. Scott to dance,” Lorraine replied. “If he turns you down, you must leave the banquet immediately. But if he accepts, I’ll be the one to leave.”
Inwardly, Lorraine was smirking. She had secured the safer, passive seat of this wager, while Christina would have to risk walking alone into the jaws of public humiliation.
Given Dylan’s cool, untouchable air, Lorraine believed there wasn’t the faintest chance Christina could win. Until now, not a single woman had coaxed Dylan onto the dance floor; every attempt had met with polite dismissal. Even Vickie—practically raised by the Scott family—had failed. To this day, no one had ever seen Dylan dance with anyone.
“No,” Christina answered, her lips curving faintly, “not unless you come with me. Whoever succeeds wins. But if neither of us manages it, I’ll admit defeat.”
Lorraine hesitated, the thought of joining Christina clearly distasteful. Yet, if she refused, Christina wouldn’t agree to the challenge. After a brief inner debate, she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But we both wear masks.”
𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁: ⳑ𝗮𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀⸱𝖼𝗈𝗆
Lorraine had not suggested masks earlier because she expected the shame of rejection to fall solely on Christina. But if she herself had to step forward, a mask became an essential shield against ridicule. Behind such a disguise, she could retreat into anonymity if things went awry.
“Agreed,” Christina replied without a second’s pause.
Lorraine’s lips tilted upward in quiet satisfaction. In her mind, Christina was walking straight into humiliation. If both of them failed, Christina would lose outright. She was convinced she had this bet in the bag.
Christina reached for a clown mask from the waiter’s tray and slipped it on. Strangely, instead of giving her a grotesque look, the mask cloaked her in a hint of mystery, stirring curiosity about the face it concealed.
Lorraine selected a silver mask dusted with sparkling jewels and delicate butterfly wings, perfectly paired with her elegant evening gown. Yet, side by side with Christina in that peculiar clown mask, Lorraine found her own radiance dimming, as if the eye could not help but be drawn to her rival.
While Lorraine scanned the crowd for Dylan, a stir rippled through the guests nearby. And then she saw him—tall, striking, every line of his face pulling eyes toward him as if by gravity.
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