Who Is This Woman

The night of the masked party came. Isabelle wore a modern shade of grey, elegant in its simplicity. It cascaded to the floor, the soft fabric catching the light in a way that made it shimmer with a quiet grace.

 The bodice hugged her figure, its smooth lines creating a perfect contrast to the flowing skirt that gently swayed with each step she took. The long sleeves were delicate, whispering of refinement, and the neckline, modest yet graceful, framed her face with understated sophistication.

She walked down the spiral staircase, her hand brushing lightly against the railing and sees that Logan was waiting for her.

His white hair was neatly combed back, highlighting his sharp jawline and prominent Adam's apple. He wore a sleek grey suit tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. His outfit did little to conceal his well-defined muscles. A dark tie complemented the crisp white shirt beneath, and his polished black shoes reflected the elegance of the room around him.

Logan's piercing gray eyes lifted as he heard her approach, his expression shifting from calm to something warmer, almost admiring. His posture was relaxed but poised, exuding confidence and charm.

"You look stunning," he said, his deep voice carrying just enough reverence to make her cheeks flush slightly.

"You look... deliciously stunning," she replied before immediately realizing her choice of words. Embarrassment flooded her as she internally cringed.

Why on earth did I say that? Did I just imply he looks good enough to eat? I officially have no charm.

He chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement as a warm smile spread across his face. "Coming from you, I'll take that as the highest compliment.

They stood for a moment in silence, the atmosphere charged with an unspoken tension that neither was willing to break. Then, with a slight bow, Logan extended his hand toward her. "Shall we?"

She placed her hand in his, and together they left the house. Once inside the car, Logan retrieved two elegantly crafted masks, offering one to her. The mask, by a fortunate coincidence, perfectly complemented her dress, its delicate design matching her elegance.

When they arrived at the venue for the masked party, the doorman opened the car door. Isabelle was immediately met with a flurry of flashing cameras, the paparazzi's relentless bursts of light momentarily blinding her.

Logan gently took her hand, guiding her gracefully out of the car. Together, they strode down the red carpet, an image of sophistication and allure that left the paparazzi buzzing with excitement. 

"That's Logan!" someone exclaimed. 

"Seriously? Logan's here with a woman?" 

"This is a rare sight!" 

"Get as many shots as you can—we need to find out who she is!" 

The camera shutters clicked furiously, capturing the couple from every angle. Logan remained composed, his presence commanding, while Isabelle maintained her poise despite the whirlwind of attention. 

Once they stepped inside, Isabelle felt a wave of relief wash over her, the chaos of the cameras left behind. 

The party's grandeur was breathtaking. Guests in ornate masks mingled effortlessly, their conversations a soft murmur beneath the gentle music. To one side, a stunning display of champagne glasses formed a cascading fountain, while waiters moved elegantly through the crowd, offering decadent desserts to the attendees. The atmosphere was refined, every detail radiating luxury.

As they entered, all eyes instantly turned toward them, followed by hushed whispers. 

"That couple looks incredible together." 

"Yeah, the man seems familiar." 

"Oh my God, it's Logan!" 

"Logan actually showed up at a party with a woman?" 

"She must be one lucky woman. How did she manage that?" 

"Who is she? I've never seen her before." 

Behind the masks, some women wore expressions of admiration, while others hid envy and jealousy. It was no secret that Logan was notoriously private, never seen at events with a woman. Countless admirers had tried—and failed—to capture his attention, let alone hold a conversation with him. 

Isabelle could feel the weight of their gazes on her, their curiosity palpable, but she remained calm and composed. She knew how to navigate this world. After all, she had attended more than a few high-society gatherings during her time as Ruby.

Several men approached Logan to offer their greetings, but none of them had the nerve to ask the obvious question.

Logan greeted the men with a polite nod and minimal conversation. His demeanor was cordial yet distant, a clear signal that he wasn't in the mood for idle chatter. Isabelle, standing by his side, observed it all with a serene expression, her presence amplifying the unspoken curiosity in the room.

"Excuse us," Logan said smoothly, placing a possessive yet gentle hand on Isabelle's lower back as he guided her toward the bar. The simple gesture was enough to ignite a fresh wave of whispers and speculative glances.

Isabelle leaned slightly toward him once they were out of immediate earshot. "Do you always cause this much of a stir?" she asked, her voice light but edged with curiosity.

Logan smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Not usually. But then again, I don't usually bring someone worth staring at."

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment.

A man approached Logan and whispered something in his ear, causing a brief but unmistakable spark in Logan's eyes. 

"Something's come up, and I need to check it out. Will you be alright on your own?" he asked. 

"Of course," Isabelle replied, her voice steady. 

She watched as Logan and the stranger faded into the crowd. 

"Quite an impressive figure, isn't he?" 

Isabelle turned to find a man in a sharp navy suit standing beside her. His presence was commanding, and his voice was smooth, almost effortlessly calm. She met his gaze, noticing the subtle sharpness in his hazel eyes, as if he was sizing her up without saying a word.

"Yes, he is," Isabelle replied politely, her expression neutral. She wasn't in the mood for small talk, but the man's demeanor suggested he wasn't one to be easily brushed off.

The man extended a hand. "Fred Grayson," he introduced himself with a faint smile. "And you must be the talk of the evening."

"How so?" Isabelle asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Mr. Logan has never attended an event with a woman," Fred replied casually.

"There's a first time for everything," Isabelle said with a shrug.

Fred chuckled at her statement.

"Not in the case for Logan. I am curious to know your kind of relationship with him. It can't be just mere acquaintanceship," Fred said with a sly grin, his tone laced with curiosity. He leaned slightly closer, his interest apparent. "Logan doesn't do 'casual.' Not in business, and certainly not in his personal life."

Isabelle maintained her composure, her expression unreadable. "And why would my relationship with Logan concern you?

"Concern might be the wrong word. Call it professional curiosity. Logan and I run in similar circles, and it's always fascinating when he does something… uncharacteristic."

Isabelle tilted her head, her tone sharp but polite. "Perhaps it's not for you to understand, Mr. Grayson."

Fred laughed softly, clearly entertained. "Touché"

"Well, it seems you've mastered the art of mystery as well as Logan himself." He studied her for a moment before taking a sip of his drink. "But be careful. Being with Logan—whether as an ally or something more—always comes with... complications."

Isabelle's lips curled into a faint smile, though her eyes held a glint of steel. "Complications don't scare me."

Fred raised a brow, impressed. "I see why Logan brought you. Enjoy the evening. We will meet again" He gave a sly grin and left her presence.

Isabelle felt that there was a hidden meaning behind his sentence but she didn't dwell on it.

She remembered that Harley was supposed to be at the party, so she made her way through the crowd, determined to find her. Ignoring the lingering stares, Isabelle's gaze drifted to the far side of the room. There, she spotted a woman being escorted by two men. The masks obscured their faces, but something about the situation made Isabelle's stomach tighten with unease. A bad feeling settled in her gut.

Isabelle's breath hitched as she watched the woman being ushered toward the stairs, her resistance subtle but noticeable in her stiff movements. Something about the scene felt off—too discreet. She scanned the room, expecting someone to react, but the party carried on as if nothing unusual was happening.

Her gaze darted to the crowd, hoping to catch sight of Logan, but he was still nowhere to be seen. The nagging feeling in her chest grew stronger. Isabelle instincts urged her to follow.

Casually weaving through the clusters of people, she made her way up the stairs. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor, her expression composed despite the unease bubbling inside.

She leaned against the wall, peering through. Her eyes followed the men as they escorted the woman into a room. Minutes ticked by, but they didn't emerge. Isabelle's intuition screamed at her, a sinking feeling settling in her chest. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

She knew she couldn't handle this alone, but she couldn't stand idly by, either. Just as she pressed the call button, a sudden scream echoed from the room, sending a jolt of panic through her. When silence followed, her heart raced. She couldn't just wait.

What am I doing?

Her hand shook as she approached the door. It was slightly ajar. Her instincts took over, and she slipped off one of her heels, holding it like a makeshift weapon for protection. Stepping carefully inside, she was met with an eerie quiet. There was no sign of life.

As she moved forward, her foot hit something cold and slick. The sticky substance beneath her made her pause. She shined her phone's flashlight, her breath catching in her throat when she saw what lay before her.

A man was sprawled on the floor, his body contorted unnaturally. A pool of blood surrounded him, and the gruesome sight nearly made her drop her phone.

Before she could scream, a hand shot out from behind her, clamping over her mouth.

"If you make a sound, I'll kill you right here," a low voice growled in her ear.