Novelas de Midnight blues

El reloj de la oficina de Dylan marcaba las 11:47 p. m.La mansión había caído en un silencio absoluto. Solo el repiqueteo ocasional de la lluvia contra los altos ventanales rompía la quietud.Praise se encontraba de pie junto al gran escritorio de caoba, ordenando con cuidado el último montón de documentos. Sus dedos se movían con precisión experta, pero su mente estaba muy lejos de allí.Dylan llevaba horas trabajando sin descanso. Su chaqueta reposaba tirada sobre el respaldo de la silla, y las mangas de su camisa negra estaban remangadas hasta los codos, dejando al descubierto sus antebrazos fuertes y marcados por venas. Incluso agotado, Dylan Loperse irradiaba poder: un poder silencioso, controlado e imposible de ignorar.Praise había pasado las últimas tres horas intentando no mirarlo. Y había fracasado estrepitosamente.—Estás mirando —dijo Dylan, sin apartar los ojos del contrato que tenía delante.—No es verdad —respondió Praise con calma.El bolígrafo de Dylan se detuvo. Len

Praise Renard estaba despierto mucho antes del amanecer.El reloj digital sobre su mesita de noche marcaba las 5:12 a. m. Apenas había dormido. Cada vez que cerraba los ojos, los mismos recuerdos regresaban con fuerza: unos ojos grises y fríos, una expresión indescifrable y una voz calmada que había desmantelado su mundo entero con solo tres palabras devastadoras.«Estás despedido».Praise miró fijamente el techo, respirando con lentitud. Habían pasado siete meses desde que Vanel Lense había sido borrado de la existencia, pero aquellas palabras aún resonaban con la misma crudeza que aquella noche humillante bajo las luces brillantes.Se incorporó y susurró a la habitación vacía: —Hoy no. Hoy no tenía que ver con el pasado. Hoy marcaba el verdadero comienzo de su venganza.A las seis y media, la mansión ya despertaba con silenciosa eficiencia. El aroma del pan fresco salía del horno, los granos de café se molían a mano y el aire se llenaba con el rico perfume de la mantequilla y el

El sedán de lujo negro se deslizó sin ruido a través de las imponentes puertas de hierro forjado. Su exterior pulido reflejaba los tonos dorados del sol que se ponía. Praise Renard viajaba en el asiento trasero con una postura impecable, las manos enguantadas descansando con calma sobre sus rodillas. Para cualquiera que lo observara, parecía sereno y profesional, exactamente como debía lucir un mayordomo personal.Solo él conocía la verdad.Bajo el uniforme impecable y la identidad meticulosamente construida, su corazón latía con tanta fuerza que parecía a punto de romperle las costillas.Las puertas se cerraron detrás del vehículo con un pesado gemido metálico. El sonido resonó en sus oídos; se sentía menos como la entrada a una mansión y más como el cierre de una prisión. Ya no había vuelta atrás.El largo camino de entrada se extendía ante ellos, serpenteando entre acres de jardines perfectamente cuidados. Praise lo observaba todo a través de la ventanilla tintada, grabando cada de

La luz de la mañana se filtraba a través de los ventanales que iban del suelo al techo de la suite privada de recuperación, proyectando sombras nítidas por toda la habitación.Habían pasado ya dos semanas desde la cirugía, y el hombre que miraba desde el espejo ya no era Vanel Lense. Vestía una camisa blanca impecable, bien metida en unos pantalones negros. Su postura era más erguida que antes, sus hombros más anchos y sus movimientos, más controlados y precisos.Sin embargo, el rostro desconocido que le devolvía la mirada seguía sintiéndose como el de un completo extraño.Praise levantó lentamente una mano y recorrió con los dedos la línea afilada de su mandíbula. Solo sus ojos permanecían iguales: gris-azulados, atormentados y ardiendo con una furia contenida. No había cicatrices ni rastro alguno del hombre que casi se ahogó en aquel río. El rostro que alguna vez suplicó la aprobación de Dylan Loperse había desaparecido por completo.Ahora pertenecía a alguien mucho más peligroso.U

La lluvia azotaba el taxi destrozado como balas. El metal chilló cuando el vehículo dio una vuelta, luego otra, antes de estrellarse con violencia contra la barandilla. Por un latido suspendido en el tiempo, todo se quedó quieto. Después, la barrera cedió.El taxi se precipitó hacia el río crecido.El cuerpo de Vanel se estrelló contra el asiento al momento del impacto, que le arrancó todo el aire de los pulmones. Un dolor explosivo le atravesó las costillas y un zumbido violento le llenó los oídos. Antes de que pudiera recuperarse, el agua helada irrumpió por las ventanillas destrozadas y engulló el vehículo en cuestión de segundos.—No... —Su voz tembló mientras forcejeaba contra los restos retorcidos. Tenía la pierna derecha atrapada bajo el tablero aplastado. Tiró con todas sus fuerzas, pero el metal no cedió.La puerta no se abría. Una y otra vez lo intentó, sin éxito. El agua helada subió desde su cintura hasta su pecho. Cada segundo le robaba un aliento más, una onza más de esp

El reflector ardía como un juicio implacable.Vanel Lense permanecía inmóvil en el centro de la pasarela, con el corazón martilleándole contra las costillas mientras las cámaras destellaban en una tormenta incesante. Siete años de sangre, sudor y hambre lo habían llevado hasta ese único momento.La selección final para el rostro de Aurelius Luxe.Mantuvo la postura perfecta, barbilla en alto y la sonrisa ensayada firmemente en su lugar. A su alrededor, docenas de modelos de élite esperaban en silencio. Él los había superado a todos durante las pruebas y lo sabía en lo más profundo de sus huesos. Tenía que ser suyo.La enorme pantalla detrás del escenario se iluminó con un solo nombre: DYLAN LOPERSE, CEO de Aurelius Luxe.El brillante pero despiadado CEO de veintinueve años que había construido un imperio sobre hielo y un gusto impecable. Nunca había sonreído en público.El público estalló en aplausos cuando Dylan entró. Se veía alto e imponente con su traje negro a medida, cuyos gemel

The clock on Dylan’s office wall read 11:47 P.M.The mansion had fallen completely silent. Only the occasional patter of rain against the tall windows broke the quiet.Praise stood near the large mahogany desk, carefully organizing the final stack of documents. His fingers moved with practiced precision, but his mind was elsewhere.Dylan had been working for hours without pause. His jacket lay discarded over the back of his chair, with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong, veined forearms. Even exhausted, Dylan Loperse radiated power, quiet, controlled, and impossible to ignore.Praise had spent the last three hours trying not to stare at him. Yet he kept failing miserably.“You’re staring,” Dylan said, his eyes still fixed on the contract in front of him.“I wasn’t,” Praise calmly replied.Dylan’s pen stopped moving, slowly he lifted his gaze. Those cold gray eyes locked onto him with unnerving intensity. “You were.”“Perhaps you should focus o

Praise Renard was awake long before dawn.The digital clock on his bedside table glowed 5:12 A.M. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, the same memories resurfaced: cold gray eyes, an unreadable expression, and a calm voice that had dismantled his entire world with three devastating words.“You’re fired.”Praise stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly. Seven months had passed since Vanel Lense had been erased from existence. Yet those words still echoed as sharply as they had on that humiliating night under the bright lights.He sat up and whispered to the empty room, “Not today.” Today was not about the past but rather marked the true beginning of his revenge.By six-thirty, the mansion was already stirring with quiet efficiency. The aroma of fresh bread emerged from the oven, coffee beans were ground by hand, coupled by the rich aroma of butter and roasted coffee filled the air.“You really are an early riser.” Nora looked up as Praise entered and smiled“I couldn’t s

The black luxury sedan glided soundlessly through the towering wrought-iron gates. Its polished exterior reflected the golden hues of the setting sun. Praise Renard sat in the back seat with an impeccable posture, his gloved hands rested calmly on his knees. To anyone watching, he looked composed, professional—exactly what a personal butler should be.Only he knew the truth.Beneath the crisp uniform and carefully crafted identity, his heart pounded so violently it felt as though it might shatter his ribs.The gates closed behind the car with a heavy metallic groan. The sound echoed in his ears, it felt less like the entrance to an estate and more like the closing of a prison. There was no turning back now.The long driveway stretched ahead, winding through acres of perfectly manicured gardens. Praise observed everything through the tinted window, committing every detail to memory.He memorized everything. From the security camera, to the guard post, the entrance and every possible es

Morning light sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private recovery suite, casting sharp shadows across the room.It had already been two weeks since the surgery and the man in the mirror was no longer Vanel Lense. He wore a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. His posture was straighter than before, his shoulders broader and his movements more restrained.Yet the unfamiliar face staring back at him still felt like a stranger's.Praise slowly lifted a hand, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Only his eyes remained the same: gray-blue, haunted and burning with a quiet fury. There were no scars or trace of the man who had nearly drowned in that river. The face that once begged for Dylan Loperse’s approval was gone.Now it belonged to someone far more dangerous.A knock interrupted his thoughts. “Come in," he ordered. The lead physician entered, carrying a thick leather folder. “You’re recovering faster than expected.” Praise lowered his hand."Physically."

Rain hammered the crushed taxi like bullets. The metal screamed as the car flipped once, twice, before slamming violently into the guardrail. For one suspended heartbeat, everything stood still. Then the barrier gave way.The taxi plunged into the swollen river.Vanel's body slammed against the seat as the impact punched every breath from his lungs. Pain exploded through his ribs, and his ears rang violently. Before he could gather himself, freezing water burst through the shattered windows, swallowing the vehicle within seconds."No..." His voice trembled as he struggled against the twisted wreckage. His right leg was pinned beneath the crumpled dashboard. He pulled with all his strength, but the metal refused to move.The door wouldn't open, over and over again, he tried but nothing. The icy water climbed from his waist to his chest. Every second stole another breath, another ounce of hope."Please..."He wasn't ready.He had sacrificed too much to die like this. His lungs burned and

The spotlight burned like judgment.Vanel Lense stood motionless at the center of the runway, heart hammered against his ribs as the cameras flashed in a relentless storm. Seven years of blood, sweat, and starvation had led to this single moment.The final selection for the face of Aurelius Luxe.He kept his posture perfect, chin high, the practiced smile locked in place. Around him, dozens of elite models waited in silence. He had outshone them all in the trials and he knew it in his bones. This had to be his.The massive screen behind the stage glowed with a single name: DYLAN LOPERSE, CEO of Aurelius LuxeThe twenty-nine-year-old brilliant yet ruthless CEO who had built an empire on ice and impeccable taste. He had never once smiled in public.The audience erupted into applause as Dylan entered. He looked tall and commanding in his black tailored suit, with its silver cufflinks catching the light. His face looked as though it had been carved from a marble and his gray eyes, cold wi

The imperial capital had never looked so deceptively peaceful.The morning sunlight poured across the wide marble streets, warming the cobblestones as merchants opened their colorful stalls and noble carriages rolled leisurely through the bustling avenues.Children chased each other with laughter, street performers played lively tunes, and birds sang from flowering trees lining the boulevards. Everything appeared perfectly ordinary.And no one had realized that, far beneath the city’s glittering surface, the Shadow Crest had just declared war.Yet still, peace inside the Vale Estate, however, had become a forgotten luxury.Every corridor echoed with the rhythmic footsteps of armored knights. Servants moved quickly and quietly, their usual chatter reduced to anxious whispers. Smiles had vanished entirely, even the simple act of breathing too loudly felt like tempting fate.Krystal stood beside the tall library window, staring out at the manicured gardens without really seeing them. He

Darkness.Far beyond the imperial capital, past noble estates and bustling cities, an underground fortress laid buried beneath the ruins of an abandoned monastery. No traveler who valued their life ever ventured there.This was the true heart of the Shadow Crest.Torchlight flickered along the damp stone corridors as hooded figures patrolled in silence. Every wall bore the same chilling emblem: a black serpent coiled around a crescent moon. The air itself tasted of death.Through its massive iron doors, a lone figure staggered, his breath ragged. Blood soaked the left side of his black uniform, leaving a steady trail across the stone floor. He was the only survivor of the last assassin who had escaped the Moonveil Festival.The guards offered no help. They simply stepped aside. “The Council is waiting,” one of them said in a flat voice. The assassin swallowed hard. That frightened him far more than Diago Veydrake ever had.The doors to the council chamber opened with a low groan. The

Silence blanketed the rose garden. No one spoke after the knight uttered Elias’s name. For the first time, the blond omega’s playful demeanor vanished completely. “…Are you certain?” Elias asked, voice quiet. The knight lowered his head. “Yes, Young Master.” He handed the bloodstained parchment to Diago and the alpha slowly unfolded it. Two names were written across the center in dark, deliberate ink: Caspian Vale.Elias Blanchett. And below the name was a single chilling line: One must die and the other must watch.Krystal felt the blood drain from his face. “What kind of lunatic writes something like that?” Diago’s eyes stayed fixed on the paper. “The Shadow Crest.” He folded it with deliberate care and slipped it inside his deep crimson coat. “They’re provoking us.” “Or they’re trying to turn us against each other.” Elias folded his arms.“What do you mean?” Krystal frowned. “If two targets know they’re both being hunted,” Elias explained, “the easiest way to weaken them i

The courtyard remained eerily silent. No one dared approached the body hanging from the estate gates. The morning breeze carried the metallic scent of blood across the Vale Estate as servants clustered several meters away, whispering with pale, drawn faces. Krystal couldn’t look away. The assassin’s lifeless body swayed gently beneath the iron spikes, the wooden sign around his neck creaking with every gust of wind. Traitors die before their masters.The words weren’t meant for the corpse. They were a message for someone still breathing, someone inside these walls. “They’re threatening their own people,” Krystal whispered. “Eliminating loose ends.” He thought but then, the familiar voice made him turn. Diago had arrived. He wore a long deep crimson military coat embroidered with silver dragons. His expression was calm, but his eyes beneath held a storm that could drown empires. Several guards dropped to their knees at once. “My Lord.” They greeted but he just ignored them and

Silence swallowed the festival grounds; nobody moved or spoke. Krystal stood there with the silver pendant clenched tightly in his hand. His fingers trembled, the cold metal felt heavier than it should.Someone inside the Vale Estate had betrayed him. But who? the realization settled like ice inside his chest. The assassin was gone but the damage he'd left behind was far worse. Enemies outside the estate could be fought but those inside were another matter entirely."Interesting." Elias' voice broke the silence; his golden eyes fixed on the pendant. "Someone wanted you to see that."Krystal swallowed involuntarily. "I know." Diago said nothing. His expression unreadable, like a predator moments before deciding who to kill."Diago..." Krystal called. The alpha slowly extended his hand."Give it to me." He spoke. Krystal hesitated for a moment before placing the pendant in his palm. He carefully examined it."How long has this been missing?" his gaze darkened. Krystal stiffened."A few

"The Young Master..." The guard instantly collapsed to his knees; his uniform soaked in blood. And his entire body trembled violently. For a moment, nobody moved or breathKrystal's heart dropped straight into his stomach. “What about Diago?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. The guard swallowed hard."T-The assassins..." His voice cracked. "They're dead." The entire grounds were engulfed in silence that even the wind seemed to stop. Elias' expression didn't change, but Krystal noticed the slight tightening of his jaw.Dead? All of them? Krystal thought to himself. "How many?" Elias calmly asked.The guard looked pale. “There were twelve.” A chill crawled down Krystal's spine. Twelve? The original manhwa mentioned only three attackers, three, not twelve. Krystal panicked, his blood ran cold. The story had changed again."No survivors?" Elias asked.The guard shook his head. “None." The festival grounds erupted into nervous whispers. Several nobles nearby gasped and one nobl