The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife novel Chapter 5
Chapter 2: A Reckless Night with a Stranger
“Absolutely not, Hazel Vance. You are coming with me.” Chloe grabbed my hands firmly, locking eyes with me through our masks. “No more hiding. No more crying over people who don’t deserve your tears.”
I glanced at my reflection again, barely recognizing myself in the shimmering red dress. The golden mask transformed me into someone else—someone bolder, someone who didn’t carry the weight of betrayal on her shoulders.
“One hour,” I conceded. “Then I’m coming back here and drowning my sorrows in ice cream.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Chloe’s smile told me she had no intention of sticking to that timeline.
The Sterling Masquerade Ball was nothing short of magnificent. The historic Hamilton Hotel ballroom sparkled with thousands of twinkling lights. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the crowd of masked dancers. Everyone looked mysterious and elegant, swirling around in designer gowns and tailored suits.
“Drink this,” Chloe handed me a flute of champagne. “And that one, too,” she added, pushing another into my free hand after I downed the first.
The bubbles tickled my throat, sending a warm wave through my body. For the first time in months, I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to loosen.
“There’s Mark from accounting,” Chloe waved across the room. “I need to say hello. Will you be okay for a minute?”
“I’m a big girl,” I laughed, already feeling lighter from the champagne. “Go network.”
Left alone, I wandered toward the dance floor. The music washed over me, and I closed my eyes, swaying slightly. When was the last time I’d just let myself enjoy something without overthinking it?
“You look like you could use a dance partner.”
The deep voice startled me. I opened my eyes to find a tall figure standing before me. His black mask covered the upper half of his face, revealing only a strong jawline and sensual lips. What caught my breath, though, were his eyes—an intense violet-blue that seemed to glow beneath his mask.
“I wasn’t planning on dancing,” I replied, surprising myself with my flirtatious tone.
“Plans change.” He extended his hand just as the orchestra transitioned to a slower song. “One dance won’t kill you.”
Something about his confidence made me place my hand in his. He pulled me close, one large hand settling at the small of my back. Heat radiated through the thin fabric of my dress.
“You’re not from around here,” he said, expertly guiding me across the floor. “I’d remember you.”
“Quite confident for someone who can only see half my face.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “The important half.”
The champagne had emboldened me. “And which half is that?”
“The half that’s smiling at me now.”
We moved together as if we’d danced a thousand times before. His hand burned against my back, drawing me incrementally closer with each turn.
“What brings you here tonight?” he asked, his breath warm against my ear.
“Escape,” I admitted, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
“From what?”
“My life.” The champagne had loosened my tongue. “Just for tonight.”
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating behind his mask. “I understand escape.”
The music swelled around us. My head felt light—from the champagne, the spinning, or his proximity, I couldn’t tell.
“I need some air,” I murmured, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself.
Without hesitation, he guided me away from the crowd, down a dimly lit corridor. We stopped near a tall window, moonlight streaming through the glass.
“Better?” he asked, his voice lower than before.
I nodded, my back against the cool wall. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Making me forget,” I whispered.
Something shifted in his expression. In one fluid movement, he stepped closer, crowding me against the wall. “Let me help you forget a little more.”
His lips crashed against mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate. My body responded instantly, arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue slipped past my lips, tasting of expensive whiskey and desire.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against my mouth, large hands gripping my waist.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.
That was all the permission he needed. His mouth trailed down my neck, teeth grazing sensitively over my pulse point. I moaned, not caring who might hear. His hands slid down to cup my backside, lifting me against the wall.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded.
I obeyed, locking my ankles behind his back. The new position brought the hard evidence of his desire firmly against me, separated only by layers of fabric. He groaned, grinding his hips forward.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his breathing ragged.
“Yes,” I hissed, digging my fingers into his shoulders. “Please.”
What happened next was a blur of desperate movements. He pushed my dress up around my waist. I fumbled with his belt. In moments, he was positioned at my entrance, pausing only briefly to search my eyes for final confirmation.
I answered by pulling him forward, gasping as he filled me completely. The feeling was exquisite—stretching, burning, satisfying in a way I’d never experienced before. He began to move, setting a relentless pace that had me biting my lip to keep from screaming.
“Look at me,” he demanded, one hand cupping my face. “I want to see you.”
I forced my eyes open, meeting that intense violet-blue gaze as he drove into me again and again. The connection was electric, intimate beyond the physical act we were engaged in.
“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he approached his peak.
His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, circling with expert precision. The dual sensation pushed me over the edge. My vision went white as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I felt him follow seconds later, his body tensing as he buried his face in my neck, muffling his release.
We stayed locked together, breathing heavily, neither willing to break the spell. Slowly, he lowered me to my feet, steadying me when my legs threatened to give out.
“That was…” he started, then shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” I agreed, smoothing my dress back down.
He adjusted his clothing, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t do this. Ever.”
“Neither do I,” I admitted.
“I’d like to know your name,” he said softly.
Before I could answer, his phone rang. The harsh sound shattered our bubble. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. His entire demeanor changed in an instant.
“I have to take this,” he said, already answering. “Hello? What? When?” The color drained from his face. “I’ll be right there.”
Without another word, he turned and sprinted down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Just like that, he was gone.
I leaned against the wall, reality slowly seeping back in. What had I just done? I’d had sex with a complete stranger whose name I didn’t even know, against a wall at a charity ball. This wasn’t me. I never did things like this.
Yet I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
I found my way back to the ballroom, spotting Chloe immediately. She took one look at me and her eyes widened.
“Where have you been? And why do you look like you just…” Her mouth formed a perfect O. “You didn’t!”
“Time to go,” I muttered, grabbing her arm.
Later that night, sprawled on my couch with Chloe, I recounted every detail of my encounter with the mysterious masked man.
“His eyes were incredible, Chloe. This intense violet-blue I’ve never seen before. And the way he touched me…” I sighed, still feeling the ghost of his hands on my skin.
“Sounds like you had the perfect revenge hookup,” Chloe grinned, refilling our wine glasses. “Much better than watching Jessica and Ethan say their vows.”
“It was incredible,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush. “I’ve never done anything so reckless.”
“Sometimes reckless is exactly what you need.” Chloe clinked her glass against mine. “To new beginnings and mysterious strangers!”
I laughed, taking a sip. “To one perfect night.”
Chloe tilted her head, studying my expression. “Wait, there’s just one thing I need to ask… You guys used protection, right?”
The wine glass nearly slipped from my fingers as stark realization hit me like a truck. My mind raced back through the heated encounter—the desperation, the passion, the complete abandonment of reason.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my blood turning to ice. “We didn’t.”
Chapter 3: A Son with a Stranger’s Eyes
“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” I paced back and forth in Chloe’s apartment, tugging at my hair in frustration. “Who does that? Who has unprotected sex with a complete stranger?”
Chloe sat on her couch, watching me wear a path in her carpet. “Hey, it was a mistake. We all make them.”
“Not like this!” My voice cracked. “What if I have an STD? What if I’m…”
I couldn’t even say the word. Pregnant. The possibility hung in the air between us.
“First things first,” Chloe said, grabbing her phone. “Let’s schedule you for testing.”
Two weeks later, we sat in a sterile waiting room at the clinic. My leg bounced nervously as I stared at the bland artwork on the walls.
“Hazel Vance?” A nurse called my name.
Chloe squeezed my hand. “Want me to come with you?”
I nodded, too anxious to speak.
The doctor was kind but direct as she reviewed my test results. “Your STD panel came back negative,” she said, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
“Thank God,” I breathed.
“However,” she continued, glancing down at her chart, “your pregnancy test is positive.”
The room tilted. I heard Chloe gasp beside me.
“There must be a mistake,” I whispered.
“I’m afraid not,” the doctor said gently. “Based on the date you provided of your encounter, you’re approximately six weeks pregnant.”
I don’t remember much of what happened next. Chloe drove me home in silence. My mind raced with impossible scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.
“What am I going to do?” I finally asked as we sat on my couch. “My parents will disown me.”
“You don’t know that,” Chloe said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“They just got over the humiliation of my ex cheating with my cousin. Now I have to tell them I’m pregnant from a one-night stand with a man whose name I don’t even know?” I buried my face in my hands.
“Whatever you decide to do,” Chloe said firmly, “I’m here for you.”
I spent the next week in a daze, barely functioning. My options swirled endlessly in my head. When I finally gathered the courage to tell my parents, I felt like I was walking to my execution.
“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you,” I said that Sunday evening, my voice trembling.
They sat across from me at the dinner table, concern etched on their faces.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” my mother asked.
I took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. My mother’s fork clattered against her plate. My father’s face drained of color.
“Who?” he finally asked, his voice tight.
“Someone I met at the masquerade ball,” I admitted, tears streaming down my face. “I don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him.”
My mother stood abruptly and left the room. I heard her bedroom door slam shut. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to my father. “I’ll pack my things.”
“Pack your things?” My father’s brow furrowed. “Why would you do that?”
I looked up, confused. “Because you’re kicking me out. Because I’ve disappointed you again.”
To my shock, my father moved to my side of the table and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Hazel, you’re my daughter. Yes, I’m surprised, and yes, this isn’t what I wanted for you. But kick you out? Never.”
I sobbed against his shoulder, relief and gratitude overwhelming me.
“What are you going to do?” he asked gently when my tears subsided.
I pulled back, wiping my eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about all my options, but…”
“But what?”
“But every time I think about… not having it… something inside me rebels.” I placed a hand over my still-flat stomach. “I know it’s crazy, but I think I want to keep this baby.”
My father nodded slowly. “Then you’ll stay here. You’ll finish your degree. We’ll figure it out together.”
“But Mom…”
“Your mother will come around,” he assured me. “She loves you. She just needs time.”
He was right. After three days of strained silence, my mother approached me in my bedroom. Her eyes were red from crying.
“I’ve been praying,” she said, sitting beside me on the bed. “And I’ve realized something. This baby is my grandchild. Whatever circumstances brought it into existence, it’s innocent and deserving of love.”
Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as she pulled me into her arms.
Chapter 4: The Scent of a New Life
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Chapter 1: The Unwanted Invitation
I kicked the door shut with my heel, balancing grocery bags in both arms while fumbling with my keys. Another exhausting day at the temp agency, another night of microwaved dinner and reality TV. The familiar weight of routine settled on my shoulders as I dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter.
“Hazel, darling! There you are!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My mother’s voice came from the living room, where she definitely hadn’t been when I left this morning. I peeked around the corner to find both my parents seated on my modest sofa like royalty visiting a peasant’s hut.
“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I asked, my heart still racing.
My father, Arthur Vance, straightened his already impeccable posture. “Your superintendent let us in. We’ve been waiting for almost an hour.”
Of course Mr. Jenkins would let them in. My parents had that effect on people—making them feel simultaneously honored and terrified.
“You could have called,” I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.
“We did, twice,” my mother, Serena, replied, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her designer skirt. “You didn’t answer.”
I glanced at my phone. Two missed calls. Great.
“What’s so urgent that you needed to ambush me at home?” I asked, noting how my father’s eye twitched at the word “ambush.”
My mother’s crimson-painted lips curved into what she probably thought was a warm smile. “We have wonderful news!”
She extended a cream-colored envelope toward me. Even from a distance, I recognized the elegant gold embossing. My stomach dropped.
“I don’t want it,” I said flatly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hazel,” my father chided. “Take the invitation.”
“I don’t need to read it to know what it is.” I crossed my arms. “Jessica and Ethan’s wedding invitation. The answer is no.”
My mother’s smile faltered. “Hazel Elizabeth Vance, this childish grudge has gone on long enough. Jessica is family.”
“And Ethan was my boyfriend for three years before I caught them together in MY bed!” The memory still burned, raw and humiliating.
“That was nearly a year ago,” my father dismissed with a wave of his hand. “People make mistakes.”
“A mistake?” I laughed bitterly. “Dad, they were engaged six weeks later.”
My mother stood, approaching me like I was a spooked horse. “Darling, sometimes love is complicated. Jessica and Ethan realized they were meant to be—”
“In my bed? While I was at work supporting him through law school?” The anger I’d suppressed for months surged through me. “And now you expect me to celebrate their ‘love’?”
“We expect you to be mature,” my father countered, his voice taking on that familiar authoritative tone that had intimidated me since childhood. “The Thornes and Vances have been family friends for generations. Your absence would cause an unnecessary scene.”
“So I’m supposed to smile and toast to their happiness? Watch them dance their first dance as husband and wife? All to keep up appearances?” My voice cracked.
My mother placed the invitation on the counter. “Yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do. Because you’re a Vance, and Vances handle difficult situations with grace and dignity.”
I felt tears threatening. “What about loyalty to your daughter? Does that matter at all?”
My father stood now, towering in my small apartment. “Enough dramatics. You’ll attend the wedding. You’ll be pleasant. And you’ll finally put this unpleasantness behind you. This discussion is over.”
I stared at them, these people who shared my blood but couldn’t understand my pain. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” My mother’s eyes widened.
“I need you to leave. Now.” I held the door open, my hand trembling.
They exchanged looks of disapproval before gathering their things. My mother paused at the door. “The wedding is in three weeks. We expect you to be there.” Her voice left no room for argument.
When they were gone, I slid down against the closed door, finally letting the tears flow. I grabbed my phone and dialed the only person who’d understand.
“Chloe? Can you come over? It’s an emergency.”
Twenty minutes later, Chloe burst through my door, arms laden with wine bottles and ice cream.
“What happened? You look terrible,” she said, immediately pouring two generous glasses of red.
I wordlessly handed her the invitation. Her face darkened as she read it.
“Those spineless, image-obsessed—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “And they ambushed you here?”
I nodded, accepting the wine glass. “They said I have to go. That I have to smile and pretend everything’s fine.”
“Screw that!” Chloe set down her glass with a thud. “You are absolutely not going to that wedding.”
“But my parents—”
“Your parents can shove their family loyalty where the sun doesn’t shine,” Chloe snapped. “They clearly don’t understand the concept when it comes to their own daughter.”
I sipped my wine, grateful for her fierce protectiveness. “What am I going to do? They won’t take no for an answer.”
Chloe’s eyes suddenly lit up—a dangerous sign I’d known since childhood.
“When’s the wedding date?” She snatched the invitation again.
“July 16th,” I said miserably.
Her smile grew wider. “That’s the night of the Sterling Masquerade Ball.”
“The what?”
“Only the most exclusive event of the summer! Masks, gowns, champagne—and most importantly, zero chance of running into your backstabbing cousin or spineless ex.” She grabbed her phone, typing furiously. “My family’s company always gets invitations. I was planning to skip it, but now…”
“Chloe, I don’t know…”
“Haven’t you always wanted to feel like Cinderella for a night? To escape your life and be someone else entirely?” Her eyes shone with excitement. “One night of magic instead of misery. You deserve that much.”
“My parents will never agree to it.”
“Leave them to me,” Chloe said with a mischievous grin. “I’ll tell them it’s a networking opportunity that could land you a permanent job. Career advancement is the one excuse they might accept.”
Over the next three weeks, Chloe’s plan took shape. She convinced my parents with a masterfully crafted lie about potential employers at the ball. She dragged me shopping for a gown that cost more than my monthly rent—a stunning red number that made even me do a double-take. She even arranged for professional hair and makeup.
On the night of July 16th, I stood in front of my mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The red dress hugged every curve, my usually unruly black hair now cascaded in perfect waves down my back, and the golden mask adorning my face highlighted my green eyes in a way that made them seem almost otherworldly.
Chloe appeared behind me in the mirror, resplendent in midnight blue. “You look incredible. Ready to have the night of your life?”
The weight of the day—of knowing Jessica was walking down the aisle at that very moment—suddenly crashed over me. Panic seized my chest.
“I think I’d better stay,” I whispered, hands trembling. “I’m not in the party mood.”