?Chapter 915:


    “Whatever helps you find sleep at night,” Christina replied, a soft chucklecing her words.


    Lorraine’s fury robbed her of speech. A surge of anger shot through her, and she lifted her hand slightly, ready to p Christina across the face. Just then, the sharp chime of a broadcast announcement cut through the tension, halting her mid-motion.


    “Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin with a little game,” the voice over the speakers dered, smooth and inviting. “Eachdy present may choose a mask from the waiter’s tray and invite any gentleman she wishes to dance with.”


    At once, a spark of calction lit Lorraine’s eyes, as if a n had just fallen into herp. “Do you dare pit yourself against me?” she asked Christina, her smile steeped in confidence.<fn4f7b> Chapters first released on f?i?n?d?n?o?v?e?l?</fn4f7b>


    Christina arched an eyebrow without even turning her head. “And what exactly would we bepeting in?”


    “You will invite Mr. Scott to dance,” Lorraine replied. “If he turns you down, you must leave the banquet immediately. But if he epts, I’ll be the one to leave.”


    Inwardly, Lorraine was smirking. She had secured the safer, passive seat of this wager, while Christina would have to risk walking alone into the jaws of public humiliation.


    Given Dn’s cool, untouchable air, Lorraine believed there wasn’t the faintest chance Christina could win. Until now, not a single woman had coaxed Dn onto the dance floor; every attempt had met with polite dismissal. Even Vickie—practically raised by the Scott family—had failed. To this day, no one had ever seen Dn dance with anyone.


    “No,” Christina answered, her lips curving faintly, “not unless youe with me. Whoever seeds wins. But if neither of us manages it, I’ll admit defeat.”


    Lorraine hesitated, the thought of joining Christina clearly distasteful. Yet, if she refused, Christina wouldn’t agree to the challenge. After a brief inner debate, she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But we both wear masks.”


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    Lorraine had not suggested masks earlier because she expected the shame of rejection to fall solely on Christina. But if she herself had to step forward, a mask became an essential shield against ridicule. Behind such a disguise, she could retreat into anonymity if things went awry.


    “Agreed,” Christina replied without a second’s pause.


    Lorraine’s lips tilted upward in quiet satisfaction. In her mind, Christina was walking straight into humiliation. If both of them failed, Christina would lose outright. She was convinced she had this bet in the bag.


    Christina reached for a clown mask from the waiter’s tray and slipped it on. Strangely, instead of giving her a grotesque look, the mask cloaked her in a hint of mystery, stirring curiosity about the face it concealed.


    Lorraine selected a silver mask dusted with sparkling jewels and delicate butterfly wings, perfectly paired with her elegant evening gown. Yet, side by side with Christina in that peculiar clown mask, Lorraine found her own radiance dimming, as if the eye could not help but be drawn to her rival.


    While Lorraine scanned the crowd for Dn, a stir rippled through the guests nearby. And then she saw him—tall, striking, every line of his face pulling eyes toward him as if by gravity.


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