Thea Monroe

With a mouthful of caramel ice cream, nestled in my bed fort of blankets and fluffy pillows, I watched my best friend Casey rummaging through my closet, creating a fabric avalanche on the floor.

The frustrated sighs escaping her lips were theatrical, like a dying cat gargling hairballs, a symphony to accompany my sweet treat in its special bucket.

Taking another spoonful, my confusion curdled like sour milk in my brain. “What are you looking for? You’re literally dismantling my wardrobe. And what in the name of Tutankhamun are you wearing? Did you whip up another cosplay for next Halloween? Remind you, it’s July. Summer, remember?” I smacked my lips, savoring the cold sweetness.

Casey spun around, another groan of pure, unadulterated frustration escaping her. “You have nothing to wear. When was the last time you even looked at clothes that weren’t pajamas or band tees?”

“Well…” The answer was as dusty as an ancient tomb, and a wave of guilt, lukewarm at best, washed over me. “I think… two months ago? I needed new underwear. Apparently, my collection leans heavily towards ‘granny panties,’ according to someone,” I emphasized, pointedly staring at her Cleopatra ensemble – a surprisingly authentic-looking linen dress and a meticulously crafted beaded collar.

She rolled her eyes with such force I thought they might get stuck. Huffing, she threw her hands up in the air, “Fine! Plan B then. I brought a backup costume, just in case your fashion wasteland yielded nothing. You get to borrow this tonight.”

Casey sashayed towards her oversized bag, slumped on my living room couch downstairs. I remained glued to my bed, still utterly bewildered.

“Another costume? What party are you even talking about? Are we going somewhere?” I asked, my brow furrowing into deep trenches of bewilderment.

She just grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye, and tossed a small, surprisingly heavy, black plastic box onto my bed as she bounded back up the stairs. I caught it instinctively, the weight a strange surprise.

She perched on the edge of my desk chair as I cautiously flipped open the box. Inside, nestled on a velvet lining, lay a breathtaking golden mask adorned with delicate, curling horns and a flowing white dress embroidered with shimmering gold thread.

The fabric was impossibly soft, like spun moonlight, trimmed with delicate lace.

“What is this?” I breathed, my mind struggling to reconcile the opulent beauty with my usual Friday night of ice cream and bad reality TV. The costume was eerily similar to depictions of Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of love and beauty. “It’s not Halloween, Casey. And why the mask?”

“I made it myself! Beautiful, isn’t it?” she beamed, radiating pride. “I was going to debut it in October, but since the theme of tonight’s party is ‘Ancient Egypt,’ well… I thought ahead. Two costumes are always better than one, right? Consider it sisterly sharing.” She snatched the ice cream bucket from my grasp, her enthusiasm infectious as she physically untangled me from my blanket cocoon.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Shower, then get into this masterpiece. The party starts at eight. It’s already six!” She propelled me off the bed with surprising strength, and I narrowly avoided tripping over the Everest of discarded clothing and my rogue blanket. I planted my feet, refusing to budge, and fixed her with a pointed stare.

“What ‘party’ are you talking about? Casey, you live in that neighborhood. The one where even the squirrels wear tiny monocles. I can’t just waltz in there like I belong.” My voice rose with a touch of panic. I knew her and her ‘brilliant’ ideas. This was trouble brewing, and I could smell it like burnt toast.

Our friendship, forged in the crucible of questionable decisions and lukewarm tequila at my cousin’s wedding, was an anomaly, a beautiful, baffling glitch in the social matrix of London.

Heiress to the Sterling Tech empire and I, Thea, perpetually broke archaeology intern, deciphering hieroglyphs for minimum wage – we were an unlikely pair, destined for separate orbits. Yet, years later, here we were, intertwined like ivy, two halves of a whole neither of us quite understood but both fiercely protected.

Living a tube ride away, our worlds remained distinct, yet Casey ensured they collided often enough to keep loneliness at bay.

My life revolved around the hushed halls of the British Museum, the scent of aged papyrus, and the ghosts of pharaohs. Hours were spent poring over artifacts unearthed from the sands of Egypt, tracing the elegant curves of hieroglyphs, whispering the names of gods long forgotten. I was drowning in the past, content amidst dynasties and deities.

Casey, meanwhile, was immersed in the relentless present, navigating boardrooms and blueprints, preparing to inherit a kingdom of steel and glass – Sterling Properties, a behemoth of office buildings and investment ventures.

Despite the contrasting landscapes of our lives, a shared hunger for something beyond the mundane flickered beneath the surface.

A yearning for the extraordinary, a quiet ambition to leave a mark, however small, a ripple in the vast ocean of existence. We rarely spoke of grand ambitions, but I sensed it in Casey’s restless energy, her constant drive. I felt it in my own quiet fascination with civilizations that had vanished, leaving behind whispers etched in stone.

Tonight, however, grand ambitions and world-bettering schemes were far from my mind. Rich kids, rebelling in ritzy silence, was tonight’s agenda. Discreet parties, whispered rumors, the delicious thrill of transgression for those born into gilded cages.

They were desperate to taste the forbidden, their rebellion as carefully curated as their Instagram feeds. A scandal, a leaked photo, a mention in the wrong gossip column – social death for the heirs and heiresses of London’s elite.

“Just go, Thea. You look like you’re about to dissect Tutankhamun’s mummy, not attend a party,” Casey’s voice, laced with exasperation and affection, cut through my reverie.

She punctuated her command with a gentle shove towards the bathroom door. “Shower. Now. Unless you want to arrive fashionably late and tragically un-goddess-like.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, cocooning me in the steam-filled sanctuary. Water cascaded over my head, washing away the day’s museum dust and the lingering scent of old books. I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror.

My hair, a thick curtain of brown, tumbled past my waist, framing a face dusted with freckles, eyes the color of dark chocolate flecked with black. Ordinary. Utterly, irrevocably ordinary.

Emerging from the steam, towel-clad, I found an outfit laid out on my bed, a shimmering cascade of gold fabric.

Casey, perched at the kitchen counter, was a whirl of sleek blonde hair and manicured fingers tapping at her phone screen, oblivious to my internal debate about crashing a party designed for socialites. Her persistence was legendary, a force of nature as potent as any Egyptian curse.

Hesitantly, I picked up the costume. A dress. Not just a dress, but an incarnation. Taking a deep breath, I slipped into the silken fabric. It clung to my skin, light as air, yet sculpted to every curve. Slits ran high on either side, revealing glimpses of my pale legs. At the waist, a delicate band of fabric connected the fitted bodice, creating an illusion of bare skin beneath intricate gold embroidery.

A touch of makeup, winged eyeliner mimicking the feline grace of ancient Egyptian art, and I turned to face the mirror.

My breath hitched. It wasn’t me. It was… someone else. Or perhaps, someone I was always meant to be.

Hathor.  Goddess of love, beauty, music, and joy.

The dress, the makeup, the gold jewelry adorning my neck and wrists, the intricate mask waiting to be placed upon my face – it all conspired to transform me. If I didn’t know it was my reflection staring back, I might have believed I was in the presence of a deity.

A gasp from behind spun me around. Casey stood silhouetted in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. “Thea… you look… incredible,” she breathed, awe coloring her voice, a tone I’d never heard directed my way before.

A shy smile touched my lips, fighting against the sudden surge of self-consciousness.

“So… does this mean I have to start acting like a goddess? Because I’m still pretty confused about this whole ‘rebellious rich kid’ party thing.” My laugh was nervous, a shield against the unfamiliar feeling of being truly seen.

Casey grinned, her usual effervescence returning. She stepped forward, taking my hands in hers. “No, darling. You just have to show them you are a goddess. Trust me, tonight, no one will be able to take their eyes off you.” And with a wink and a tug, she swept me out of the apartment and into the London night, ready to face whatever gilded chaos awaited.

The heavy oak doors swung inward, releasing us into a world drenched in gold.

My eyes wandered around the place in fascination because everything was decorated with gold decorations in Egyptian style and green vines with glittering chandeliers at the ceiling above.

Hieroglyphs, or at least what looked convincingly like them, adorned the walls, framing colossal golden statues of pharaohs and gods. Green vines, thick and lush, snaked around the golden columns, their leaves catching the light from the glittering chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling like celestial jewels.

The music was already playing in every room, a rhythmic pulse of drums and stringed instruments that vibrated through the floor. The scent of flowers, heavy and sweet like jasmine and lilies, mingled with the sharper tang of alcohol, drifting through the air like a hot breeze on a summer night. It was opulent, excessive, and undeniably intoxicating.

“Wow,” Casey breathed beside me, her voice hushed with awe. “This is… something else.”

She was right. Tonight’s theme, ‘Night of the Gods’, like Casey told me, was in full swing, and the sheer spectacle of it all was almost overwhelming.

The party pulsed with a low thrum of bass, spilling out from a grand mansion nestled in London’s remotest area in the city. Costumed figures milled about the dimly lit rooms, a kaleidoscope of mythical creatures and historical figures, all rendered in expensive fabrics and impeccable taste.

The air hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume and something else… something sharper, less pleasant, that pricked at the edges of my perception.

We navigated the crowded rooms, Casey a beacon of confidence in her Cleopatra ensemble, me trailing slightly behind, still adjusting to the weight of the Hathor mask and the unfamiliar attention that seemed to follow me.

Whispers rippled through the crowd as we passed. “Who is that?” “Is that… real gold?”

The whispers were flattering, unsettling.

As the night wore on, a subtle unease began to settle over me. Beyond the glittering facade of wealth and revelry, there was an undercurrent of tension, a sense of something amiss. Conversations were hushed, glances darted, and a nervous energy permeated the air, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

It was then I saw him. A figure standing apart from the throng, his costume seemingly simple – a dark robe, a stylized jackal mask – yet he exuded an unsettling intensity. Anubis, god of the dead. His gaze, or what I could discern of it behind the mask, seemed to linger on me for a fleeting moment, a cold, assessing stare, but enough that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Breaking the spell, he moved from my sight, a silent glide through the crowd, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something glint beneath his robe. Gold. Not costume jewelry. Real gold. And something else, long and slender, catching the dim light – a staff, perhaps? Or… was that a scepter?

Something undeniably ancient.

My archaeologist’s instincts flared. This party, this gathering of privileged youth in their elaborate costumes, had somehow attracted something… other. Something dangerous. And as Anubis vanished into the throng, a chilling thought solidified in my mind.

This wasn’t just a party. It was a masquerade. And tonight, the masks might be hiding more than just identities. They might be hiding secrets, and perhaps, something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface, brought here, into the heart of London, under the guise of revelry and rebellion.

The whisper of ancient gods and forgotten curses echoed in my mind, and for the first time, I felt a prickle of genuine fear. Tonight, being dressed as a goddess might not just be a costume. It might be a target.

Walking further, we entered a big room full of a buffet of delicious food and drinks, a veritable feast laid out on golden platters.

Mountains of glistening fruit, roast meats, and pastries were arranged with artistic precision. Waiters in pharaoh-inspired costumes moved through the throng, offering trays laden with glasses. Scattered around the buffet were small tables and chairs in the corner, providing pockets of space for guests to talk and socialize amidst the grandeur.

And the guests… they were magnificent. The crowd of people wore masks and clothes, cosplaying Gods and Goddesses. Isis, Horus, Ra, Bastet – they mingled and swayed in the dimly lit room, their identities hidden behind elaborately crafted masks of gold, feathers, and jewels. It was a swirling kaleidoscope of costumes and mystery.

This obviously was a party for a night to remember, and no one would remember their faces because of the masks. Perfect opportunity to avoid certain people and have fun with a new crowd for just one night.

Taking some drinks from the tray that was served by a waiter, who walked past us, Casey thanked him and gave me a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled my nose as I took a sip.

“Cheers! For this night to be a moment to remember and celebrate our friendship!” she cheered, raising her glass, clinking with mine. Excitement shone in her eyes, reflecting the chandelier light.

“Yeah, cheers!” I said, following suit, raising my glass towards her. We clinked glasses, the crystal ringing out in the opulent room.

“To nights we can’t quite recall, and friendships we always will.”

Thea Monroe

The pulse of the music vibrated through my bones, a frantic rhythm that matched the dizzying spin of the dance floor. Hours had blurred by in a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, laughter, and clumsy dips and sways with Casey.

We’d devoured trays of miniature quiches and spring rolls, not even bothering to check for crumbs on our ancient dresses. It was that kind of night – carefree, indulgent, and utterly detached from the mundane.

Then, as if summoned by a mischievous imp, a gaggle of Casey’s friends materialized, arms linked like a human chain, and swept her away into the swirling throng. One minute she was there, her bright laughter echoing in my ear, the next she was gone, swallowed by the hedonistic tide of the party.

I navigated the dense crowd, calling her name, feeling increasingly like a lone swimmer in a surging ocean. The main hall opened into a labyrinth of corridors, each branching off into dimly lit rooms. The air thickened with a different kind of energy as I ventured deeper.

Rounding a corner, a crimson glow spilled from under a door, beckoning and warning at the same time. Red lights. Curiosity, that insidious cat, tugged me forward. I paused before the door, and the sound hit me first – a low thrumming, punctuated by sharp cracks and muffled cries. Whips. Moans.

The thick, cloying sweetness of sex hung heavy in the air, palpable even through the closed door.

“Well… all right,” I muttered, backing away as if burned. This wasn't my kind of party, not really. Or maybe it was, but I was definitely not equipped for this particular room. Shaking my head, I retreated, turning left, then right, blindly seeking refuge in the anonymity of the dancing mass.

The feverish energy of the dance floor was starting to grate. Sweat slicked my skin, exhaustion gnawed at my ankles, and unwelcome hands brushed past my waist with unsettling frequency. Each whistle and suggestive glance felt like a tiny pinprick.

I needed air, space, a moment to breathe.

Fortuitously, a wide archway appeared, leading to a quieter, darker space. A vast hall, lined with towering statues and somber paintings, stretched before me. It felt strangely deserted, a forgotten corner in this opulent mansion. No one seemed interested in ancient history while a bacchanalian frenzy raged elsewhere.

Relief washed over me as I stepped inside. The air was cooler here, still, and the cacophony of the party faded to a distant hum. Glass cabinets lined the walls, displaying dusty artifacts. It felt like stepping into a museum, a sanctuary of silence and shadows.

I wandered through the hall, running my fingers lightly over the cool, smooth stone of a statue base. My gaze landed on a wall covered in hieroglyphic writing, flanking a majestic statue of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the afterlife. Intrigued, I traced the unfamiliar symbols with my fingertip.

One line, etched deeper than the rest, caught my eye. ‘You don’t need to fear death, as it is only the beginning. The truth is harsh, but dying is just the start of something real.’

“Hmhm…” I hummed softly, pondering the cryptic inscription. What truth was so harsh that death was preferable? What ‘something real’ lay beyond the veil? The words resonated with a strange unease, a whisper of something profound and unsettling.

My musings were abruptly interrupted by the sound of voices, drawing closer. Panic, illogical and sudden, seized me. Why was I panicking? I had no reason to hide. Yet, a primal instinct urged me to disappear.

Without conscious thought, I slipped behind a cluster of statues, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Three men entered the hall, their voices echoing in the sudden stillness. Their attire was extravagant, theatrical – expensive Egyptian costumes, bordering on the absurd.

One wore a stylized kilt and sandals, his chest bare and oiled, gleaming in the dim light. Another was draped in a long, flowing robe embroidered with gold thread that shimmered like captured sunlight. And then there was the third.

He wore a black mask, crafted in the shape of a jackal’s head, the silver muzzle gleaming ominously. It concealed most of his face, leaving only a sharp jawline and the taut line of his neck visible. The other two men had removed their masks upon entering, revealing faces I didn't recognize, but this masked figure… goosebumps erupted on my arms.

It was him. The man from the mansion dance hall. The one who had stood apart, observing, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with an unnerving intensity. He had moved like a phantom, a silent observer, before melting back into the throng. I’d dismissed it as a fleeting impression, a trick of the light. Now, here he was, in the flesh and masked bone-chilling presence, only a few yards away.

He was undeniably tall, towering over his companions, easily six-foot-four. Muscular, but with a lean, sculpted physique, not the bulky kind. Jet-black hair, what little I could see escaping from under the mask, framed his hidden face.

He was dressed in a magnificent blue and gold robe, a flowing cape attached at the shoulders, fastened with golden clasps adorned with glittering gems. He even carried a gold scepter, an ornate prop that somehow felt less like a costume piece and more like a statement.

He lifted a slender, elegant cigar to his masked mouth with a hand laden with gold–heavy bracelets chiming softly, rings catching the dim light as he blew on the glowing tip. Then he spoke, and the air in the hall seemed to vibrate with the resonance of his voice.

“You both know very well that I don’t like these events,” his voice was deep, smooth as polished obsidian, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel. It was a voice that could soothe or shatter, a voice that coiled around you like a velvet rope, promising pleasure and pain in equal measure. “But if necessary, I will host them, and I will do whatever is required to bring justice to those responsible.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken weight. Justice. Responsible. For what? My throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. I remained frozen behind the cold stone of the statue, desperately trying to make myself smaller, quieter.

“But, Rayes,” the blond man in the robe spoke, his voice softer, less imposing, “that was five years ago. And no success. It will not bring her back, and you know it.”

Rayes. So that was his name. Rayes. It suited him, somehow; the dark, fiery brooding intensity of it made him more exotic.

Questions swirled in my mind, a dizzying vortex of possibilities. Bring her back? Who was ‘her’? His girlfriend? His wife? Maybe his sister or his mother? What had happened five years ago? And what kind of justice was he seeking? This wasn't just a costume party; it was something else entirely.

Something darker, deeper, and far more dangerous than I could have imagined when I’d first stepped into this rich people's party.

Eavesdropping felt wrong, intrusive, yet I was gripped, unable to tear myself away from the hushed, menacing conversation unfolding before me. This party, this hall, this masked man – it all reeked of secrets, and I, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, was now unwillingly entangled in a web of mystery.

"I will do everything in my power to get the person responsible in my grasp so I can make him pay. She deserved better for what they did to her," Rayes murmured, his voice laden with a profound sense of loss and anger. Dragging another smoke, he sighed and turned around, giving them the view of his back,” I will be frank with you. If my father steps down from the business, I will be the one who takes over as the only heir, so it can happen really soon. That way, the convict will jump right into my arms. I can’t be merciful anymore. I need to eliminate him so she can rest in peace.”

“Mate, I’m with you, but how can you be sure of your father stepping down? He is sick but still alive,” the one with the kilt said.

Anubis gritted his teeth and glanced at him over his shoulder,” He’s on his deathbed. He doesn’t have any options left but to pass it to me. With resources and power, I will get what I want, and I don’t care if that bastard dies. You know very well that he never cared about me except for the use of my blood so I can take over his legacy.”

The guys went silent, and then he sighed, ”Leave. I need time alone.”

They exchanged glances but didn’t protest,” As you wish. Just control your temper if you manage to stumble upon some of your guests; we don’t need a bloody mess in here like last time. We will be at the main dance hall if you need us. “

Leaving the room, silence reigned for a few moments. Rayes stared up at the ceiling and exhaled another cloud of smoke into the air. I could see him shaking his head slightly, but couldn’t see his expression beneath the jackal mask.

The spacious room, filled with history and its secrets, was enveloped in an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the occasional hiss of Rayes’ cigarette and hallway music from a distance.

He moved closer, his footsteps barely audible against the marble floor. Not giving him a chance to see me by accident, I tried to circle the statue to avoid him being discovered, but alas, time seemed to slow when fate had other plans.

My shoes failed me when my dress got caught on my strapless heels. The sound of shattering glass filled the room as the champagne slipped from my numb fingers, the drink splashing everywhere on the floor as the shards remained staring at me in a million pieces.

I could see the black boots stopping just a few feet away from where I was hiding. The air grew heavy, and my heartbeat grew louder in my ears. I felt like a rabbit, frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Rayes’ voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife, sending a shiver down my spine. "You're not supposed to be here, little dove," he murmured, his tone low and dangerous.

My mind went blank, and I struggled to find the right words to say. My heart hammered in my chest as I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting his royal, clothed, broad chest in his God-like attire and strong arms instead of his eyes. The jackal mask hid his identity, and I couldn't see the real color of his eyes. But I could feel his gaze on me, and I knew he was studying me intently.

"I'm sorry. I got lost and found this place. I didn't mean to hear anything," I blurted out quickly, before I could stop myself. I knew it was a weak excuse, and I was sure he could see right through it. Unable to move, I felt trapped between the stone pillar and Rayes’ looming presence.

A scent of smoke and something fruity permeated the air, sending my mind into a fuzzy whirl.

"You're not supposed to be here," he repeated, whispering, his voice wrapping around me like a fog, leaving me momentarily speechless. I was caught trespassing in a forbidden place, and I knew it.

I could feel the questions in his hidden gaze, the curiosity that mirrored my own. Also, there was a slight hint of annoyance because I’ve heard something important that’s not meant for strangers. I was an unwanted obstacle in his path. The tension between us was palpable, as if we both stood on the precipice of a great unknown.

In that moment, I realized the depth of my intrusion, the secrets I had unwittingly become a party to. My thoughts raced, searching for the right words to explain my presence, but I remained silent, unsure of how to proceed.

Great, Thea. Now you’re dead. He will probably suck my soul out of my body so he can drag it to hell with other miserable human beings. Once that happens, he will mummify my body and will bury me in a poor sarcophagus, in this very museum, for other people’s entertainment, telling them of my terrible history choices of how I trespassed his forbidden mysterious territory, full of dark secrets and stolen treasure. JUST GREAT.

"Why are you here while others are dancing and enjoying themselves? This hall is forbidden for guests," he said, his tone still calm and controlled. I could hear the sternness beneath his words, urging me to leave.

Caught off guard, I let out a nervous laugh. "I didn't know that no one was allowed here. There weren't any signs saying that, so I just came in," I replied, hoping he would believe me.

“No signs?” his voice sardonically resonated, low and smooth, sending shivers down my spine despite the dire situation,” It’s right there on the wall in bold letters - do not enter without without permission - This is an restricted area for unwanted people who wander where they don’t belong,” he says in a mocking tone, pointing to a wall that I somehow missed upon entering. The words glare at me, a stark reminder of my mistake.

“I'm sorry," I murmured, looking down at my feet. "I had no idea. I just…wandered in, I swear. The music was faint from here, I thought maybe it was another lounge,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My gaze flickered down to the shards of glass scattered around my feet again, then up to his chest, then quickly away, unable to meet the piercing stare of the mask.

His chest rumbled with a sound that might have been a chuckle, or maybe a growl, I couldn't tell. “A lounge. In the restricted wing of my estate?” he drawled, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, but with an underlying current of… something. Amusement?

Definitely. But also, as the prompt so accurately put it, something sharper. Steel. Like the kind of steel used to forge superhero swords or, you know, incredibly intimidating paperweights for his probably mahogany desk.

‘Estate?’ My mind raced. This wasn't just some random party, then. This man, this masked figure, was someone important. Powerful. And I was trespassing on his territory.

“I… I didn’t know,” was the pathetic answer I managed. I hated how weak I sounded, how easily I crumbled under his presence. But there was something about him, an aura of raw power that emanated from him, making my knees feel like jelly.

He stepped closer, the mask looming over me, and that intoxicating scent of smoke and fruity fragrance intensified, swirling around me like a heady drug. It was insane, completely inappropriate given the circumstances, but my senses were on fire.

“Tell me, little dove,” he whispered again, the words brushing past my ear when he pinned me to the pillar against my back, sending a wave of goosebumps down my arms and making the fine hairs on my neck prickle. “What were you really doing here?”

His gaze dropped again to my exposed thighs, where the champagne had splashed and the shattered glass glittered like dangerous jewels clinging to my skin. I felt a blush creep up my neck, knowing how exposed I was, how vulnerable. My strapless dress, which had seemed so glamorous just moments ago, now felt like a flimsy shield against his scrutiny.

Oh, and did I mention the champagne had also rendered my borrowed dress somewhat… see-through in certain areas? Fantastic. Just fantastic.

He was definitely going to realize. Realize that amidst my champagne-fueled stumble into his restricted lair, I had, in fact, overheard snippets of his… revenge planning. Obviously. Because why wouldn’t I? It was just my luck. I was probably going to be imprisoned in his estate's dungeons. Or worse, forced to attend more of these terrifying, masked gatherings.

Lifting his head, he leaned closer, inspecting me like I was some rare, slightly damaged specimen under a microscope. His hand, gloved in black leather, hovered near my hip, agonizingly close but not quite touching. It was almost… hesitant? Could it be? Was this terrifying, powerful, vengeance-plotting Anubis… unsure? Dare I hope he was slightly less homicidal than I’d initially assumed?

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice a soft, low murmur that somehow made its way through the intimidating mask.

I blinked, genuinely taken aback by the question. Of all the things he could have asked – “Who are you?”, “How dare you trespass?” “Do you have any idea about what I do to people who listen to private conversations without permission?”, “Do you know how much dry cleaning costs?” – he went with a simple, almost… polite inquiry.

“Why?” I blurted out, my brain still struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in tone. And then, in a moment of sheer, unadulterated idiocy, I continued, “I won’t tell anyone. Pretend I didn’t hear anything.”

Face. Palm. Meet. For the love of all that is holy and sensible, why did I just say that? Like a blithering, self-incriminating idiot, I had just cheerfully admitted to eavesdropping on his probably nefarious, definitely not-cheese-related conversations. Smooth, self. Real smooth.

Now, as I stand here, pinned to a pillar by a masked jackal man who smells like a bonfire in an orchard and probably owns dungeons, I’m left with two burning questions.

Firstly, did he actually chuckle earlier, or was that a low-key growl? And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, what in the name of all that is sensible am I going to do now? Because suddenly, the prospect of dungeons is starting to look like the less terrifying option compared to the unknown machinations swirling behind that intimidating Anubis mask.

And honestly, at this point, a strong cup of tea and a very, very long lie-down sounds like a far superior evening plan. That is…if I escape alive, preferably. But somehow, I have a sneaking suspicion my night is just getting started. And probably not in a good way. Wish me luck. I think I'm going to need it. And maybe a change of address. And possibly witness protection. Just in case.

Thea Monroe

As I stood there, in the grand hall of Egyptian relics, with a jackal-headed man towering over me, I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. This was not how I envisioned my night going. I had just wanted to tag along with my bestie to this exclusive party, have a little fun, and maybe sneak a few photos for Instagram. But now, I was face-to-face with the enigmatic Rayes, the man whose secrets I had unwittingly stumbled upon.

Rayes stared at me, his eyes unblinking behind the Anubis mask. I could feel his gaze on me, penetrating the layers of my being. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to come up with a convincing lie to keep my identity a secret.

A beat of silence and then, his voice, when it came, was low, smooth, and about as welcoming as a tax audit. “What you heard was confidential information, so I must know who you are? I haven’t seen you before, in any kind of event, so do me a favor: how will you convince me to keep my secret? I know you heard us.”

Right. Convince him. Fantastic. My mind, usually a whirring engine of witty comebacks and questionable life choices, suddenly decided to stage a full-blown evacuation. All cognitive functions were temporarily offline. My brain was just… buffering. Spinning its mental wheels and coming up with absolutely nothing useful. Except maybe the sudden, overwhelming urge to burst into tears and beg for mercy. But somehow, I suspected that wouldn’t exactly scream ‘trustworthy confidante.’

“Um..I..uh..I don’t think I should…” My voice, when it finally decided to make an appearance, sounded like a strangled mouse.

Convince him? How was I supposed to convince a masked, possibly vengeful, and clearly powerful individual to keep my accidental eavesdropping a secret? Especially when all I had to offer was… well, me. Which, at this precise moment, felt woefully inadequate.

“You know mine, so it’s only fair to know yours,” Anubis said, leaning even closer. His breath, surprisingly, smelled faintly of mint, even though he smoked his cigar just a moment ago, which was a bizarrely normal detail in this otherwise completely bonkers situation. His breath fanned the side of my cheek, “What. is. your. name?”

“My name isn’t important,” I blurted out, instantly regretting my life choices. Smooth move, Thea. Real smooth.

His eyes, already laser-focused, hardened. “It is important if you decide to spill all my secrets to the world. So let me ask again. What’s your name?”

Shit, shit, shit. Internally, I was chanting this mantra like my life depended on it. Because, let’s be honest, it probably did. Telling him my real name was problematic. Casey, bless her paranoid soul, was very particular about keeping her social life separate from her… let’s just say ‘discreet’ family business. Revealing my full name could potentially link me to her, and that was a friendship bridge I was not prepared to burn down for the sake of my own momentary idiocy.

But then again, lying to a man who looked like he held board meetings with sphinxes and wrestled crocodiles in his spare time seemed like an equally terrible idea.

He had that air about him, you know? The kind that screamed, “I know where you live, who your mother is, and what you had for breakfast three Tuesdays ago.” And honestly, I couldn’t even remember what I had for breakfast today. Probably because my brain was currently occupied with the delightful prospect of being interrogated by a man who looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of ‘GQ: Pharaoh Edition’.

Just a name. It doesn’t have to be the full name, my inner voice whispered, attempting to negotiate my way out of this rapidly escalating disaster. Fine. Compromise. Baby steps.

“Thea,” I breathed, the name feeling like a flimsy shield against a charging rhino. It was technically my name, just, you know, a very abbreviated version. Like calling Mount Everest “Mount.” Technically correct, but missing a crucial element.

For an instant, Rayes stood absolutely still. It was the kind of stillness that precedes a hurricane, or a really awkward silence at a Thanksgiving dinner. He took a few steps back, looking up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, like he was trying to inhale calm and exhale murderous rage. Or maybe just desperately searching for a hidden escape hatch in the ornate plasterwork.

Honestly, with the way things were going, a hidden escape hatch didn't sound too bad right about now. Maybe it led to a secret tunnel, or a portal to another dimension where intimidating men in impeccably tailored God-like costumes didn't exist. One could dream.

After a couple more long minutes that felt like geological epochs, ‘Rayes’ – because apparently, even Anubis, the Egyptian God of the Underworld, had a name – turned towards me again. “What brings you to our gathering tonight, Thea?”

The way he asked it…it felt like he knew that I don’t belong here, but that’s just ridiculous, right? It was laced with something… else. Suspicion? Amusement? Maybe a dash of ‘I-know-you’re-a-fraud-and-I’m-patiently-waiting-for-you-to-trip-yourself-up’.

He couldn’t possibly know that I was essentially a social imposter, a Cinderella who’d snuck into the ball in borrowed glass slippers and was about to be busted when the clock struck midnight, or in this case, when this suspiciously observant man figured out I was about as out of place as a clown at a funeral… a very serious funeral.

“My cousin invited me,” I blurted out, like a confession extracted under bright lights in a cop show. Smooth, Thea, real smooth. “Casey… my cousin. From… uh… the this side of town where rich people live. You know. The… fancier side. I’m living with her.” Nailed it. Oscar-worthy performance right there. I could practically feel the golden statuette being forged in my honor. Except, you know, the statuette was probably made of lead and would be used to weigh me down in the nearest river later.

Why would I emphasize the words ‘rich’ like I wasn’t one of them? It was like there was a neon sign flashing on my forehead, blinking ‘IMPOSTER! OUTSIDER! DOES-NOT-BELONG!’. Seriously, if social awkwardness were a superpower, I’d be Captain Clumsy, defender of the socially inept and champion of cringe.

And the ‘living with her’ part? Also genius. Casey did have a guest room. I’d stayed there once, for a weekend. But ‘living with her’? That sounded… permanent. And slightly stalker-ish. Maybe I should have gone with ‘cat-sitting’? No, too pathetic. ‘House-sitting’? Still desperate. Cousin, living with her – vaguely plausible, slightly desperate, but hey, we were rolling with it now. No going back. The lie train had left the station, and I was strapped in for a bumpy, potentially derailment-filled ride.

Rayes’s gaze remained fixed on me, unwavering, like a hawk eyeing a particularly plump field mouse. And I was definitely feeling like that field mouse. Small, insignificant, and about to be devoured.

“Casey,” he repeated slowly, the name rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it, analyzing its flavor, determining its authenticity. Oh god. Was he going to know Casey? Was the ‘rich side of town’ small enough that everyone knew everyone? Were we about to enter a ‘six degrees of separation’ nightmare where Rayes would reveal that he’d played polo with Casey’s father, or worse, dated Casey’s notoriously scary older sister?

“And what is your cousin Casey’s surname, Thea?” he asked, his voice dangerously smooth, like velvet stretched over steel.

Right. Surname. Surname! Think, Thea, think! This was it. The critical moment. The point of no return. My brain, usually a whirring, overthinking machine, had suddenly decided to take a vacation. It was lounging on a beach somewhere, sipping a metaphorical cocktail, completely ignoring the social apocalypse unfolding in front of me.

Casey’s surname… Casey’s surname… It was… it was… Blank. Utterly, terrifyingly blank. My mind was a snow globe that had been shaken too vigorously, all swirling white noise and no discernible information. I knew Casey’s surname. Of course, I knew Casey’s surname! We’d been friends since kindergarten! I’d probably drunkenly shouted her surname at karaoke night at least once! But now? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Just a gaping void where crucial, friendship-saving information should have been.

Panic level: Code Red. Mayday! Mayday! Abandon ship! Except, there was no ship to abandon. I was stranded on a desert island of social ineptitude, with a Death-like interrogator and absolutely zero life rafts.

“Uh…” I stammered, my voice sounding like a rusty hinge protesting under duress.

“Casey… Casey…” Come on, brain, work with me here! Throw me a bone! Anything! A surname! A middle name! A random street address! Anything to distract him, anything to buy me another precious second of time to excavate Casey’s surname from the geological layers of my memory.

“Casey… It’s… uh…” I trailed off, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. My carefully constructed lie was crumbling around me like a poorly baked soufflé.

And Rayes? He was just standing there, watching the whole delicious disaster unfold, a hint of something – amusement? Pity? Disappointment that I wasn’t more entertaining? Or maybe he was silently laughing at me for trying to tell some lie to avoid telling him the whole truth.

The worst part was, I couldn’t even properly gauge his reaction. That blasted Anubis muzzle hid most of his face. It was probably designed to be intimidating and mysterious, but at this moment, it felt like the universe was personally mocking my social ineptitude. Like, “Oh, you want to lie to the tall, dark, and masked stranger? Here, let’s make it even more awkward by obscuring his face so you can’t even see his reaction properly! Hilarious, right?” Universe, you’re a comedian, I’ll give you that. A cruel, cosmic comedian.

“It’s Casey Duck. You probably know her,” I managed to come up with a last name, but it sounded pretty bad. Like extremely bad. Worse than bad. It was offensively bad. It was the kind of bad you’d apologize to your pet goldfish for. Why Duck? Of all the surnames in the entire English language – nay, all the surnames in every language, my brain dredged up “Duck”? Seriously? Was my subconscious trying to sabotage me? Did it secretly hate me and want to see me squirm? Because if so, mission accomplished, brain. Mission thoroughly and humiliatingly accomplished.

Duck? The hell, Thea? Internal monologue went into overdrive. Duck? You absolute buffoon. You couldn’t have come up with… I don’t know… Sterling? No, too close to the truth. Smith? Jones? Anything! But Duck? Really? Are you actively trying to make this worse? Are you auditioning for a slapstick comedy skit right now? I could practically hear my own brain facepalming in solidarity with Rayes, who, judging by the almost imperceptible twitch in his masked jaw, was probably fighting back a snort of derisive laughter.

The silence was offensive. It stretched on, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the frantic thump-thump-thump of my pulse trying to escape my chest cavity. I could practically see the tumbleweeds of awkwardness rolling between us. But then, something unexpected happened. His shoulders started shaking. Shaking quite violently, actually.

At first, I thought he was having some sort of masked-induced seizure. But then, a deep sound rumbled from beneath the Anubis' muzzle. Laughter. Unexpected, genuine, uninhibited laughter, a deep chuckle which gave me a glimpse of his sharp jaw, full white teeth on display, those lips curved into a smile.

I was so stunned by his reaction that I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth beneath that jackal mask. Anubis' muzzle hid most of his upper face, even his real eye color, so I couldn’t know his full expression.

It was like I just humiliated myself even more in this stress-fused situation, but somehow, his laughter wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t cruel. It was… amused. And, dare I say it, almost… fond? No, Thea, don't get ahead of yourself. Fond laughter after you just named your fake cousin "Casey Duck" is probably not a sign of burgeoning romance. More likely, it's the sound of someone witnessing peak human absurdity.

“Jesus Christ,” he still chuckled, the sound rumbling warmly in the dimly lit room.

My face was flaming hot from embarrassment. I was pretty sure my ears were glowing in the dark, and I wouldn't be surprised if steam was starting to emanate from my scalp.

This was it. Peak mortification. I had achieved a level of cringe that probably qualified for some kind of award. The Golden Embarrassment Trophy, perhaps? I should probably start writing my acceptance speech. Something like, “I’d like to thank my brain, for its spectacular failure, and my mouth, for so eloquently blurting out the most ridiculous surname imaginable. Without you both, this moment of profound humiliation wouldn’t have been possible.”

He finally seemed to get his laughter under control, though the occasional chuckle still escaped. He looked at me, or at least, I assumed he was looking at me behind that mask. It was hard to tell with those dark, enigmatic golden eye slits. He could be gazing intensely into my soul, or he could be admiring the pot plant in the corner, or maybe the statue behind me.

“Clumsy and adorable. Not the combination I expected.” Huh? Come again?

Then, the personal space invasion began. He stepped closer. And closer. Until my back was intimately acquainted with the cold, unforgiving surface of a rather ornate pillar.

“Don’t try to act cute now, we know you’re lying to me, Thea,” Raye’s voice dropped an octave. Suddenly, the chuckling was gone, replaced by a low, serious rumble that vibrated right down to my sensible-strapless heels. Cute? Was I acting cute? I thought I was going for ‘mildly terrified yet cringe, badly enough that you need to step away so it doesn’t catch you like a disease.’

My throat decided this was a good time to stage a minor desertification event. I gulped.

Then, Anubis decided to brace his arm above my head, you know, that classic ‘cornering someone in a dramatic movie scene’ manoeuvre. In his case, the move made him look more attractive to me.

He leaned in, his masked face looming, and all I could hear was the ominous crunch, crunch, crunch of scattered glass beneath his boots. Glass. Right. There was glass everywhere. I spilled my drink and made it shatter on the floor, which, by the way, was a little risky move for my bare legs and feet, covered by flimsy shoes. One wrong move and I can go flying and cut myself on the shards.

“Just tell me the truth, little dove. Who are you?” he whispered. Little dove? Again?

“I literally just explained to you. I’m Thea.” I said, trying to inject a healthy dose of ‘are you kidding me right now?’ into my voice. It probably came out more like ‘squeak’.

“Just Thea? Nothing else?” He tilted his head, the golden eye slits narrowing slightly, if that was even possible. Behind that mask, he was probably raising a supercilious eyebrow. I could practically feel the superciliousness radiating off him in waves.

The air around him crackled with it, this disdain, this predatory amusement. He was toying with me, like a cat with a particularly irritating, but ultimately fascinating, mouse.

“Do I need to force the words out of your mouth then? You know… You have put me in a difficult position. Truly difficult position where I don’t know what to do with you. I can’t just let you go with all of my secrets. You will jeopardize everything,” he hissed, his voice dropping even further. It was practically a whisper now, a stage whisper, but still… whispery.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken menace, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of my own heart, which felt determined to beat its way out of my ribcage.

Then, blessedly, or perhaps not, a crunch shattered the tense quiet. My heel had found a shard of something sharp, something I hadn’t even noticed in my panicked haze. Glass. Oh right.

Both our gazes dropped to the floor where a scattering of crystalline fragments glittered under the dim light, “I should clean it up,” I mumbled, the words escaping before I could censor them.

As if to punctuate my idiocy, a warm, sticky sensation blossomed on my leg. I froze, breath catching in my throat. Looking down, I saw it – a crimson trail, vivid against the pale skin of my calf, tracing a path from under the hem of my dress. Blood. My blood. Wonderful. Just what I needed.

Rayes – because that was what I’d heard them call him, during my accidental eavesdropping session – Rayes, stepped over the glistening shards, his movements fluid and unsettlingly graceful. “Clumsy, Thea, it is,” he murmured, his voice laced with a sardonic amusement that grated on my nerves. “Very clumsy indeed.”

Before I could even formulate a protest, before I could even process the fact that he was advancing again, his hands were on me. Strong hands, surprisingly gentle despite the undercurrent of danger they radiated. They locked around my waist, and in one swift, effortless motion, I was lifted. Lifted clean off my feet, my gasp caught in my throat as he hoisted me against his chest. My eyes, wide and panicked, locked onto the cold, gilded surface of the jackal mask inches from my face.

“W-what are you…put me down!” The words were breathless, a desperate plea lost in the sudden rush of adrenaline. He ignored me, of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was a masked enigma in a hall, full of ancient secrets, apparently plotting world domination or something equally dramatic, and I was… well, I was just Thea, clumsy and bleeding and utterly out of my depth.