Beneath the Mask

Sophie's POV

The lights dimmed, and a thrilling hush swept over the crowd as the familiar hum of the music began to fill the club. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the mask settle against my skin, grounding me in a way that almost felt liberating. Here, as Clara, I wasn't known as Sophie, the quiet secretary with careful words and measured steps. I was someone else entirely. I was untouchable.

The moment I stepped on stage, cheers erupted, and I could feel the energy radiating from the audience. My name-Clara-was chanted like a spell by fans, binding me to the crowd's adoration. I closed my eyes briefly, letting the thrill of it all rush through me. Underneath the mask, I was a mystery, a singer they couldn't fully see but they adored. I belonged here, in this hidden world of music and secrets.

As I started singing, my eyes scanned over the sea of faces, spotting the usual high-profile figures that filled the VIP section. Executives, celebrities, and wealthy socialites all sat in hushed admiration, leaning in, hanging on to each note I sang. But then I noticed something, someone, that stopped my heart cold.

James Blackwood.

Sitting there in the VIP lounge, perfectly poised and powerful as ever, my boss watched me with an intense look. My mind went blank for a moment. I tried to keep my face composed beneath the mask, but a wave of panic welled up inside me. Of all people, why is he here? I adjusted my mask subtly, making sure it was secured, feeling its presence against my face like armor.

Beside him sat his stepfather and his best friend, Anthony Blackwood, equally invested, though his gaze was darker, less admiring and more... appraising. James and Anthony shared a really interesting relationship as father and son, they were inseparable.

He exchanged a few words with James, but James's gaze was focused on me, unbroken, piercing and intense. I'd felt that look many times at work-always calculated, cold, and dissecting every flaw. But here, it was different. It was almost as if he were trying to see through the mask I wore, trying to piece together a puzzle he didn't even know existed.

The song was ending, but I hardly noticed. My mind raced. I needed to leave. I couldn't let him get a closer look, couldn't let him figure out the truth.

But then, the song ended, and the applause snapped me back to the present. The crowd erupted into cheers again, chanting my name even louder, and I gave a slight bow, careful to keep my head low. When I straightened, I saw James rising from his seat, speaking briefly to Anthony before he started moving toward the edge of the VIP section. Towards me.

I felt the blood drain from my face. No, no, no. This is a disaster. I turned quickly, heading backstage, but I could already hear the whispers from the club staff as they told me a VIP was requesting to see me. There was no avoiding him now.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves a little, then I straightened my back and willed myself to stay calm. He doesn't know it's me. You're Clara here. Just stay in character.

The second I stepped out to the dimly lit lounge, his eyes locked onto me again, sharp and calculating. He held out a pen and a small card. "An autograph, if you wouldn't mind, Clara?"

My heart hammered, but I managed a faint smile as I took the pen, careful not to let my hands shake. "Of course," I replied, my voice low and steady. The mask provided a layer of confidence, but it felt flimsy under his gaze, as if he could see right through it.

As I signed, he asked, "You're quite talented. The crowd loves you." His voice was soft, but there was a command in his tone. He was used to getting answers. "How long have you been performing?"

I forced myself to meet his gaze, hoping the mask would conceal any hint of recognition in my eyes while I tried deepening my tone. "A while now," I answered, keeping my reply short as possible.

He studied me for a moment, then tilted his head, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "There's something familiar about you," he said, a curious intensity in his tone. "Have we met before?"

I swallowed hard, maintaining my composure. "I doubt it," I replied smoothly, praying my voice wouldn't give me away. "I keep my personal life... very separate."

James nodded slowly, still observing me with a suspicious glint in his eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. "That explains the mask, I suppose."

"Precisely," I replied, hoping he would leave it at that. But instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Take it off."

My heart skipped a beat. "Excuse me?"

"The mask," he said, his tone softer, almost coaxing. "I want to see who you really are."

I took a step back, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, but that's not allowed," I replied, trying to keep my tone light but firm. While I kept telling myself, "Stay in character, Sophie. Just stay in character".

But James only watched me, his eyes narrowing. "Why the secrecy, Clara? What are you hiding?"

There was a flicker of something darker in his gaze, a stubborn determination that made my heart race in panic. He was too close, too curious. I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong move away from tumbling over.

"Everyone loves a little mystery," I replied, forcing a playful smile. But my words sounded hollow, even to me.

He took another step closer, and I could feel the weight of his presence. "Maybe," he said, his voice smooth, "but I don't believe in hiding. Especially not from the people who fascinate me."

My breath hitched. Fascinate him? This was too much. I needed to get out of here. The tension between us felt like a live wire, charged and dangerous, sparking with every word he spoke.

"Thank you for coming tonight," I said, forcing a note of finality into my voice as I moved to step away. But before I could take a full step, his hand shot out, gently grasping my wrist.

"Clara." His voice was like a velvet trap, laced with something I couldn't decipher. "You seem familiar, whether you admit it or not. Something about your voice..."

I tried to pull away, but his hold, though gentle, was firm. "Please," I said softly, my voice faltering for the first time. "I'd prefer if you let go."

For a moment, he held my gaze, and I thought I saw a flicker of confusion cross his face. But then, almost reluctantly, he released my wrist, watching as I took a step back. His eyes held a glint of intrigue, mixed with frustration. It was as if he knew he was on the verge of discovering something but didn't yet have the key.

"Clara," he murmured again, his voice softer this time, more to himself than to me. "Who are you?"

With that, I turned and hurried back toward the stage door, my heart pounding, barely able to breathe. I felt his gaze burning into my back, as if he were memorizing every step I took. And for one terrifying, thrilling moment, I was certain he'd figure it out-that he'd see past the mask and recognize me as the clumsy secretary he dismissed every day at work.

As the door closed behind me, I leaned against it, gasping for air, and heard a murmur from the club staff just outside, one word that made my blood run cold.

"James Blackwood..."