Games and Masks

The game room smelled of fresh wood. Dim lights hung above the pool table, tracing the green surface with golden lines. Stefano moved the cue with calm, precise gestures, each strike of the ball sounding like a measured sentence.

His eyes, guarded and mysterious, followed every movement with the same coldness with which he had studied the girl on that rainy night. When he spoke, his voice was as serene as the movement of the cue.

_ “I called you here because I have plans for you. Many more to come.”

Seline remained standing, her hands trembling from the command she had just been given. Her heart raced; the man’s presence made the air around her feel denser. She listened and kept every word as if it were a thread that could tie her life to a new destiny.

_ “My sister recently married a man I’d seen before at a horse betting game,” he said, pausing to line up another shot.

_ “They tampered with our game. We lost a considerable amount.”

“I need you to get close to her—and to their house. I want you to be my informant.”

The cue sliced through the air, the ball rolled, and the sharp click that followed was as brief as the sentence that completed it.

_ “You’ll be introduced as my girlfriend.”

Seline felt the world spin. The idea seemed absurd, almost laughable given the fragility she still carried. How could a poor, uneducated girl with no past pretend to be someone refined? Stefano, however, had no intention of discussing possibilities; he dictated orders and outcomes.

_ “I don’t have time to find or pay someone else to do what I’ve planned.

_ You’ll be trained for it. You’ll present yourself as an elegant, refined woman.”

His voice grew sharper.

_ “Don’t ruin my plans. If you do, your end will come quickly.”

She tried to protest, her voice escaping between her teeth.

_ “Why are you doing this? If it’s out of pity... let me go.”

He dropped the cue, stepped closer, and cornered her with his large frame and the overpowering weight of his authority.

_ “Did I not make myself clear?” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers.

_ “You’re just a little toy to me, girl. Now I own you. And when you’re no longer useful, I’ll get rid of you.

_ You’ll know too much.”

The warning carried the chill of a contract written in invisible ink—blood in exchange for obedience. To the staff, she would be treated with apparent courtesy; in truth, everyone knew who she belonged to and under whose command she acted. That was how loyalty was bought: public appearances sealed by silent threats.

A week passed in short lessons—improvised etiquette, hair arrangements, and rehearsed posture. She learned to move with a restrained grace, transforming herself through fear and effort into a woman who only seemed elegant. Every gesture was another piece of the mask Stefano forced her to wear.

The grand night arrived: a dinner at the mansion. Yarin, Stefano’s sister, arrived with her husband.

Her brother-in-law had always been a suspicious shadow—opposed to the sudden marriage, prone to quiet criticism. And though Yarin knew her husband’s intentions were never pure, she stayed silent out of fear of displeasing Stefano. For that very reason, more than curiosity, his presence lit a spark of old resentment in Stefano—the memory of the rigged bet, the suspicion of deceit. That’s why he needed sharp eyes inside that house.

Seline entered the dining room with her chest tight, bound by nerves and discipline.

Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders; her lighter brown eyes shone nervously. She wore a simple yet well-tailored emerald-green crepe dress, with a fitted waist and modest neckline—something that conveyed elegance without ostentation, the result of her hurried lessons. The fabric moved with modest grace, concealing the trembling in her stomach.

Yarin and her husband observed her with a mix of admiration and suspicion. Yarin, blessed with the intuition inherited from their mother Yonara—a sensitive woman who could always tell when someone wasn’t well—noticed something beyond Seline’s surface beauty: a deep, unmistakable fear. She couldn’t explain it; she simply felt it.

Yarin had an admirable beauty—green eyes, sleek dark brown hair, and a soft, easy smile. A gentle, refined, and humble woman. That night she wore a long dark-blue gown, her hair tied in a bun with a few loose strands framing her face like a delicate fringe.

The conversation at the table flowed through polite topics—business, family memories, subtle compliments on the house’s décor. Seline tried to keep up, but her world spun around a core of anxiety. In a single moment—perhaps from her trembling hand, perhaps from her dry throat—her wine glass slipped.

The crimson liquid spread, biting into the fabric of her dress before dripping to the floor. The glass shattered, scattering into fragments that glittered like tiny black crystals under the light.

A sharp silence swept through the table, cut only by a breath. Yarin stood up at once and approached, her expression quickly overtaken by concern.

_ “Are you all right?” Yarin asked softly.

_ “You seem nervous. Come with me—I’ll help you with your dress.”

From his chair, Stefano’s gaze lifted—sharp, assessing, cold. Seline felt panic close in around her chest. She feared his wrath for drawing attention, for breaking the perfect scene he valued so much. Each step toward the washroom felt like a trial.

In the bathroom, the scent of soap and steam wrapped around her like a veil. Yarin brought a new dress—one she had quietly asked a maid to fetch in advance—a gesture meant to protect without revealing her suspicions. As Yarin helped dry the wine from Seline’s skin and adjust the new fabric over her body, her voice dropped to a near-maternal whisper.

_ “Is something happening? Is my brother hurting you?”

The question struck straight at her heart. Seline felt all the words she could say tighten into a fragile thread. Her mind raced with dreadful possibilities—if she said the wrong thing, if she was discovered, Stefano could punish her. He could demand more. He could, at worst, take her life. The thought slid coldly down her throat.

She met Yarin’s clear green eyes, and for a moment, all the protection she had never known condensed into a silent plea. It wasn’t just a look—it was a cry for help.

The shimmer in her eyes begged for something words could not express: help, care, salvation.

Yarin leaned in, placing her hand over Seline’s for a second—a small gesture, yet filled with human warmth. Little, perhaps, to save a life; yet enough to ignite hope. For one brief moment, Seline felt there might be a way out—beyond orders, beyond the silken prison she was trapped in.

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