While Mason and Eve claimed their spot on the dance floor, Olivia dragged what remained of her dignity toward the restroom. The walls of the Drake seemed to close in, each step on Italian marble echoing her downfall. No escape route tonight – not with Ethan locked into this circus of a party. Her only refuge? The powder room, where at least she could fall apart in private.She stumbled inside, her dress snagging the door like some bargain basement knockoff. Cold marble bit into her palms as she gripped the counter, staring at her reflection through tears that turned five grand worth of makeup into abstract art."Pull yourself together," she hissed, voice raw. "You're Olivia fucking Parker. You don't break. You break others."But the mirror wasn't buying her tough act. Designer dress, couture makeup, social media throne – all of it crashing harder than her her father's career. Fresh tears carved new paths down her cheeks, and this time she didn't fight them.The bathroom door creaked.

The orchestra's music washed over the ballroom like memories turned liquid. Eve pressed closer to Mason, her breath warm against his collar. The champagne and caviar crowd faded to background noise, leaving just the two of them spinning through moments stolen from fate itself."Ya know what's funny about dancing?" Eve drawled, her fingers tracing patterns on Mason's shoulder. "Gets a girl thinking about the old days."Mason's grip tightened on her waist, protective and possessive all at once. "That so, doll?""Mmhmm." Eve's eyes went distant, seeing past the glittering chandeliers to a concrete garden years ago. "Got me remembering this kid I knew back in the joint - St. Catherine's. Funny thing about them orphanage dumps," her voice carried whiskey-smooth over the music. "Sometimes you strike gold in all that garbage."Mason's heart stopped, then stuttered back to life. But his feet kept moving, muscle memory carrying them through the waltz. "Tell me more.""Had this sweet kid there.

She studied him through hooded eyes. Vincent Romano - self-made billionaire, corporate shark, the man who'd whispered poison in Thomas's ear about bloodlines and legacy. The same man who'd nearly succeeded in destroying her marriage when no male heir appeared after Charlotte."Thinking about masks," Helena's voice carried cut crystal edges. "And the men who wear them.""No masks tonight." Vincent's thumb traced dangerous patterns on her waist. "Just truth.""Truth?" Helena's laugh could've frozen champagne. "From the man who tried to convince my husband I was barren? Who suggested Thai surrogates and discrete divorce lawyers?"Vincent had the grace to flinch. "Ancient history.""Nothing's ancient in Chicago." Helena's nails dug into his shoulder. "Power has a long memory.""Then let me make new memories." Vincent pulled her closer, cologne wrapping around them like expensive sin. "Let me prove my worth.""Worth?" Helena's smile could gut a banker. "And what exactly do you think you're

The spotlight found Mason like an old friend as he approached the podium. Three hundred of Chicago's finest waited in pristine silence, their expectations heavy as Lake Michigan storm clouds.He adjusted his tie and let his eyes sweep the crowd. Petrov, hunched over his cane, eyes sharp as winter steel. The Calabrese twins lounged like mirror-image panthers. Tommy Chen's tattooed dragons writhed beneath his collar as he lit another cigarette.And there, in the back, Helena King - the woman who'd claimed him today as her son. She watched from the shadows, her gaze dissecting him layer by layer."Ladies and gentlemen." Mason's voice carried quiet authority. "Thanks for sticking around this late."The words felt strange in his mouth - too polished, too proper. This wasn't his world. He belonged in construction sites and back alleys, not addressing society's cream in the Drake Hotel's grand ballroom.But Eve's eyes found his from the crowd, carrying that mix of challenge and faith that ma

"Family." Mason's speech continued. "Funny thing about family. Sometimes it finds you when you least expect it."His eyes found Charlotte in the crowd, her perfectly mascaraed gaze sparkling with that particular mix of mischief and pride that made her dangerous as nitro in July."My sister Charlotte." Mason's smile carried genuine warmth. "Girl's got more sass than Michigan Avenue's got attitude. And twice the style."Charlotte's laugh sparkled like shattered champagne flutes. "Ain't that the truth, brother dear?""Then there's my mother." Mason's gaze shifted to Helena, carrying enough weight to sink Lake Michigan. "Woman who could make God himself check his manners. Taught me everything about power." His laugh carried street steel. "Including how to take it."Helena's perfect lips curved into something that might've been pride, if pride came armed with nuclear codes. Around her, Chicago's elite shifted like pigeons spotting a hawk."But family?" Mason spread his arms like a tent rev