Chapter 24 The Mask Slips
Chapter 24 The Mask Slips
The ballroom at Blackridge Academy looks like it was stolen from some old-money mansion and dropped onto campus. Crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, polished floors that reflect every careless step—it’s the kind of place where every glance feels like judgment. Tonight’s event isn’t just a dance. It’s a showcase. A parade of power wrapped up in tuxedos and gowns.
And me? I’m standing in the middle of it all, trying not to suffocate under the weight of Eva Sinclair’s mask.
My dress clings in all the right places, the one I borrowed from the drama department’s costume closet and altered until it looked expensive. My hair is sleek, my makeup precise, my smile practiced. On the surface, I’m Eva—transfer student, ambitious, mysterious. But underneath the sequins and smooth edges, I can feel Ava Carter clawing her way out.
Because I know tonight is dangerous.
The whispers started before I even stepped through the door. Too polished for a scholarship girl, someone said. Didn’t she used to live here? another voice added, low and conspiratorial. Rumors are currency at Blackridge, and lately, my balance has been running low.
I weave through the crowd, holding a glass of sparkling cider I have no intention of drinking. Everyone is watching everyone, scanning for weakness, for stories to trade. I keep my chin high, my eyes steady, like none of it touches me. But every laugh, every whisper feels like a hook snagging my skin.
Then it happens.
“Eva Sinclair,” a voice drawls from behind me. When I turn, the queen bee herself, Miranda Blake, is standing there in a gown that probably cost more than my old apartment’s rent. Her smile is razor sharp. “Funny name, don’t you think?”
My stomach drops.
She tilts her head, studying me with eyes that see too much. “I could swear I’ve seen you before. Not here, of course. Somewhere… less shiny. What was it?” Her lips curve, poisonous. “Oh right. Carter. Ava Carter.”
The name slices through the air like broken glass.
For a second, I can’t breathe. My hands tighten around the glass until I’m afraid it’ll shatter. The room spins, voices rising into a blur. She knows. She actually knows.
But before I can respond, another voice cuts in. Smooth. Confident. Infuriatingly timed.
“You must be mistaken, Miranda.”
Jace Langston slides in beside me like he owns the ground he walks on. His suit is dark, his tie loose, his smile the kind that makes people want to believe him. He drapes an arm casually around the back of my chair, close enough to claim me, to shield me. “Eva Sinclair’s from California. Her father’s in finance. You know how forgettable middle-class faces can be.”
The crowd laughs on cue. Miranda’s eyes narrow, but Jace doesn’t blink. He leans in, his voice carrying just enough to silence the whispers. “Besides, don’t you think if she was hiding something, I’d know?”
His tone makes it sound ridiculous, impossible, even laughable that anyone could slip something past Jace Langston. The crowd swallows the story whole.
And just like that, the danger passes.
But not for me.
Because Jace just saved me, and he did it in a way that makes it clear he knows exactly what he’s doing.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of forced smiles and shallow conversation. My heart doesn’t stop racing, not even when the music swells and the couples spin across the floor. Every time I look up, Jace is there, lounging against the wall or cutting through the crowd with that predatory ease, his eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.
By the time the event ends, my head aches from the effort of keeping Eva intact.
Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin. I step into the courtyard, grateful for the distance, for the quiet. My heels click against the stone path as I head toward the dorms, rehearsing the lies I’ll need to spin tomorrow when Miranda inevitably starts spreading her poison.
But I don’t make it far.
Jace steps out from the shadows like he’s been waiting all along. His tie is loose, his jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He looks untouchable, infuriating, dangerous.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, voice low.
I freeze. My pulse stutters. “Back to my dorm. Unlike you, I don’t lurk in courtyards for fun.”
He smirks, but there’s no real humor in it. “You almost slipped tonight.”
I swallow hard. “And you almost made it worse.”
“Don’t play dumb, Ava.”
The name lands between us like a live wire.
My breath catches. My spine stiffens, every nerve screaming. “You don’t get to call me that.”
He takes a step closer, his shadow stretching over me. “Then stop acting like her.”
My chest tightens. I want to deny it, to laugh it off, but the look in his eyes tells me it’s useless. He’s not guessing anymore. He knows.
“You owe me answers,” he says, softer now, but no less sharp. “I covered for you tonight. I could’ve let Miranda tear you apart, but I didn’t. So here’s the deal—you tell me why you’re here, or next time, I won’t stop her.”
His words press down on me, heavy and suffocating. He’s so close I can see the faint bruise along his jaw where my hand struck him days ago. I can feel the pull of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breath, the dangerous calm in his voice.
I want to scream at him, to tell him he doesn’t know anything, that he’s wrong. But my lies taste like ash before they leave my tongue.
Because Jace Langston isn’t wrong. He’s never wrong.
And right now, he’s staring at me like he already has the whole truth in his hands.
I take a step back, but he mirrors it, closing the distance again. His eyes lock on mine, unrelenting. “Who are you really, Ava?”
My throat is dry, my heart a drumbeat of panic and defiance. The mask is slipping, and I don’t know if I can pull it back in time.
I force my lips into a tight smile, trying to sound calm, steady, unshaken. “Careful, Jace. You might not like the answer.”
He leans closer, his voice a whisper meant only for me. “Try me.”
The air between us is charged, thick, impossible to breathe.
And for the first time since I walked into Blackridge, I don’t know if I’m the hunter anymore… or the prey.