Carlos finishes up with business and invites Isabella to the party

Carlos clapped his hands together, his usual air of playful arrogance returning. “I know you are eager to discuss about your father's... accounts, but lets move on to the fun part first, shall we? You’re far too radiant to spend the night brooding over money.” He rose from his seat, his movements fluid and unhurried. “Come,” he said, extending a hand toward her. “Join me with my friends in the other room. I think you’ll find the company most... enlightening.”

Isabella hesitated, her instincts telling her to refuse. But she was under his roof, and she couldn’t afford to seem aloof or ungracious. Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her toward the source of the laughter and music she had heard earlier.

As they approached, the ambiance shifted. The room they were about to enter was a grand salon, its high ceilings and gilded accents lending it an air of decadent luxury. But what struck Isabella most was the guests. Each one wore a mask—intricate, ornate, and clearly custom-designed. Feathers, gemstones, and fine metals adorned the disguises, yet there was no mistaking who they were. These were part of Montesoro’s elites: the oligarchs, tycoons, and powerbrokers who thrived under her father’s rule. More accurately, judging from their young voices and trendy clothes, these were the heirs and scions, the children and protégés, the next generation of the country's ruling class.

Carlos motioned to a servant, who approached carrying a tray. “For our honored guest,” he said theatrically, plucking a mask from the tray and holding it out to her. It was breathtaking—a jade serpentine mask, its scales carved with such precision that it seemed to glimmer under the soft lighting. The serpent’s eyes were cut out, the holes surrounded by carefully inlaid rubies that sparkled with an inner fire, giving it an almost lifelike menace. “A recent acquisition,” Carlos said, his grin broadening. “From a Mayan tomb in Mexico. Nearly two thousand years old. It had belonged to a king once, though I doubt he will miss it. I thought it fitting for someone as timeless as yourself.”

Isabella took the mask, her fingers brushing over the cool, smooth jade. She **** a smile, slipping it over her face and securing it with the silk ribbons. The weight of it was oddly reassuring, a barrier between her and the crowd. Carlos stepped back to admire her. “Magnificent,” he said, his tone dripping with admiration. “You wear it well. The serpent queen, we shall call you. Come, join the others. Let us see how they react to your arrival. I am dying to know the effect you have on them, though they will not know your true identity. You should enjoy the experience, especially with your current position of power. Anonymity is a gift wasted on the unremarkable."

Carlos leaned in, a conspiratorial grin on his face.

"And if they bore you, we can retire to a more... private location and finish our discussions there."

Carlos put on his own mask, one that resembled a golden lion, its craftsmanship so meticulous that the flowing mane seemed alive in the flickering light of the chandeliers. Tiny diamonds encrusted the lion’s forehead, forming a subtle pattern that resembled a crown—an unsubtle nod to his self-perceived status as the lking of the herd. It suited him perfectly, matching the casual arrogance in his posture and the confident ease with which he moved through the crowd. Even behind the mask, there was no mistaking his identity; though Isabella doubted he would want it to.