Chapter 123: The Masquerade

LEITANA

As I waved goodbye to Ravial’s car rolling toward the large gate, my heart felt heavy with guilt. Tonight was dangerous. And filled with Secrets. And I wasn’t telling him. I knew he’d be furious, maybe even lock me in the villa himself if he knew. But I had to go. For Celeste. For the truth. For the girls still trapped in that world.

I turned around.

Lafu, Stacy, Marco, Jules, Anya, and Diego were standing at the top of the stairs, waiting, the rest of them had arrived earlier that morning. They all looked ready, nervous, but ready.

I smiled at them and nodded.

We made our way inside, up to the master bedroom.

Marco stepped in first and let out a low whistle.

“I can’t believe I’m inside the mysterious Ravial Ashbourne bedroom,” he said, eyes wide as he looked around. “Where he sleeps.”

Stacy giggled, spinning in a slow circle. “Likeee… and it feels so illegal to be here. I mean, that’s the bed he sleeps and fucks our Leitana on.”

My face and ears flushed bright red. I turned to her, scolding lightly. “Stacy!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She raised both hands, still grinning. “But come on, not in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d be inside his house, talk less of his bedroom.”

Lafu rolled her eyes. “That’s not important now. We need to go over our plan for the masquerade private party.”

We all turned to her.

They had found out through Diego’s digging into public records and Anya’s old booking contacts that the sponsors were holding a masquerade party tonight. A private, exclusive event at a secluded estate outside the city. Powerful people would be there,politicians, CEOs, old-money families along with celebrities and models from different agencies. And of course, Jim would be there with Willow.

Lafu spread a printed invitation, a digital scan from Anya’s archive access on the bed.

“This is our chance,” she said. “We need hard proof, video, audio, names, faces that models are being sold for gigs. That their bodies are currency for contracts. The masquerade is perfect. Masks. Anonymity. People let their guard down.”

I nodded slowly, stomach twisting with nerves.

“Our plan,” Lafu continued, “is simple but risky. Leitana, you go in as an eccentric French billionaire. You only speak French. You don't speak English. You’re looking for a ‘hot male model’ to sponsor personally. That gives you a reason to circulate, ask questions, and get close to people without raising suspicion.”

Marco grinned. “And since you actually speak French fluently from your country you were raised in, it’s believable.”

Lafu nodded. “I’ll be your interpreter. I speak French too. I’ll stay by your side, translate everything, keep you ‘silent’ in English so no one recognizes your accent or voice. Marco and Stacy, you two go as a rich couple. Influential art collectors. You’ll mingle, eavesdrop, record discreetly.”

Jules leaned forward. “Anya, Diego, and I will be a few miles away in a van. We’ll monitor everything through the wires you’ll all be wearing. Anything you say or hear goes straight to us. We record it all—audio, backup on encrypted drives. If anything goes wrong, we pull you out fast.”

Diego added quietly, “We already have burner phones, we'll have the encrypted mics sewn into your outfits. I’ll run facial recognition on anyone you get close to. If we can match even one sponsor from the retreat photos to someone at the party… we have a linkage.”

Stacy bounced a little. “And if we catch Jim offering Willow or any model to someone tonight? That’s game over. Instant proof.”

I swallowed hard. “What if… what if Jim recognize mi?”

Lafu smiled softly. “He won’t. Full mask. Full gown. French accent. You’ll be unrecognizable. And we’ll be right there with you.”

I looked around at them, my friends, my team. Fear and excitement mixed in my chest.

“Okay,” I whispered. “We do it. For Celeste.”

They all nodded, giddy, scared, but determined.

I glanced at the clock. “Mi have to go to Juilliard today. Mi miss classes too much. You pick mi up by seven? Party start eight, right?”

Lafu checked her phone. “Yes. Seven sharp. We’ll be ready.”

Marco grinned. “We’ve got you.”

I stood. “Tank yu… all of yu.”

Lafu reached out and squeezed my hand. “For Celeste.”

“For Celeste,” we all echoed.

Then I looked at the walk-in closet.

“Yu ask if mi have somet’ing to wear for party like dat?”

I gestured toward the massive double doors.

They all followed me.

When I pushed them open, they gasped.

Rows and rows of gowns, silk, velvet, satin, every color imaginable. Designer labels. Custom pieces. Masks on velvet stands. Jewelry cases sparkling under soft lights.

Lafu stared. “Girlll… you’re ready. Only thing left is each of our masks.”

Marco and Stacy were already moving toward the racks.

“We’ll go get some,” Marco said. “Something dramatic. Mysterious. Perfect.”

Stacy clapped. “I’m thinking black lace for me. Marco, velvet? Gold accents?”

I giggled despite the nerves. “Go. Mi trust yu.”

They left still chattering excitedly.

Lafu stayed behind, looking at me with quiet pride.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Mi scared. But mi ready.”

She hugged me, quick and fierce.

“We’ve got you.”

Then she left too.

I stood alone in the closet, surrounded by beautiful things, heart pounding.

Tonight was the night.

Tonight we might finally get justice.

I took a deep breath.

Then I dressed up to go to piano vlass.

“We missed you,” Mia muttered as I slid into my seat. “We haven’t seen you for days.”

I smiled. “Mi sorry. Mi… mi no feel well. Dat why mi no come.”

Ethan leaned over. “You okay now?”

I nodded. “Mi better. Tank yu.”

Theo grinned. “Did you learn what the horrible Professor Harlan assigned? Mozart Sonata K.545, first movement? That’s brutal for a beginner.”

I bit my lip. “I try. Mi very busy… but mi husband help mi.”

Stacy’s eyes sparkled. “Your husband helped you practice piano? That’s adorable.”

Mia laughed. “Ravial Ashbourne playing piano teacher? I need pictures.”

I blushed. “Him good teacher. Him patient.”

Lila smiled. “Well, let’s see if it paid off.”

Class started.

Sabrina and her little group spotted me immediately.

She sauntered over, voice dripping fake sweetness. “Oh look, the charity case is back. Did you practice, or were you too busy being Ravial’s little trophy wife?”

Her friends snickered.

I looked up at her calmly.

“Mi practice,” I said quietly. “Mi learn. And I'm no trophy. Mi wife. Big difference.”

Sabrina’s smile faltered for half a second.

Theo muttered under his breath, “That’s right girl.”

Professor Harlan strode in.

Silence fell.

He didn’t waste time.

“Miss Ashbourne,” he said immediately. “Up. Play the Mozart. First movement. Let’s see if you’ve wasted my time again.”

I stood.

I walked to the piano and sat down.

I closed my eyes for a second, remembering Ravial’s voice two nights ago, patient, deep and calm like the ocean at night.

“Feel the phrase, lamb. Not the notes. The emotion. Mozart is light, but it’s never shallow. Let it breathe.”

I opened my eyes.

And played.

I made mistakes, small ones. Fingering slipped once. Tempo wobbled in the development. But I played what I remembered Ravial teaching, phrasing, dynamics, the gentle joy underneath the technical demands.

For a beginner?

It was good.

The room listened.

When I finished, there was silence.

Then Harlan spoke, his voice cold and clipped.

“Sloppy. Uneven. Amateur dynamics. You clearly didn’t practice enough.”

I looked up at him.

Calm.

“Professor Harlan,” I said quietly, “mi beginner. Mi no know entire piece before. Mi learn in one week. Mi make mistake, yes. But mi try. How yu expect mi know whole piece perfect? Mi jus’ start.”

His jaw tightened.

I continued, voice still gentle.

“Yu teacher. Yu suppose help mi learn. No shame mi for no perfect yet. Mi here to learn. No to be perfect today.”

The room shifted.

Someone whispered, “True.”

Harlan stared at me, looking furious.

“Go to your seat,” he snapped.

I stood, walked back to my seat, my head held high.

Sabrina and her crew looked annoyed, but they stayed quiet.

I sat.

Felt… happy.

Not perfect.

But proud.

Class continued.

Then came Professor Markov.

She was kind. Patient. And A

Actually taught.

We worked on technique, scales, arpeggios, and posture. She corrected gently. Praised when I improved.

At the end, she called me over.

“How do you find your learning so far, Leitana?” she asked, smiling warmly.

“Fine,” I said. “I enjoy it. Mi learn proper.”

She nodded and then leaned in, her expression taking a serious look. “I heard Harlan has been treating you horribly.”

I nodded. “Him hard. But mi handle him well. Mi will learn from him too. No teacher perfect.”

Markov’s eyes softened. “You’re wise beyond your years. Keep that spirit.”

We said goodbye.

I walked toward my friends, Ethan, Theo, Mia, Lila, Kai waiting by the door.

But as I walked, that uneasy feeling crept up my spine again.

Tonight.

The masquerade.

Jim.

Willow.

The sponsors.

I swallowed hard.

Something was coming.

And I wasn’t sure we were ready.