The Billionaire's Masked Obsession

LUCIAN

I sat frozen in that chair, jaw tight while she sashayed away from me like she hadn’t just set my entire nervous system on fire.

Outwardly, I maintained my usual blank expression but inside, my teeth were practically grinding themselves into dust. My hand still gripped the glass she’d snatched and emptied with so much damn attitude and it was only now I realized how close I’d come to shattering it in my palm.

I could feel them all watching me —Matt, the other guys, even the waitstaff pretending not to stare. But it was Matt’s stare that burned, his curiosity practically vibrating off him.

I didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction, but when I heard someone whisper, “Yo, what the hell just happened?” like we were in a live broadcast of some dramatic scandal.

I finally turned my head to Matt. “Spit it out.”

He opened his mouth then shut it. Tried again. Failed. His arms flailed in an awkward gesture like he was trying to physically grab hold of an explanation. “Did you… did she just… like—on your lap?” He blurted.

Around us, the other men were whispering like we were in the middle of a goddamn gender reveal. Except instead of pink or blue, the big question was whether I’d just been publicly humiliated… or seduced.

“She…she just—bro, what kind of Twilight Zone—?”

I set the now-empty glass back on the table and stood up, ignoring the way my pulse thundered in my ears.

“I’m heading out,” I muttered.

Matt blinked. “Wait, what? We just got here.”

“And you’re free to stay,” I said, already moving past him. “Have fun. Send my regards to Ally.”

“Lucian, come on, what the hell just—”

I didn’t let him finish.

I needed air. I needed silence.

And I needed to forget how badly I wanted to drag her back and demand to know what game she was playing.

But I knew I wouldn’t.

Because she was already too deep in my head.

And that terrified me more than I’d ever admit.

I was already walking away, not wanting to stay in this goddamn space for another second. I pulled out my phone and shot George a text.

Me: Bring the car around.

The cool night air barely dented the heat simmering beneath my skin. I’d almost reached the main floor when I stopped.

The bouncer from earlier still stood at his post—arms crossed, towering, relaxed. I didn’t know what compelled me to turn back.

That was a lie. I knew.

I walked up to him, tugging my wallet from my coat.

“Something wrong, sir?”

I retrieved a check. Five digits, clean. I handed it over.

“Get this to the masked dancer.”

He whistled low at the amount. “Damn. Lux?” His lips curled into a grin. “She’s fire, ain’t she? Man, every guy in that room would sell their soul to get a taste. She’s so fucking unreal.”

I didn’t respond.

He chuckled, still talking. “Heard she doesn’t do extras though. Tease like that, and no follow-through? Shame. You’d think with that kind of body—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

My fists tightened as a surge of protectiveness wash over me.

The smile vanished.

I took a step forward and he backed away. Fucking spineless bastard.

His throat bobbed. “I—I was just—”

“Yeah?” My stare was lethal.

He tried to recover. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean any disrespect. Was just talkin’. Didn’t realize she was…yours.”

I held his gaze. I never said she was mine. But I didn’t correct him either.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… should I tell her who it’s from?”

“No.” I stepped back. “Anonymity is a thing.”

Without another word, I turned and walked out into the cold night where George had just pulled up to the curb. The doors opened smoothly.

“Everything alright, sir?” He asked.

I didn’t answer as I got in and slammed the door shut.

Mine.

What the fuck was I doing, trying to stake a claim on a mere stripper?

“Sir,”

I scowled, not having the slightest bit of patience left. “Just drive.”

No more words were exchanged as George pulled away from the curb, weaving into the near-empty street.

I leaned back against the leather and shut my eyes, foolishly hoping for a moment of peace.

But peace never came.

All I could see was red leather hugging curves in a way that made my jaw clench. Red lips, parted just slightly as she lip-synced to lyrics I didn’t recognize but suddenly wanted to memorize. Her scent —fuck, her scent— still clung to my shirt like sweet smoke laced with something so dangerous and addictive.

And those eyes.

Hazel. Yes—but brighter and sharper, almost golden under the dim lights, like they held secrets no one else could touch. Damn those eyes. The way they had locked with mine, daring me, challenging me, trying to read me as much as I was reading her. I’d been one breath away from tearing that mask off.

I could have pushed her off.

Should have.

Women like her? I had no tolerance for them. The ones who used their bodies to gain an edge, to distract, to manipulate.

But she wasn’t like that.

When she was on stage with that lanky guy, I couldn’t get a good look at her face although her body language was glaringly clear enough. She wasn’t performing for the crowd, she was enduring them. The way she moved was skilled, sure. Trained, even. But she wasn’t flirting with the audience like the others did. She scanned the room like she hated every man in it. Like each one was another wolf waiting for permission.

The moment she walked toward me, I noticed how carefully she avoided eye contact with the rest of the men. How she slightly flinched when someone reached too far in her direction. Her steps faltered, but just for a second and then she kept going like she was walking into a war zone.

And when she got to me? It was as clear as day.

Behind the seductive front, behind the boldness and showmanship was fear. And underneath that? A strange kind of resolve. It was like she had something to prove… or something to lose.

One look around the room told me this wasn’t something she did often. Whispers rose the second she stepped off the stage, threading through the VIP section like wildfire. This wasn’t part of the show.

Every movement as she sensually touched her body suggested intimacy, but when her hands neared me, she pulled back.

Then there was the way she straddled me.

Her knees dug into the velvet on either side of my thighs, but her body never settled. Most of her weight balanced on the balls of her feet and her own core, so controlled it almost felt… respectful. Like she was giving the illusion of power without surrendering anything. It was like she was on stage, and I was just the prop.

But why?

Why the hell did she choose me?

I pulled at my hair in frustration.

She felt familiar. In the angle of her jaw. The twitch of her mouth. The way she narrowed her eyes.

It felt like a memory just out of reach.

Déjà vu.

A sudden pang of guilt tore through me.

What the hell am I doing?

I had two kids waiting at home. Lena’s memorial is just around the corner. I should be thinking about her, honoring her, not being haunted by another woman’s body and eyes that slipped past defenses I’d fortified for years.

I hadn’t looked at anyone like that in three years.

So why her?

What is it about her that claws at something I thought was long buried?

I dragged a hand down my face as if that would somehow erase the memory. I need to pull myself together. Fast. But the only problem now is the fact I have no idea how to purge her out of my head.

“I’m so fucked…”