Masked Tuxedo Novels & Stories

The atmosphere in the room didn't just shift this time; it froze. I turned my head slightly, my breath hitching in my throat. Lorenzo Vitale stood directly behind me, his expression a mask of lethal indifference that somehow felt more protective than a smile ever could. He had stripped off his tuxedo jacket in one fluid motion, and now he stood in his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the powerful forearms I knew were capable of both extreme violence and unexpected tenderness.

Chris says warmly. “That goes for all of us,” Tyson reaffirms. The guys all look so handsome as they stand around us. Xander in a dark grey tuxedo with black lapels and black detailing, a light grey waistcoat with black trimming, a white button-down shirt and a black bowtie. Tyson, Vitali, and Chris are all in matching tuxedoes with white button-down shirts and no tie. Their tux jackets have a Chinese quality to them. They all have black pants, but Tyson’s jacket is purple to match Evaly.n Vitali’s jacket is black, and Eric’s is teal. It means a lot that they all put so much effort into their appearances for this occasion.

He was wearing a well-cut tuxedo today, which made him taller and taller. There was a very high-end brooch in the tuxedo, which was full of colors. From her point of view, she could only see the side of his face. However, half of his face was enough to amaze people and make them unable to look away. The chisel-like silhouette was cold and deep. It had long and black sword-shaped eyebrows and a straight nose. Every part of it was perfectly combined. All the lights and the crowd around him dimmed.

My palms begin to sweat. The sound of cutlery on wine glass captures everyone’s attention and the man of the hour steps up to give his welcome address. I hadn’t seen him after he left my room but I must say, he looks very dashing in his tux. He is donned in a classic black tuxedo , designed with tiny beads to create a beautiful pattern. Due to the colour, it’s hard to decipher the beads but for us women, we can sight even the most minute detail from a mile away. It’s a risky choice but he pulls it off perfectly. His wild mane has been gelled neatly and parted at the side.

“Understood.” Owen was dressed in a sharp, midnight blue tuxedo. His indigo mask was intricately designed with silver accents. A dark wig and fake mustache completed his disguise, making him nearly unrecognizable. I myself wore a classic black tuxedo, my mask adorned with gold accents. I donned a wig of slicked-back blonde hair. A neatly trimmed fake beard gave me an air of mystery. The elaborate disguises were meant to keep us hidden in plain sight.

As much as the thoughts caused a hollow depth in him, he felt the relief and the comfort that came with knowing your sanity will soon be yours. Mr Macklemore walked out a small door, from the looks of things would be a restroom. He had the sense of dressing that although looked good on him, felt more like the older days and not of a classic gentleman. He adjusted his tie, fixing it in the middle of his neck before pulling his jacket down its length. A sleeveless Jacket? You some kind of waiter? At least, his shoes are nice. He dipped himself into the seat directly in front of him. Without a word, he filled the two teacups, stretching the other to Andre.

His eyes were deep-set and shifty, and I briefly wondered if he had put on mascara before he decided to visit Jade's apartment. His choice of clothing only added to the sense of pretense. He wore an expensive-looking tuxedo that seemed to scream wealth, the fabric undoubtedly of high quality. However, the shirt underneath wasn't fully buttoned up, revealing a deliberate attempt to showcase his bare chest. It was a move that reeked of calculated charm, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the blatant display. He was wearing a tuxedo at 8 am on a weekday. Obvious much? I thought to myself and immediately winced at the pettiness of my thoughts.

I tugged my corset with my hands. "Well look who decided to show up." Maria smirked. "The man across us, you see him?" There was a man cladded in a black tux, using a gold mask to hide his identity. All that can be seen are his bold green eyes, he had a boy about my age next to him with a similar mask to his, with the build he had plus the dark hair and the same green eyes as the man next to him. It was obvious that he was his son.

Then—he stepped out. Dontrell. The night framed him in shadow and decadence. A black tuxedo, custom-fitted to his broad frame, the fabric rich and dangerously expensive. Under the night lights, the material gleamed subtly, an understated flex of power. His shirt was open at the collar, exposing a glimpse of ink from his chest to his throat. A gold timepiece sat heavy on his wrist, gleaming under the moonlight. Alongside cufflinks that likely cost more than most made in a year.

Left to the latter, this event would be safe from the glare of the day. The car owners step out and are escorted into the building. But one man in a Tuxedo stands out. Or it’s the hair. A silver-blonde tone to several brunettes could never correlate. It’s undercut too, with slicked-back pompadour, the color contrasting with the leather-black eyepatch he’s wearing. My heart picks up a faster rhythm as the dashing man shoves his left hand into his pocket, brushing back a jacket quarter to reveal part of his toned waist area.