The first slap echoes like a gunshot. My cheek burns, but I don’t flinch. I came here to disappear—to be someone else, even for one night. The mask hides my tears, but not the pulse racing in my throat.\n\n"You will speak when permitted," he commands, voice low, gloved hand tilting my chin up. Master. Even his shadow feels heavy. I nod, breath shallow. This is what I wanted: control stripped away, no expectations, no humiliation from some arrogant CEO who didn’t even remember my name.\n\nThen he leans down, and the scent hits me—bergamot and smoke. A fragrance I’ve smelled every Monday in the executive elevator. My stomach drops. No. It can’t be.\n\nHe traces my collarbone, unaware. "You’re trembling."\n\nI want to pull away. I want to scream. I want to beg him to keep going.\n\nWho am I supposed to fear more—the man behind the mask, or the truth I can’t outrun?