Masked Villainess Novels & Stories

After years of playing the villainess, I finally reached the point where my three childhood friends would meet with the true heroine. The time finally came for me to go home. System’s notification rang in my head. [Host, complete your final task of bullying your childhood friends, and you can return to your world as a billionaire.] I rubbed my hands together. ‘What do you need me to do?’ System: [Slap Maddox Strait during his happiest moment.] The script of a wicked side character was lackluster. There was no rhyme or reason to the role’s evil deeds.

“The princess is neither crying nor screaming, your grace.” “She is.” She was doing it all inside. The little wolf was learning how to mask her emotions now. My chest tightened at the thought. I ignored it and turned my back. “If that is the case, then doesn’t the princess remind you of someone, your grace?” Onyx asked which made me stop from walking away. “Who?” I asked without looking at him. “You.” “The devil whom everyone is afraid of was once like that as well. Young. Helpless. Alone. And vulnerable. Now, because of this tragedy, the world will gain another villain, another person in a mask.”

* I sat up, gut instincts kicking in, searching the shadows that loomed over the garden. And then, I saw her. Her silhouette emerged from the pitch blacknes, placed in the light of the moonlight. She towered over the forsaken, her flowing long satin crimson gowns as the flowing river of molten magma glinting with deadly reflections of the reduced moonlight. Her hair flowed like a dark river surrounding her, her emerald eyes gleamed with malice. I braced myself, heart racing, instinctually stepping back. "Who are you?" “My name is Mara Voss,” she said, her lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Witch of the Lost Covey. And you, dear Lena, I am on to you.”

I stood by the heavy velvet drapes of the mahogany – panelled study, breathing in an atmosphere that was clinical and beautifully cruel. Isabella Moretti, the so – called Black Widow, sat in her own high – backed leather chair, her wrists zip – tied tightly to the arms. Brent sat at her massive desk, his three laptops humming with a frantic, electronic energy that mirrored the dark thrill racing through my own veins.

The villainess, the ultimate perfect lady was the only one who could rival Jason, from the start, she had considered Jason her rival and though she excelled in all aspects, she still never once won when it came to music, it lingered like a thorn and her hatred transformed to love. Her love was toxic and when she found out that Jason had someone, she did everything to destroy that relationship thus becoming the villain everyone hated. "Ahh, Alexa, which role are you going for? Your outfit, why is it so dull and unappealing," Mary asked with confusion, after all, the outfit was not the style of the female lead. "I am auditioning for the role of villain, this is the outfit, something dull to lo

But beneath it all, they were just people, and… “Tarra,” I touched her elbow and she jumped, looking down at me. For a moment in her convex pupils, there were shadows that vortexed far further than flesh. “Are you… well?” She touched the jacket I wore over my shoulders, smoothing the fabric, as her eyes returned to the monster. “I killed this monster,” she said to me. “Not in dragon form. I have killed them before, from above, with my fire. But knowing that Ecaeris and Akyran wished Daerton to examine the monsters more closely, I killed this one in my human form, with the sword.”

I turned to her, my voice colder than the room. “Get me a dress. Now.” She blinked. “Y-Yes, ma’am. Which one?” “Something dark. Something sharp. I’m going out.” She disappeared into the closet without another word, hands fumbling over hangers. I didn’t wait for her. I stood, crossed the room, yanked my black trench coat from its hook and slid it over my shoulders like armor. Black stilettos. No phone. No makeup. No smile. If the world wanted a villain, they’d get one.

My wrists were bare, but the weight of the accusations, the theft of the Thorne family anklet felt heavier than any iron shackles. The officers behind their high desks were busy filing paperworks, their movements sluggish and indifferent. To them, I was just another gold-digger caught in the crosshairs of a powerful family. They didn't see the woman who had spent the last three years silently mapping the vulnerabilities of the Thorne empire. They didn't see the Blackwood Heiress. They saw a nuisance and a thief in a wine-stained dress.

After аll, thеir bеhаvior is certаinly not whаt wе usuаlly think оf whеn wе hеаr thе word 'mаfiа. Mаfiаs аre typicаlly portrаyed аs сold, tоugh, аnd unсivilized. Whiсh thеy аre not. A fаint smilе аppeаrs on my fаce but fаdes quickly whеn I sense sоmеonе's skin tоuching minе. I turn my hеаd tо thе left аs Zаck cоmеs intо sight, sоftly rаising my hаnd.

I held my hands before me, one half of the brush in each palm. For a moment, I let myself see past the glamour that concealed the tattoo on my right hand and forearm. The markings of my true heart. My true title. High Lady of the Night Court. Half a thought had the broken paintbrush going up in flames. The fire did not burn me, even as it devoured wood and brush and paint. When it was nothing but smoke and ash, I invited in a wind that swept them from my palms and out the open windows. For good measure, I summoned a breeze from the garden to snake through the room, wiping away any lingering tendril of smoke, filling it with the musty, suffocating smell of roses.