Inosuke Sin Máscara Mga Nobela at Kwento

Diego took it as consent, crossing the room to draw open a curtain that revealed a one-way mirror. On the other side, strippers moved like living art—bodies twining around poles with practiced grace. “That’s Natasha,” Diego pointed out, nodding toward a dancer in a violet mask. Alexander rose from his seat, drink in hand, and stepped closer to the glass. His fingers traced the outline of the woman’s figure through the mirror. She swayed with hypnotic rhythm, every motion deliberate, as though she sensed unseen eyes on her.

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’m not going to hurt you. His words were bizarre, but I had no time to think them over. No matter what he said, I wasn’t about to trust him. Still, I nodded in agreement, signaling that I would comply. Once he seemed convinced I wouldn’t resist, he relaxed a little and guided me toward the bedroom. He must have known I was pregnant because he kept his hand protectively near my stomach, careful not to harm me. As we moved, the dim light of the moon filtered through the window, and I finally got a clearer look at him. He wore a black mask that covered his entire face, leaving only his eyes visible. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell who he was at all.

She turned around quickly to see a tall guy who looked to be in his late twenties. He had dark brown hair, murky green eyes that moved around the store and his lean body was clothed in black attire. He was carrying a large brown box in his arms and moved in quiet, graceful strides. Melody noticed dark designs in the inner part of his forearm; a tattoo. His gaze quickly locked onto hers. The green hues morphed into a darker colour as stared her for a few seconds, his mouth slightly agape before his eyes dragged themselves over towards the hysterical man near her.

Rubby said, placing the box on the table right in front of Luna. Luna stopped wiping with her towel, staring at the box with a mixed gleam in her eyes. She opened the lid of the box slowly, revealing a Venetian carved mask in ivory white with beautiful silver brocade decorations along its edges. Luna's fingers stroked the smooth surface of the mask with a gaze that suddenly turned melancholic.

Even if they saw the resemblance— The eye color would throw them off. It's not like I can just wake up and change eye color. It doesn’t work like that. And then— “And let's not forget the mask,” Melina added. I nodded slowly. “…Yeah.” That too. Between the mask and the eyes— I had a shield. A strong one. I let out a long breath. One I didn’t even realize I had been holding. “Thank you, Mel…” My voice softened. “I feel… better.” She smiled slightly.

An elegant onyx-black mask, etched with faintly glowing wolf runes. My eyes narrowed. “The mask is designed to hide your aura,” He referred to Maverick. “It will help distort your voice, block scent tracking and also cloaks your magical signature and facial recognition” He said. I took the mask, staring and admiring it. A key for walking into human spaces without detection. “It’s bound to your energy,” Ardan said. “Only you can remove it. And if it breaks... we have problems.” I crossed my arms. “So you’re going to play Batman now?”

Searching. He found him in the center of the hall, standing in a small circle of sycophants. Marco. He was dressed in a white suit and a white mask, an arrogant smile fixed on his face. Despite the mask, the smirk was instantly recognizable to Silvio. His hands tightened into fists. The urge to rush forward, to wipe that self satisfied look off Marco's face, was a physical ache. He fought it down, forcing himself to breathe, to be patient.

It copied the silhouette of my dainty body perfectly—elegant yet provocative, a weapon in fabric form. I turned to the vanity and picked up the black mask. Lace edges framed my eyes, feathers curling at the temples like dark wings. It tied with silk ribbons, transforming my face into something mysterious, untamed. Enzo stood slowly, his chair scraping back. He looked at me, really looked, from the mask down to the hem brushing my ankles. His chest rose with a sharp inhale. “What the fuck, Nina,” he said, voice rough. Then he cursed in some strange language—Italian maybe, or Russian—words tumbling out in a heated rush. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening as he took a step closer.

I kept his eyes off my mind, refusing to look at the man’s face, refusing to let him see the cold, hard rage hiding behind Luna’s mask. Outside, Mateo walked calmly into the main floor of Club Máscara. He had driven his Audi sports coupe through the narrow streets of Madrid, but his demeanor remained entirely composed. He hadn't bothered to put on the velvet mask provided at the entrance. He walked in with his bare face exposed, his sharp jawline relaxed, and his dark eyes observing the room with a quiet, patient focus.