Novel & Cerita Basil Hallward Dorian Gray

Every step I took toward his study echoed off the cold marble floors. By the time I reached his door, my hands were clammy, and I had to force myself to knock twice before I lost my nerve. “Come in,” came that low voice from the other side. I opened the door slowly and stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of leather and something dark—woodsy and expensive, like him. Dorian was already seated behind a massive desk, wearing a dark charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. He didn’t look up as I entered. He just gestured to the chair across from him.

Antler helped him and I found myself frozen for a heartbeat. But, the second Zayne held me with concern, I found my strength and entered Iglesias Mansion. I could feel my heart on the verge of leaping out of my chest. Sweating is collecting in my palm to enter the space where both my best and worst memories lived. The dismay was incredible, but the sight of Dorian made me follow his traces, going after him to check what happened to his arm. He was in the main hall, holding his forearm while a doctor was already present, treating the deep, ugly wound. Dorian was hissing in pain, his head away.

"You know what? Get me a room, doll.." the man stood up and doll, in a matter of seconds blooping, not being able to do the task. She took a step forward, then back again forward and back. "Doll?" he asked again, this time a little desperate. "Yes, sir..." doll replied as she came back in her senses. She quickly ran towards her left while Amelia stood there terrified. The man had this evil smirk on his face and he stared at her like she's some kind of gold treasure.

"I hope you're not. It would mean the wards have deteriorated more than I thought." Lucien said nothing. Dorian's gaze moved to Cassian. "You've ruined another waistcoat." "It was a good waistcoat," Cassian said. "They're always good waistcoats." The easy small talk dissolved as Dorian's gaze arrived at Aurora and stayed there. That recognition-without-familiarity expression again — a scholar encountering a primary source for the very first time, seeing the original behind the copies. "So it worked," he said again. Quieter. Almost to himself.

That was for the well adjusted who never had anything bad happen to them and those who believed that the Basilisk AI was truly a horrifying thing that was to be feared in a nightmare of existential dread. Lila had nothing to worry about when it came to that particular beast, with future blackmail being something that influenced present behaviour being something that she was far too used to, making cages for herself to fall into and the beasts that she would be on her knees to, begging for their forgiveness for actions and sins that she had not committed. The thin grey man looked to be panting slightly, his back slightly bent forwards with a slight sheen coating his forehead, betraying the fa

And standing in the center of the room, sipping a glass of dark red wine, was a man who looked like an older, colder version of Julian. Marcus Thorne. He wore a suit that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, and his eyes held the same obsidian depth as Julian's, but without the spark of humanity that I had come to love. "Elara Vance," he said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. "You have your father’s eyes. And clearly, you have Julian’s taste for the dramatic. Entering the BIS through the service hatch? Very... scrappy." "Where is the Cipher, Marcus?" I demanded, my hand sliding to the combat knife at my thigh.

I showed up at the penthouse at 11 pm with one beat-up duffel bag and murder in my eyes. The doorman didn’t even blink when I stormed past him. Guess billionaires get whatever strays they want delivered after midnight. The private elevator spat me straight into the living room where I met Alexander standing in the middle of it like he’d been waiting there the whole time. His jacket was gone now, just his shirt remained now, the sleeves of it rolled up to his elbows, forearms corded like he actually used them for something other than signing checks.

EVELYN’S POV I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed open the door to Dorian’s office, fury burning in my chest like wildfire. The sharp creak of the hinges sliced through the sultry silence, revealing a scene that made me scoff in disgust—Dorian, lips deep in the neck of some maid with a skirt too short for professionalism and a face too smug for her own good. The girl squeaked and jumped up, fixing her blouse hastily. Her smile faded when she met my glare. She didn’t need words to understand she wasn’t safe here anymore. With one final glance at Dorian—who looked far too annoyed to care—she fled the room.

But the second I stepped out of his bedroom, I froze. My heart started racing wildly. Dorian was seated on the couch, a glass in his hand, an almost empty bottle sitting beside him. Sensing my presence, his gaze lifted to me. Relief slipped out of me in a quiet breath when I saw his pupils were their normal grey, not glowing red. That version of him had terrified me more than his usual self ever had. “You’re awake,” he said, rising to his feet as he set the glass down and started toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back when he got too close, which made his stride falter.

And I know Dorian is not a man driven by compassion. He definitely has an agenda. “Why are you risking everything just to bring me out of there, Dorian?” I ask while staring sharply at him. “This isn’t only about me or my blood. There’s something else you’re after.” Dorian smiles widely before giving a small nod and exhaling. “Your intelligence is finally showing, Maeve. I always knew you were smarter than your brother,” Dorian praises, though his tone still sounds condescending. Then Dorian reaches into the inner pocket of his cloak and pulls out a small crystal tube. Inside, it is a black substance writhing as if alive.