After handing our capes to an attendant, I glance around the splendid home and let myself be enraptured by the beauty. There are majestic crystal chandeliers sparkling like little diamonds in the air, candles glowing its amber light, white orchids by the hundreds, thousands maybe, surrounded by green moss. It’s enchanting.

Against the muted color of the walls, hundreds of colors in the form of evening gowns move like a kaleidoscope, floating around the room, as men become the perfect background in their black tuxedos, allowing the women to shine.

Careless and free, there’s a sort of reckless atmosphere enveloping us as every person wearing a mask pretends to be someone else for tonight.

There’s electricity in the air. A kind of magic.

And it’s freaking me out because, call it intuition, but I can sense that he’s here.

All eyes on us, we make our way to a large group of people standing by a grand piano, where a very famous virtuoso is currently playing an achingly beautiful melody. With Ben’s arm encircling my waist, I feel the exact moment when he tenses up, his grip growing stronger, almost hurting me.

“Ah. I see Alan and his wife, Loretta, with their daughter. Let’s go greet them. I need to have a word with him before we can make our way to the bar.”

“How do you know who Alan and his wife are when everyone’s wearing masks? I can’t recognize anyone. Will Megan and Micky be here?” I stare into his eyes as I ask.

“I could recognize Alan and his wife anywhere and at any time. They’re both very tall people with a very distinctive blonde hair color.”

I glance at the group parting to welcome us amongst them, and notice three people with hair so blonde that it’s almost white. “Oh. I guess, you are right. I do see how unique their—”

Oh, God. No.

I want to stop walking. Completely.

I can’t.

I can’t take another step.

Oh, no, no, no.

However, Ben seems to have other ideas. Not letting go of my waist, he pulls me forward as he continues to walk.

I manage to whisper accusingly, “No-o, Ben...p-please. You...you knew.”

I see Ben’s eyes through the mask, and the anger reflected in them. “No, I didn’t know that he was going to be here. I wasn’t sure anyway. And it doesn’t matter. It’s about time that he saw you with me, your husband. Now, keep moving Cathy, or do you want me to drag you toward him?”

“No, no, no, no. Please, Ben, not like this. Not like this.”

Vile rising in my throat, I want to vomit. My stomach hurts, and I can feel tears in my eyes. No, I don’t want Arsen to see me like this. Not after the way we parted last night…not with Ben.

“Yes, Cathy. Maybe by doing this you will finally understand how much you—”

“Well, well…look who decided to finally grace us with his presence. The mighty Benjamin Stanwood and his beautiful wife Catherine, correct?” I flinch when Alan says my name. Ben never calls me Catherine.

No. Only Arsen calls me by that name.

I avoid looking at the man wearing a full mask of what looks to be a cross between the sun and fire with flames or rays pointing in every direction. I can’t. Instead, my eyes land on the beautiful female standing next to him. She’s wearing an exquisite white princess gown. The bustier is filled with white Swarovsky crystals, and her mask depicts a swan with silver and white feathers adorning one corner. Her lips are as full as mine, and her neck is long, thin, and elegant. Her blonde hair, swept back in a simple ballerina bun, allows me to see her perfect bone structure. She is breathtaking, and she’s holding Arsen’s hand in hers.

Do you hear that? That’s karma shouting in my ear, “Eat it, you bitch,” as I watch Arsen with another woman.

Jealousy is such a potent threatening emotion. It doesn’t just eat you alive—it eats you from within. It’s venom that spreads in your bloodstream, polluting you, killing you. It corrodes you until there’s nothing left. And right now, I’m being suffocated by it. I hate her. I hate her.

Feeling faint as sweat breaks in the small of my back and my temples, I can hear Alan speaking, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Ben Stanwood and his—”

Ben interrupts Alan. “My wife, Cathy Stanwood.”

That’s when I finally lift my eyes to stare at Arsen, and I just know. As I stand next to Ben in a room full of people, I watch and yearn for the man standing in front of me, and I know there’s no going back for me.

I choose Arsen.

I choose him.The blonde girl extends her long and pretty hand first. How I hate her hand.

“Hi! My name is Jillian, but you can call me Jill. And this,” her free hand settles in the center of Arsen’s solid chest, “is Arsen Radcliff. A close family friend.” Her stupid face lights up when Arsen smiles down at her. Fisting my hands so hard I can feel my nails breaking through skin, I fight a visceral reaction taking over me. I want to slap the smile clean off her face.

He is mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Ben’s grip is now so painful, I can feel myself growing numb around my waist.

“Jill, it’s alright. I already know the Stanwood’s. Catherine,” Arsen’s raspy voice emphasizes my name, “worked for my dad. I trained under her tutelage until I decided I didn’t give a shit anymore.” Blushing by his words, I observe as Arsen addresses Alan and Loretta, a smirk on his lips. “I hope I haven’t offended you, Uncle Al.” He turns to look at the regal woman standing next to him. “And Aunt Lo, you know I mean no disrespect. Ahh…I hear the band playing in the ballroom.”

Lifting Jillian’s hand to his lips, he places a soft kiss on her palm and drops it in the air. “Gorgeous, would you mind if I took a turn around the dance floor with the lovely Mrs. Stanwood? It’s been a while since I saw her last,” Arsen says sarcastically.

Arsen addresses Ben, without looking at me. “Would you mind if I stole your wife, Ben? You know, for just a little while?”

I wince when I listen to his blatant lies and innuendos, blushing with the color of shame. Ben’s jaw tightens as the thick veins on his neck appear before answering Arsen. “If Cathy wants to, I don’t mind.”

When he pins me with his pleading gaze, Ben’s cool façade chips a fraction, allowing me see the vulnerability behind his act tonight. His eyes beg me not to go. Not to leave with Arsen. To stay with him.

Please. Please. Please, don’t go with him. Stay with me.

The thing about being selfish is that you don’t care if someone is at your feet begging you to stay with him, offering you the world, his heart and soul. It doesn’t matter. You’ll do whatever you want to do. What you need to do for yourself. Nothing matters but what you want. What you think you need.

I want to be selfish.

I want to be careless.

I’m past feeling guilty.

I’m completely and utterly out of my mind because of a man and I don’t care. I’m like a heroine addict going through withdrawals. I must have Arsen.

And I’m angry.

I’m angry because that slut is here with him and not me.

Without looking at Ben, I pull myself away from his hold and take Arsen’s hand in mine, accepting his offer to dance.

Slipping.

I’m slipping away slowly from Ben and his hold on me.

“Yes. I would love to.”

Odd. Somehow my voice sounds clear and calm, not giving away the raging storm brewing inside me.

I let go of Arsen’s hand once we begin to move away from the group and head towards the ballroom. I never look back, even though a big part of me wants to, the part that knows how much I still love Ben, the part that hasn’t allowed f**king to cloud her judgment.

But I don’t.

And I know I should have.

Arsen leans down to murmur angrily in my ear. The breath escaping through his mask makes the flyaway hair on my neck tickle my exposed skin as his voice sends shivers running down my spine. The closeness of our bodies ignites my body with need once more.

“Is Ben in some kind of f**king denial? You just eye f**ked me in front of him and a shitload of people, then agreed to walk away with me for a dance, and he still doesn’t do anything. Is the guy f**king blind?” he growls.

“How dare you?” I hiss.

“How dare I what? Speak the truth? Insult your husband? Ignore your pathetic calls and then show my f**king face at this party with a date? What is it, Dimples? Give me your f**king best.”

I can’t continue listening to him without either breaking down and crying in the middle of the dance floor or slapping him across the face, gathering unwanted attention towards us. I push his hand away forcefully, leaving Arsen at the entrance of the ballroom as I go in search of a place where I can be alone and calm down.

Finding a small room that is clearly not intended for guests’ use, I walk in and when I’m about to shut the door behind me Arsen appears out of nowhere, pushing me further into the unlit room as he shuts us both inside.

“What the hell are you doing here? Someone may have seen you follow me. There will be gossip!” I protest.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he taunts me. “Seeing me with someone else? Ignoring your phone calls because I’m too f**king busy with real life to deal with a f**k buddy? Now you know what it’s like to not be wanted.”

“I never said I didn’t want you!” I yell.

“Yes, you did.” Taking his mask off and throwing it on the floor, I watch him run a hand through his blond hair. “You told me not to push you. That you love your husband, and you gave me the sorriest excuse that I’ve ever heard…to give you f**king time. But you know what, Catherine?” he says, an ugly smile plastered on his achingly perfect face, “I’m okay with your shit, but don’t expect me to wait back at my apartment for you to call me whenever you’re bored. You get to go back to your husband and play house with him, so why the f**k shouldn’t I enjoy some pu**y on the side? Oh, wait, no...I’ve got it.” He smacks his forehead, “You’re the pu**y on the side, right?”

I slap him across the face. My stinging hand hurts just as much as I hurt on the inside. His cruel words are like a dagger to my heart because they are true.

“H-how dare you!” I’m trembling in anger.

Laughing Arsen, shrugs.

“I hate you. I hate you. Do you hear me?” The words are torn from my chest, but I can’t stop myself from repeating them. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” Fisting my hands on my sides, I want to kick him, scratch him, bite him; whatever I can do to cause him pain. I want him to feel my pain. I want him to hurt just as he’s making me hurt.

“So what?” he asks nonchalantly.

As I watch Arsen shrug his shoulder carelessly once more, something inside me snaps. I lunge toward him and start slapping, biting, kicking…whatever I can do to hurt him.

“YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING ASS—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He yells back at me as he grabs my hands forcefully and turns our bodies, pushing me against the wall.

Our chests rise and fall, breathing heavily as we stare at each other. The want, anger, and need reflected in his eyes make me want to f**k him, right here, right now. But instead, I murmur defeated, “Let go of me…I need to get back to Ben. We’re done.”

Arsen lets go of my arms to urgently lift my ass in his hands, pushing our bodies closer against each other as he growls in my ear, “No. Never. You’re mine. All f**king mine.”

As panic rises inside me, a surge of desire so strong, I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t do anything but feel, rushes over me. I need Arsen in my body. I need to feel his dick sliding in and out of me. I want him to f**k me hard. Surrendering, I wrap my legs around his waist and let him do whatever he wants with me.

I am his.

He kisses my neck, then pushes a hand inside my thong. I gasp when his fingers slide inside me, searching me, stroking me as I pulsate with want for him.

“Arsen…” I whimper as I tilt my head back not caring that we could get caught. Not caring that Ben could be looking for me at this moment.

His mouth crushes mine as waves of heat and sensation crash down over us, washing the despair and shame I feel away. I kiss him back and open my mouth and legs wider for him. I can feel his erection as he grinds himself against me. Losing myself in the depths of his eyes, I hear the sound of his zipper sliding down, and of silk being torn.

One hard thrust and he’s inside me. Entering me deeply, roughly, yet gently, filling me completely. Lifting my ass higher with his hands, he leans his forehead against mine as sweat begins to cover our bodies.

“I can’t, I can’t. I thought I could share you, but I can’t. Please…leave him. I need you, and I know you need me too. You need me. Be mine...” he says gruffly.

Thrust.

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” I reverberate.

Thrust.

“I can’t share you. Seeing you with him is f**king breaking me. It’s breaking me.” His voice is husky with passion.

Thrust.

“Leave him. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I can’t keep sharing you.”

Thrust.

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

Thrust.

“When?”

Thrust.

“Tonight.”

Arsen curses fiercely into the curve of my neck, thrusting faster, harder, driving us closer to our cl**ax.

“I can feel you shaking…fuck...your pu**y is so f**king tight…hell, you’re so close. Look at me, Dimples. I want to watch your eyes when you come.”

He puts his lips next to my ear and whispers hoarsely, “Come for me, Catherine, come for me. Now.”