Masquerade Dancer Novels & Stories

The corner of his mouth curves. “I am sharing all my secret places with you, Hailey Randle.” “Why?” “Because…” “The masquerade has started.” Another guard shouts, drawing our attention. “When did Lozark plan for the masquerade?” “Every year on his birthday, he arranges a masquerade after the cake cutting. He likes people hiding behind masks.” “Let's go back.” As we step into the masquerade, the lights are dim, covering the floor with shimmer. Every face is behind a mask, unrecognizable. The pairs are slow dancing, matching the rhythm of the soft music aligning with the sound of heels and boots clicking against the marble floor.

“Thinking is how people get themselves killed. Enjoy the Masquerade instead.” With that, he left. I held the fox mask to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. Burned farmland. A reward. Killian’s rage. And here I was, hiding in the woods with rogues, pretending I was building a new life. Pretending I wasn’t still tangled in the ashes of the old one. By the time night fell fully, the Masquerade had begun. Lanterns glowed like suspended stars, dancers spun in circles of swirling colors, drums beat in joyous rebellion, and laughter filled the air as if grief didn’t exist at all.

The room was packed with shouting, drunk men sitting around the edges of a raised center stage. Leo's dark eyes locked instantly onto the stage. There were three girls dancing under the harsh, colored spotlights. Two of them were moving fluidly to the music, comfortable in the exposing lingerie. The third girl was standing near the edge of the stage. She was wearing a cheap, revealing black lace corset and a tiny black masquerade mask over her eyes. She was trembling visibly, her bare arms crossed defensively over her chest, completely frozen as a group of men yelled crude, disgusting things at her from the front row.

No one would recognize Isabella Vale tonight. I was just another masked woman seeking pleasure. Inside, the masquerade was a dream of decadence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over silk drapes and velvet lounges. Masked men and women moved through the rooms like elegant predators — some dancing, some already disappearing into private alcoves with soft laughter and moans. My stomach twisted with jealousy and dark excitement as I scanned the crowd. Then I saw him. Marcus.

Lights from ornate lanterns danced across the Grand Canal as I stepped into the crowded ballroom, my elegant mask hiding my identity. The Venetian masquerade pulsed with music and laughter. My husband stayed home with business, leaving me free to enjoy the night. My dress hugged my figure, flowing silk accentuating every curve as I moved through guests in costumes. A tall, broad-shouldered man caught my eye across the room. His mask covered the upper face, but strong jaw and confident stance drew me in. He approached, extending a hand. "Dance with me?"

Charmaine wanted to be the center of attention, and she did it. However, it was entirely different from the result she had in mind! She covered her face and sprinted away from the dance floor in distress. Thankfully, given it was a masquerade, no one could discern her identity. Larissa held a sly smile, hiding herself from the crowd. As the next song began, she was planning to quietly leave the dance floor, but someone blocked her way suddenly. "Hi there, could I ask you for a dance?" Harry had finally spotted the girl in the black mask and eagerly stepped forward to invite her.

I jested. It was true, I’m the only one not wearing a mask at this masquerade ball because I am the debutant. I only had a handheld mask when I danced with some officials earlier. I hate the reminder. I don’t like dancing. To think that I’d even have a final dance later just makes me exasperated already. The stranger commented, pulling me from my thoughts, “You’re not very ladylike,” he says. “I didn’t peg you as someone so conservative,” I replied, giving him a sly grin as I look at him. He was squirming under my gaze even if he tried to seem nonchalant. It was a bit endearing.

Changed faster than his clothes. I nodded firmly scanning the dimly lit environment. It had a dim pink light around the room. On the far side, there were pole dancers. Of course, the Rock had to bring them. He couldn't live without them despite having a wife. There were tables with high chairs at the great hall and they were filled with masqueraded men and women. Some were dancing and some were talking and laughing like they were long-lost friends. The fake smiles plastered on their faces even through the masquerade mask.

He was done eye raping pole dancers by the end of her dance and something churned in my stomach. Is Arabella going to dance like this in these kind of clothes? Suddenly the lights went shimery and group of belly dancers entered to entertain him. The song played and slim waists started shaking on the song. The main dancer removed her transparent glittery mask and my eyes widened. "Arabella?" She was the main dancer, in sexy shimery golden bra like blouse and long skirt with slit on both sides. Looking like a goddess of seduction. Her eyes were sultry and appeal was seductive, her makeup was doing all the justice with her role.

The pout having no sway with her. “You say that every year. It’s Masquerade. We can make you up, so no one knows who you are. Pretty please.” Em put her hands together in a begging motion. “I don’t have a dress. Sorry Em.” Ella apologised to Em, took a last sip of her coffee, and wiped her hands clean of any remaining chocolate slice. “Yes, you do.” As Em took the now empty coffee cups and rubbish. Placing them in a bin behind the long glass display counter.