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I close my eyes to suppress the tears gathering in them. I've been looking forward to tonight. And he knows it. God damn him. He knows it.Why didn't he call you sooner to let you know? A faint voice in me accuses.

I feel a squeeze of my hand in commiseration. Maggie. She gets it.

"Look, I know you've been looking forward to this ball. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I don't see how he can possibly make up for missing a ball. This is not like missing a movie at the theater. Not something we cando tomorrow. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Pete exhales into the silence, "I know this is not what you wanted, but why don't you go by yourself? Who knows, maybe I can come by later?"

By myself? To a ball? Is he being serious?He's challenging you. The voice whispers again.He doesn't think you'll do it. Where did that thought come from?

Maggie squeezes my hand once more, and I open my eyes.Yes. Go. She tells me with an eager nod, pointing at the dress.

"By myself?" I hear myself say.

Strangely, saying it out loud doesn't make it seem so outlandish a suggestion. It is a masked ball. Nobody will recognize me—not that anybody would know me anyway. From what I've read, it's a highly sought-after, invitation-only, high society thing that happens once a year. And yes, every year there is a lottery for one lucky winner.

I pull my lower lip between my teeth and chew on it until Maggie swipes at me, shaking her head and tsking, holding up a lipstick, the same one she just applied moments ago.

"I promise I'll try to make it later. I'll rush home and get the suit, okay? This meeting shouldn't take more than a couple of hours." Pete assures me.

I sigh. I am disappointed, but at least I'll be going. Right?

"I don't know." Nervously, I look from the phone to Maggie, who nods wildly, moving her hand in encouragement.

Going alone to a ball? That's not me. I consider staying in. Taking the dress off and forgetting the ridiculous idea that I could pretend to be someone I'm not. I could watch a movie until Pete comes home. Surprise him. See the look of happiness on his face that I waited for him.

But then reality kicks in. Sure, Pete would be happy.Oh, hon, you're great. Hey, I'm beat, can you make me a sandwich?He'd lie in bed with his laptop and, yes, eat the sandwich I'd inevitably make for him. And I?

Where would I be?

Standing in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, wondering why the hell I'm not at a ball.

Nervous energy floods me. Years ago, this wouldn't have daunted me at all. I'm the girl who stole an MC boss's motorcycle to get his attention and took it for a joyride. I can walk into a ball filled with high society people and pretend I belong.

A small flutter moves through me. Excitement. Just like I felt when the SWAT team burst into the party. I feel my skin tingle with the thought of going. Even alone.Especially alone. Why the hell not?

"Fine," I huff out. "But you owe me."

"Don't I know it?" There's so much relief in his voice, it makes me nearly forgive him. Nearly.

Because the truth of the matter is that we have a problem. A big one. The things that have worked for us for the past six years aren't working for me any longer. Pete is going to have to meet me halfway if this marriage is going to work long-term. I startle. Where did that thought come from? When did I start thinking of our marriage as not long-term?

"Oh, Audra. I'm so sorry, but you'll have fun," Maggie's excited voice rips me back. Makes me realize that Pete and I hung up without me having any recollection of saying goodbye.

Twenty minutes later, I feel like a princess. The dress fits perfectly; the midnight-blue silk falls around me like water. The fabric moves when I breathe, catching the light in soft waves that make it look almost alive. For a moment, I just stand in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman looking back. My hair falls in loose copper curls over my shoulders. The makeup Maggie helped me with is soft but dramatic enough to make my eyes glow.

I look… different. Like someone who belongs in a ballroom. Not a vet assistant from a tiny house on a quiet street.

"Hold still," Maggie demands, snapping pictures. "Pete is so going to regret this."

I hear a whoosh and grin when I realize she just sent him the picture of me. "The mask!" Maggie reminds me, darting into the bathroom where I left it, and returns holding the elegant box. "Can't go to a masquerade without this."

My mask is made from the same midnight blue as the dress, edged with delicate silver filigree that curls like frost across the surface. Tiny crystals catch the light, scattering little sparks across the room. It's beautiful. Almost regal. I lift it slowly and tie it behind my head. The moment it settles into place, something shifts. Not physically. Internally. Like slipping into a different version of myself. The woman in the mirror looks mysterious. Confident. Untouchable.

For a second, I don't feel like Audra Hale from the small house down the street. I feel like someone else. Someone bold. Someone dangerous. Someone—and there is that word again—more.

The mask, the dress, it all feels like it's leading me toward something new. Or maybe not new. Maybe something I've been circling ever since the arrest. Ever since the moment that everything cracked, the moment I realized how small my life had become. How carefully contained. How much of myself I had packed away just to keep it that way.