Novel & Cerita A Mask Of My Own Face

She hugged his neck tightly and gritted her teeth as she said, “Mask, can I... take a look at your real face?” Alex immediately shouted, “No.” Beatrice stared at him. Unfortunately, it was too dark so she couldn’t see his face clearly. She really wanted to reach out and take his mask off. Alex, who seemed to sense her intention, said immediately, “My face is ugly. It’s disfigured and looks unpleasant. My face is my taboo. I’ll kill whoever tries to take a look of my face. Do you understand?” Beatrice trembled as she said, “You... you don’t have to be so fierce. I won’t look at it then.”

"You do know that you're not as invisible as you 'think' or want to be, right? You were Mona Morello, daughter of the duke and duchess, now you're Mona Cavannaugh, wife to Lord Lore Cavannaugh and his heir's mother... Hello?" "I know, even the more reason why there's no need to put my face on the papers." She sighs. "Let me guess, because they already know what you look like?" I slightly turn to her. "Exactly." "What happens if you do find your face in the papers?" She narrows her eyes in question. "Then I'll drag whoever puts it there together with their company's asses and tissues in their mouths, right down to court." She laughs so hard tears form at the corners of her eyes and she clutch

I didn't wish for him to face me as his face would obviously break my heart, I just couldn't bring myself to imagine the mass of pain that'll be on his face. I swallowed, clenching my fist, “Babe, you must understand. I'm not being-”. He cut me off, “Selfish?". He wanted to chuckle or so I seemed but it only came out as a lame choke, his voice fell apart. “You're not being selfish, you're only NOT being selfless,”. I was unable to find my tongue. "I had really thought I was the one with the mask but I forgot you were the mask itself. Why would I trust something that's able to cover my imperfections? I was so dumb not to realize it meant it also had its own personal imperfections behind itsel

Chapter 97: The one I met at the Operation Garett’s Point Of View My mind would not take it initially. My grip on my gun tightened, and my eyes were on the man struggling with my men. He wore no mask, no disguise. Just him—Thorne. I felt as if the ground below me had disappeared. My whole body went rigid, my chest barely rising for air. I had a mask over myself, my identity hidden, but my hands shook. What the hell is he doing here?

I heard Killian's footsteps, although he hadn't agreed to wait for five minutes; at least he wasn't standing behind the door waiting for me. "With you." He replied Asshole! I muttered waited until I heard his footstep faded completely before rushing back to the mirror, my reflection stared back at me even though it was just few hours ago that I last saw my face, seeing it again felt like years, the face my father and sister had force be to hide, my hands trace my face then grabbed the mask from the drawer top, my hands trembled as I fixed the mask into place, I felt trapped again and I hated it. Still, right now I need to wear it to cover my face till I'm gone from here tonight. I know I was

I should ask him. "That annoying bastard. He's not planning to dispose of me after using me as a blood machine." I said to myself and the door barged open. "I'm not going to dispose of my precious gem. I still have to use you for a lot of things. We've got a lot to do together darling." I was startled, I jumped in fright. It was Mask, coming in with the mask on again. He slowly walked towards me, alone and the guards shut the door behind him. Is he that confident that he thinks I won't do anything?

He wore the same calm expression everyone had seen him with for years— the same handsome, almost too-perfect face that made people trust him, fear him, admire him. But that face… Wasn’t his. He sighed, annoyed, as he loosened the buttons of his shirt. “I swear… this thing gets more uncomfortable every year.” He reached into a drawer, pulled out a small metal tool, and placed it beside the lamp. Then he lifted both hands to his face. His fingers pressed against his cheeks— and the skin shifted. Not bleeding. Not tearing. Just… loosening. Because it wasn’t skin. It was a mask. A perfectly engineered layer of artificial human flesh—smooth, flexible, customized to look natural.

“Jonea, be honest with me. Didn’t you enjoy it? Didn’t you like it?” Her cheeks flushed red. She tried to say “what,” but no sound came out. I grabbed her left hand and placed it on my cheek. “Touch my face and look closely. Don’t you like this face?” Jonea’s eyes widened. “O-of course I do. This face you’re wearing is so handsome and perfect. I always love it when you use this face.” She stared at me, almost hypnotized. “If you really like this face, then enjoy it as much as you want. Because I’m only showing it to you. I even took off my mask just for you today. Can you stop looking at other guys and just focus on me? Only me!”

The doors of my mansion were rarely opened to the broader realm, making tonight a unique vulnerability. Left to myself, I strode into the bathroom for a cold shower, carefully avoiding looking directly at the jagged scar that marred the right side of my face—the reason for the mask I never removed in public. The icy water cascaded over my muscled form, doing little to cool the simmering rage that perpetually burns beneath my skin.