The Masked Empire Novels & Stories

"Emma, why don’t you look a bit more… content? You're the picture of every man's envy tonight." Damon's voice, though silken, cut through the bustling masquerade with a warning undercurrent. Emma’s lips curled into a practiced smile, a mask as exquisite as the silver one covering her face. She glanced around the opulent ballroom, chandeliers dripping crystal light onto a sea of masked faces. Every detail was meticulously chosen, every angle calculated to intimidate and dazzle. Just like Damon himself.

I nodded. “I’m scared,” I said honestly. “What if I can’t face him?” She smiled. “Then fake it until you can. You’ve hidden for too long. Today, Maya, you take your place back.” When we reached the company, all looked okay from the outside. But indoors… it felt like the whole building was waiting with bated breath. People were scurrying about. The boardroom was already full of managers and employees. Bryan was there too, in his suit, acting like he owned the joint.

“Zara, don’t—” She stepped closer. “You kidnapped him. You killed that model. You destroyed Juliette—” “I saved Juliette,” Marissa snapped. “Until he turned her into dust. Until you buried her with your runway.” Zara’s voice dropped. “You’re insane.” Marissa tilted her head. “And you’re bleeding out power. You think this empire is yours? It was built on secrets. On dead girls. On fake foundations. And soon, it’ll collapse.” Zara grinned.

Xanthis' heart was pounding against his chest and his breathing was strained. "Who are you? What do you want?!" He said, his voice shaky and hoarse. "Does Emperor X ring a bell to you?" the masked man said and Xanthis' blood ran cold. "I am Emperor X and I am here to give you a taste of what I have in stock for you, brother"

She would shatter his delusions completely and leave him with no reason to pursue her anymore! She would never return to that hell! Never! Marisol got up and walked to the walk-in closet, rummaging through the pile of clothes she'd scattered earlier to find a mask. It was one of the masks Emilia had sent over before the masquerade ball. She had told her to choose whichever she liked. "The ball's already over. What do you need that for?" Alinta followed. "Does it look good?" Marisol picked up a white cat half-mask, held it over the upper half of her face, and looked up at Alinta.

Then, a deadly stampede began. A rush of terror hit Kayla as she looked around, terrified by the stampede but clueless about what was happening. Kayla swung her head to the right and her eyes met them. The people who Irene had seen in her vision. There were thirty combatants, all dressed in black combat uniforms, and black gas masks. Their vermilion-red eyes were visible in the black gas masks they wore. They held guns and black, steely shields with VM as a symbol. Kayla knew who they were. They were V Empire warriors.

“We’re not allowed to do that, we could get fired for that. We’re not allowed to attend occasions within the hotel, and if Aubrey…..” “Oh my God, slow your good girl horses. It doesn’t start till like well past midnight, and Aubrey is off duty tonight which leaves Gerald he’s old so he wouldn’t care and you didn’t let me get to the best part, it’s a masked party so nobody would recognize us, we just be by ourselves and have fun, drink the kind of booze rich people drink” “Cher….” Emily wanted to say but Cheryl shushed her “Don’t overthink it, I know a guy who can lend us pretty dresses and a mask so it’s all covered for, come on Emily, pretty please. You need this, I need this, just one nigh

"You mean that masked fugitive?" Emily sneered. "Vincent Norman, the man you like, also wears a mask." "That's different. Vincent's mask was for the masquerade ball. Vincent is Norman's eldest son and a prime bachelor. Your boyfriend is just a fugitive!"

He lingered, resting his hands on my shoulders, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "You look breathtaking," he whispered. "I look pregnant," I corrected, turning to face him. "And round." "You look like my wife," he said, kissing my forehead. "Which is my favorite look." "Masks!" A small whirlwind burst into the room. Emma, five years old and missing a front tooth, held up two masks. One was silver filigree—a replica of the one I wore that night. The other was a simple black domino mask. "Why masks?" she asked, handing them to us.