Basil Hallward Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

“Alpha Kairos Aspen?” I clasped his hand firmly, studying him. “Yes.” “I’m Dorian Halliwell,” he introduced. “My mom’s the one you hired.” Not what I expected. He looked no older than my son Pax—and just as sharp around the edges. But his eyes…silver, stormy, familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place. Vaughn stepped forward to greet him. “Nice to meet you, Dorian. Is Mr. Halliwell not joining us?”

he said softly. They took her through the house. Not a tour. A slow drawing of lines. A living room with a sofa made to swallow a body whole. A study with books that smelled like old coins and leather. A room with a wide mirror and a low bench that made her pulse skip for reasons she did not examine. A hallway with three doors at the end. Dorian stopped at the first and opened it. Inside, the light was low, the walls a dark gray that made the bed look like a promise. “My room,” he said. “You enter when invited.”

Chapter 1: The Initial Consultation Thalia Voss stood in the marble bathroom of her penthouse, staring at her own reflection as she brushed her teeth for the second time that morning. The toothbrush moved mechanically. Dorian had already left for the airport before she woke up. There had been no note, only the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow beside hers and a half-empty cup of coffee on the kitchen island. The same routine as always. He would be gone for five days this time. Maybe six.

Later that evening, I changed into a less revealing gown in an attempt to remain off of Ellise’s radar and allowed Dorian to the dining hall. He had acted strangely after dinner, seeming to have a mental debate with himself over something I didn’t understand. I left him alone to study his tomes, bringing my painting tools into his bedroom to continue my work on his portrait. This one was better than the one I had drawn before, my skills less rusty.

The fluorescent glare of the archival review terminal was a sharp, clinical contrast to the low, amber-lit warmth of the Shinjuku penthouse where Elias had spent the early morning hours. By 7:15 AM London time, Elias Hawthorne was back at his station on the top floor of the Cornhill tower. He had changed into a fresh, crisp white linen shirt and a slate-gray bespoke suit, the collar stiffened perfectly to conceal the faint, darkening crescent marks Damien’s heavy fingers had pressed into the side of his neck just a day prior.

“But like I said… I’m used to it. These wounds? They’ll fade in time. The bruises will vanish. But her need for violence—she’ll always find something new. Someone new.” Dorian looked up again, this time locking eyes with himself in the mirror. A bitter smile curled at the edge of his lips. “And when she does… maybe I’ll finally be gone by then.” The gates of the Aihara Estate loomed tall and imposing under the veil of night, their black ironwork twisted like serpents. Rows of sleek luxury cars lined the private road, glinting beneath the golden floodlights that illuminated the long drive toward the grand hall. Dorian stepped out of the matte black limousine, his posture straight despite the

They knew who I was, but they didn't care. One of them, a man with a long scar across his cheek, finally stepped aside. “He’s in his study, I will announce your presence.” “Please do,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’ll wait.” A servant led us into a grand hall, where crimson banners with a golden stag hung on the walls. It suited Dorian, he was a man who thrived on power. Minutes turned into what felt like hours. Charles paced near the window, crossing his arms tightly. “This is a waste of time.”

I couldn’t let myself get eliminated—not before I had the chance to see Grandma. As I forced myself to eat a few more bites, the dining hall suddenly went quiet. A soldier in full armor strode in, his boots clicking loudly against the polished floors. My heart nearly stopped when I recognized him: Dorian. Gray’s most trusted man. The same Dorian who had been in Shadow Valley Pack and had released me after buying me from that awful underground auction house. I immediately ducked my head, my pulse racing. If anyone could recognize me, it would be him. But then I remembered my disguise. Even Gray hadn’t seen through it—Dorian wouldn’t either. Slowly, I raised my head again, yet careful not to m

"Stop patronizing that witch! Everything went to hell here the moment she stepped in the mansion!" Emile simply shook his head. "Though my brother has some reservations about her, I still believe she's kind. Everything that happened here... oh dear, even I cannot fathom." "What really happened here?" she asked. "I believe you must find it out for yourself." Emile answered, rather sadly. "Now, it's time for you to make your escape." Basil looked somehow pleased that this mysterious young lady was going to leave his haven, as part of him shuddered as he looked at her. She looks so much like Lady Dorothy, he thought. How is that even possible?

Dorian Grimaldi. I stood at the threshold of the grand hall, my heart pounding with anticipation. The opulent space unfolded before me, a breathtaking symphony of architectural magnificence and lavish adornments. The high-vaulted ceiling soared above, adorned with intricate frescoes that depicted scenes of celestial beauty, while crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a cascade of shimmering light, casting an ethereal glow upon the polished marble floors.