Chapter 17: The Masquerade of Lies

The grand ballroom of the Valcrest Hotel was a glittering spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, casting golden light across the sea of wealthy elites and power players mingling beneath. The air buzzed with conversations, laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses.

Isabella adjusted the golden mask that framed her eyes, her gloved fingers trembling slightly as she stepped out of the sleek black car. The evening gown Lara had provided fit her perfectly—a cascade of midnight blue fabric that clung to her curves and flared elegantly at the hem. A long slit revealed one toned leg, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor as she entered the gala.

“Remember,” Lara’s voice echoed in her mind through the discreet earpiece hidden beneath her wig, “you’re Vanessa Laurent tonight. Smile, charm them, but stay alert.”

Isabella took a deep breath, forcing a serene smile onto her face. “Got it.”

As she glided through the room, Isabella felt the weight of countless gazes. She was out of her element, but years of watching her stepmother maneuver through high society had taught her how to fake confidence. She held her head high, nodding politely to those who greeted her.

Across the room, Ryan stood near the bar, his sharp suit tailored to perfection. His presence radiated authority, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Isabella’s heart skipped a beat when his icy blue eyes scanned the crowd, lingering for a fraction of a second on her before moving on.

“He’s here,” Isabella murmured under her breath.

“I see him,” Alexander’s calm voice replied through the earpiece. “Don’t make direct contact. Focus on the guests around him.”

Isabella made her way toward a cluster of Ryan’s allies, laughing lightly at their shallow jokes and sipping her champagne as they introduced themselves. Each interaction felt like a performance, her words carefully chosen to extract bits of information without drawing suspicion.

One man, a portly investor named Charles Warren, leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re quite the enigma, Miss Laurent. What brings you to our little gathering?”

“Networking, of course,” Isabella replied smoothly, her smile never wavering. “One can’t succeed in business without the right connections.”

Charles chuckled, clearly charmed. “You’re a smart one. I’ll have to introduce you to Mr. Hathaway. He’s always looking for bright minds to partner with.”

“Mr. Hathaway?” she asked, feigning curiosity.

“Ryan’s second-in-command,” Charles explained. “You’ll like him—sharp as a whip and just as dangerous.”

Isabella’s mind raced as she committed the name to memory. She had heard of Hathaway before—rumors of his ruthless tactics and loyalty to Ryan. If she could get close to him, she might uncover the information they needed to take Ryan down.

As the night wore on, Isabella found herself on the dance floor, her hand in the grasp of a charming stranger who introduced himself as Victor Lang. He was tall and suave, his movements fluid as he led her in a waltz.

“You’re quite the mystery, Miss Laurent,” Victor said, his voice low and velvety. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“I’m new to this circle,” Isabella replied, her smile guarded. “But I’m quickly learning who’s who.”

Victor’s gaze sharpened. “And what have you learned so far?”

“That the most dangerous players often hide behind the most charming smiles,” she said, her tone light but pointed.

Victor chuckled, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Touché. But be careful, Miss Laurent. Curiosity can be deadly.”

As the dance ended, Isabella excused herself, her pulse quickening as she slipped into the quieter corners of the ballroom. She needed a moment to regroup, to process the bits of information she had gathered.

But before she could find a moment’s peace, a voice behind her sent a chill down her spine.

“Vanessa Laurent, is it?”

She turned slowly, her breath catching as she met Ryan’s piercing gaze. He stood mere feet away, his hands casually in his pockets, yet his presence felt suffocating.

“You seem to have everyone’s attention tonight,” he said, his tone smooth yet laced with suspicion.

Isabella forced a smile. “I didn’t realize making friends was such a crime.”

Ryan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Friends, perhaps. But alliances? That’s another matter entirely.”

She fought to keep her composure, her mind racing for a way out. “If you’re accusing me of something, Mr. Byrne, I’d appreciate if you were more direct.”

Ryan’s lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “Oh, I’m never direct, Miss Laurent. Where’s the fun in that?”

Before she could respond, the sound of shattering glass drew their attention. Across the room, a commotion had erupted—a guest had spilled wine on one of Ryan’s men, and the minor incident had escalated into a heated argument.

Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me.”

As he strode away, Isabella exhaled shakily, her heart pounding. She couldn’t let him get too close again—he was too sharp, too unpredictable.

In the chaos of the argument, Isabella slipped out of the ballroom and into a dimly lit hallway. Lara’s voice crackled in her ear. “You’ve been made. Ryan’s onto you.”

“I noticed,” Isabella muttered. “I’m heading for the exit.”

“No,” Alexander interjected. “There’s a service stairwell at the back. Take it to the rooftop. I’ll extract you from there.”

Isabella’s pulse quickened as she navigated the maze of hallways, her heels clicking softly against the marble. She reached the stairwell and ascended quickly, her gown making the climb awkward. The cool night air hit her face as she emerged onto the rooftop, the city skyline stretching out before her.

A sleek helicopter hovered above, a rope ladder descending toward her. Isabella grabbed onto it, her grip firm as she was lifted into the air. Alexander reached out to help her into the cabin, his expression tense.

“You did well,” he said as she collapsed into a seat, her chest heaving.

“Ryan knows I’m not who I said I was,” she replied. “It’s only a matter of time before he connects the dots.”

“Let him,” Alexander said, his jaw set. “We’ll be ready.”

As the helicopter soared into the night, Isabella glanced back at the glittering lights of the city below. The masquerade was over, but the real game had only just begun.

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