The Man In The Top Hat Novels & Stories

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The door creaked open, and a tall, imposing man entered. He wore a hat and leaned on a walking stick. In his right hand, he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers. His aura was dangerously powerful, and his expensive clothes marked him as a wealthy man. His sharp Italian features were strikingly handsome. "La Bonita, you're finally awake," the man said, his voice deep as he walked closer. He pulled me into a soft hug, his heavy cologne almost suffocating.

Elena turned around and saw it was the man who came down from the car. The first man glared at him, then snapped his fingers in a wordless threat and staggered away. A large fog of fear was lifted from Elena's chest. What would she have done if this lunatic of a man attacked her here? In a strange land? She was jolted back to reality when the second man turned to her and smiled. His eyes were dark under his forehead and he had a hat on his head. What sort of a man wore hats in the night? Elena asked herself.

Stones inquired. “There is one way to find out” the man wearing a hat responded and didn't say anything more. They waited until Mora left, before the both of them came out, and entered the agent's office. In the office, with his back slightly bent, the agent is serving Kane a drink while flattering him. The door opened, Mr. Stones and the man wearing a hat entered, and the temperature in the office plummeted. The agent wanted to flare up, but the intimidating aura that came with the man wearing a hat is too mysterious and intimidating, his tongue stiff.

THE MAN IN YELLOW

It could make him land on a nice higher position—a promotion. The swivel chair pivoted in one hundred eighty degrees. A man in his usual black tuxedo is revealed. He is wearing a black hat that resembles like that of a magician. His face has a well-defined jaw line, skin is of pale complexion, and eyes as red as an apple. He momentarily lifted his eyes and made it land into Angelo. A grin has willingly formed itself on his face. One thing he loves the most is the smell of money on his hands. And what Angelo has reported had made his heart beats happily.

The bulky man with a moustache wearing a bolero hat with a cigarette sticking out from the corner of his lips looked familiar. She saw a glint of recognition flashed through his eyes. “Mr. Henry…..”

"I mean you've got to do everything possible to survive. And if you ask me, I'll do anything to retain my relationship with a billionaire even if it means killing his ex..." "No one is asking you anything except a glass of tequila," Christine snapped. "On it," he said with a smile and frisked through the top of the shelf filled with liquor. He took out a bottle and popped it. He poured the liquor out into the glass. As Christine watched the amber liquid bubble and fizz, another man in a long jacket and top hat pulled a stool beside her suddenly and sat. He was lanky and had frizzled blonde hair. "Hey, beautiful," he said and tipped his hat.

Judging from the situation, it was evident that they loved their job. I could tell when someone was lying from their facial expression but the girls were all happy. "I want the girl with red hair." Someone from the crowd said. A man stepped on stage dressed in a suit and a blank hat on his head. "Don't worry," the man titters, "you will get her." He added before removing the hat from his head. My eyes widened when I saw the face of the man. Although it had been a long time, I could never forget the face. The face with a fire scar. The face that haunted me in my dreams even after so many years.

"Oy! Spare some loose change? I'm willing to do anything, provided it's not illegal." Rhysand's head snapped back, and my eyes opened, blinking rapidly. With a combination of shock and extreme embarrassment, we leaped apart as though scorched, our bodies abruptly rigid. Standing a few feet away, holding a ragged hat, was a middle-aged man. His face was marked with the harsh lines of exhaustion and poverty, and his clothes were worn and patched. "Anything, pretty lady. Something to keep me warm this cold night," he amended, shaking his equally dirty hat at both of us.

They were holding Irish coffees as well. “Hi. Do you mind if we join you two?” the man asked. “There are no empty tables.” The man had blond hair sticking out of his cap and a long nose. He was as tall as Nick, but not as built. “Sure,” Nick said with a smile. “Thank you,” the woman said with a French accent. The man pulled the chair out for her. She sat down. Nick couldn’t tell what color her hair was because it was stuffed under her hat.