Lahat ng Kabanata ng Beneath The Mask: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Ghost POVThe sound of my door slamming open jolts me awake. My father’s voice booms through the room like thunder, sharp and commanding. “Get up! Now!”Groaning, I drag myself out of bed, my muscles stiff and my head foggy. This better be important. Pulling on clothes in a hurry, I step out into the hallway, where chaos greets me. My mother is crying, her shoulders shaking, and my sister clings to her, looking pale and frightened.The tension is suffocating, and for once, I know this isn’t because of something I’ve done. Sure, I screw up—a lot—but not in a way that would reduce my mother or sister to tears.“For you!” my father snarls, shoving a box toward me. His face is a mask of fury, his eyes wild. Behind him, I see two other boxes marked with my parents’ names, their lids thrown open.Grabbing the box, I walk over to a table, my back to everyone. The weight of their stares burns into me as I carefully lift the lid. The sight inside stops me cold.What the fuck?My hand trembles

The PrinceWhen I wake, everything feels normal—too normal. But the sense of unease gnaws at me. I don’t know why the guard at the graveyard hasn’t reported in yet, but the silence is unsettling. Then again, if the Moretti's had been there, maybe they didn’t bother leaving him alive.I shake the thought off and head downstairs. My father is sitting back in his chair, looking far too relaxed. He’s calm, collected—smiling even. It won’t last. Ghost must’ve gone last night, which means the storm is coming.Pouring myself a coffee, I take a seat, watching him from across the room. He’s radiating satisfaction, probably from the victory of us torturing and killing Marcello. But I know this family, and I know how quickly moments like this unravel.The tension snaps with a single word.“Boss,” a voice calls from the doorway.My father straightens in his seat, and I glance toward the source. A soldier steps in, his face pale and tight with nerves. The room shifts, the calm shattering like glas

GhostThis has to be a fucking joke. There’s no way my father would agree to this, let alone want it. Prince marrying my sister? It’s sick. We’re supposed to be families at war, for God’s sake. No one will believe that they just magically met, fell in love, and decided to unite the families.Sure, I’ve met up with Prince in secret, but that was before we knew who we were. This? This is different. This is betrayal.“This is wrong,” I whisper, my voice tight with restrained anger as I stare at my father.“It’s a good way to end the feud,” he replies coldly, his eyes piercing through me. “The families will unite, not battle.”“At Josie’s expense? You cannot let him marry her!” My head shakes, the words flying out before I can stop them.“It’s too late, Ghost,” he says, his tone final. “We’ve already agreed. We shook on it. You will support this decision, and you will show your support for this wedding and engagement.”“Did you even ask Josie?” I snap, my voice rising.“No,” he bites out,

Ghost POVThe club’s pounding bass vibrates through my chest, but it does little to drown out the fury coursing through me. Each sip of my drink is a desperate attempt to smother the storm in my mind, to quiet the relentless barrage of self-loathing and doubt. Did I bring this all on myself? Sure, I pushed Prince, but did I set the entire chain of events in motion?Tonight was supposed to be simple—drink, forget, and leave. But as the tension coils tighter in my gut, I realize that won’t cut it. I need release. I need to take back control. My gaze sweeps the crowd, scanning for something—someone—to help me exorcise the chaos inside. That’s when I see him, his eyes locked on me from across the room.The thing about being me? No one dares breathe a word of what happens in the shadows. Fear is a powerful silencer, and my reputation ensures their silence.I stand, giving him a slight nod before making my way through the crowd. This is my domain, my playground, and I know every inch of it.

Ghost POVHis fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails biting into my skin, and I welcome the sting. It grounds me, keeps me tethered to the raw physicality of this. Each thrust is a declaration, a way to silence the noise in my head. My frustration, my rage, my obsession—all of it dissipates with every groan, every gasp he lets out.“Fuck, Ghost,” he breathes, his voice raspy and broken. “Don’t stop.”I wouldn’t if I could. My hips move with urgency now, slamming into him as I find that spot that makes his body jerk and his breath hitch. I hit it again and again, watching as his head falls back, exposing the line of his throat. His skin glistens with sweat, his chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm with our movements.The room is hot, the air heavy, filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding and the creak of the couch beneath us. Max’s moans grow louder, almost desperate, and I press ha