Fifty Shades Of Grey Masquerade Novels & Stories

The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate glittered with a thousand points of light, the golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the swirling sea of masked faces. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, polished marble, and the faint undertone of whispered secrets. I stood at the edge of the room, feeling the weight of my black gown, sleek and elegant, hugging every curve I was glad to show off — but the mask, oh, the mask, was what kept my sharp gaze hidden. It was a delicate piece of black lace, embroidered with tiny beads that shimmered as I moved, covering half my face and making it impossible for anyone to read my thoughts.

Imogene Scott The dress I picked for the masquerade is pink, with spaghetti straps and a skirt that stops at mid-thigh, showing off my legs. My wig is long, wavy and pink as well. I seriously adore how the colors go together for me. I’m pretty sure no one will be able to recognize me with the pearlescent white mask I’m wearing. It has tiny feathers and cubic zirconia around the edges. As I stand by the champagne tower—which is just a statue of a champagne cup with water overflowing out of it like a fountain, I take a quick picture of it. The lights on the sandy beach are dimmed for ambiance—or maybe they’re trying to conserve electricity. Who the hell knows?

It's yours now. He dropped the note on the bed and took the mask. The material was very light and silky on the inner layer, making it tolerant for him and would cover his whole face. Wouldn't show how hideous he was. He hadn't thought of what to wear. It was a masquerade party with rich moguls and bigwigs with celebrities showing up too. Arc wondered if it'd be like the books he read. He doubted it.

I needed to ground myself, even if for just a moment. I spotted him leaning near the bar, drink in hand, his back straight, stiff in the tailored black suit. He didn’t recognize me. Of course not—it was a masquerade party. Gold and crimson masks everywhere. Hidden identities. Painted smiles. A perfect stage for monsters to dance among innocents. I should’ve walked away. But I didn’t. I needed sanity. I needed someone who didn’t make me feel like I was suffocating inside silk and shadows. Someone who didn’t make me feel like a sex maniac.

Masquerade. One game. No names. Only dares. They say what happens at the Black Velvet Gala stays there. But no one told me what would happen if I stepped into the billionaire’s boudoir. I didn’t belong there. Not among billionaires, heirs, and masked devils who reeked of power and secrets. I was a low-level event photographer hired last minute to replace someone who dropped out. All I had was my camera, my anonymity, and a daring streak I usually kept hidden.

Not only was she very good on the pole, her anonymous appearance was intriguing to anyone who had ever watched her dance. From her striking red hair to her very curvy figure and then to her emerald eyes which were slightly concealed with a dark amber mask that covered most of her face which earned her the name 'Amber', June Skylar was the major sensation of the strip club and with good cause if anyone was being honest.

Her eyes fidgeted between him and her target before laughing nervously. "I-- w-who are you?" she asked before gulping, waiting for the target to fall to the ground. He chuckled lightly, keeping his gaze on hers. He raised his right hand and removed the masquerade mask he was wearing. "The mafia boss who's hosting this event," he introduced. Her eyes shifted back to him, having a clear view of his face despite being in a dimmed room. He had bright blue eyes, a defined nose and jawline, arched brows, and seducing pink lips. "S-say that again?" Keisha was flabbergasted.

"I'm so jealous! You look amazing! Tyler is so going to drool all over you." "Thanks." I said, but it came out really quiet. It was almost too quiet to even be heard by Emily. I let out a sigh and walked in front of my long mirror that could reflect my whole body. I did actually look nice the front pieces of my hair were pulled and clipped at he back of me head and I had on a spaghetti strap black dress and a black masquerade mask. I love wearing these masks because sometimes you can't tell who the person is because they're covering there face. Especially if your a brunette. There are a lot of brunettes in my school.

Angelic spent his whole life pretending to love her. I reach over and open the glove box, pulling out two masks. Today we will celebrate the birthday of an old acquaintance of mine at an elegant masquerade ball. And I have to admit, a casino-themed party ups the ante. I hand the silver mask to Angelic. On normal days, she's pretty. Today, she is committing a crime against the social order. The blonde hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the half-million dollar jewel around her neck. And when Angelic places the mask over her delicate face, bringing mystery to eyes usually so pure, I feel like I've never seen anything more alluring.

They held delicate crystal flutes of champagne, their faces shielded by elaborate, grotesque masquerade masks—gold-plated skulls, feathered plague doctors, and lacquered porcelain visors. When the heavy, gilded iron doors at the top of the sweeping marble staircase groaned open, the whispers died a sudden, violent death. Victoria De Luca and Giordano Salvatore stepped onto the landing. If the crowd below was a collection of monsters, Victoria and Giordano looked like the gods who ruled them. Victoria’s liquid-black silk gown clung to her frame like a shadow, the thigh-high slit exposing just enough of her long, pale leg to show the dark strap of her garter holster. Her face, hidden behind th