The Masked Heart Novels & Stories

Inside that locked chamber, Elizabeth sat unmoving, tied to a steel chair in the center of the room, dimly lit by a single overhead bulb that flickered every few seconds. Her face was pale. Her lips, dry and trembling. Dried tears crusted her lashes. She hadn’t spoken in hours. Because she was no longer afraid. She was numb. The door at the far end of the room creaked open, the heavy sound of boots thudding slowly against concrete. Not rushed. Not nervous. Each step deliberate—like a man approaching something he already owned. The masked man. He stepped forward out of the shadow. His tall frame covered in all black, from the turtleneck to his gloves. But the most haunting thing of all was th

A whisper of contact that steadies me more than words. That night, I sit at Marcus’s kitchen counter, notebook open again, piecing the day into coherence. He leans against the doorway, tie loose, shirt rumpled, silent for a long time. Finally, he asks, “Did you see the way she looked at him? At all of us. Like she’s still winning.” I nod, pen hovering over paper. “It’s a mask. We just keep telling the truth until there’s nowhere for her to hide.” His eyes meet mine, and for a moment the weight lifts. His world is tactics and control. Mine is words and exposure. Together, it’s going to be enough.

The ballroom glittered with a thousand golden lights, each crystal chandelier reflecting the wealth and power of the people beneath them. Cassandra Blake smoothed the silver satin of her gown, the fabric soft against her palm, a reminder to keep her mask in place. In this room, a smile was currency, and hers had been perfected through years of necessity.

He walked out. I sat there alone. Quiet. Akayda was probably terrified right now sitting there in her office. And I couldn’t do anything. I couldn't even reassure her. Because she hadn’t told me anything. Even after I found the mask. The Mask. I had kept it. The silver mask. It was on my shelf at home. I couldn't throw it out. My jaw tightened. I pulled my phone again and opened the article. Looking at the picture of Jade— It wasn't too clear.

Just far enough to be alone. Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around me from behind. I gasped. Before I could react, a hand covered my mouth. A cold voice whispered near my ear. “Don’t scream.” My heart started pounding violently. The man behind me was wearing a mask and In his other hand was a knife. . “If you scream,” he said quietly, “I’ll slit your throat.” My body froze. Fear rushed through me and for a moment I couldn’t even breathe. This was it.

“Which, of course, meant I did.” Elias feels the words settle deep in his chest, heavy and complicated. “So it was happening long before the club.” “Yes,” Alexander admits. “Long before I had language for it. Long before I let myself understand what it meant.” “And yet,” Elias says, unable to keep the hurt from his voice, “you still chose to meet me there.” Alexander turns back to him, eyes dark, unflinching. “I chose the mask because it was the only way I could be honest without destroying us both.”

he advised, but none of his words were getting to my head. I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol that was getting to me or the heartbreak, but I went ahead to wrap my arms around his neck. Still eager to see his face. “That is enough, I think your dress will be ready now” “Don't you find me attractive? Why doesn't any man find me attractive?" Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I was stupid to have reached for his mask and pulled it off. Before me was the most handsome man that I had ever seen, scarred with a giant scar on his face. Yet he remained cold, his gaze dark like he would rip me apart this instant.

When Lara was done getting me ready, I thought I was going to work in a brothel or something. But seeing that I'm going to be used as a baby-making machine, I don't know which fate was worse. “Do put in a good word for me to His Majesty–” With a simple wave of his hands, the masked man cut him off, and a pin-drop silence spread across the room. My heart skipped a beat and a chill ran down my spine, as the masked man stood up, his eyes never leaving mine. I wanted to look away but the force in his eyes made me stay locked in.

Paris. The Opera Garnier. It was the most exclusive event of the season. A Charity Masquerade Ball. Jackson and Serenity stepped out of a limousine. They were both wearing masks. Serenity wore a Venetian mask covered in silver feathers, matching her silver gown. Jackson wore a simple, terrifyingly sharp black phantom mask. "Remember," Jackson whispered, guiding her hand through the crowd of photographers. "We are here to observe. Not to start a war."

Even from the grave, Silas was trying to take the one thing that mattered most to me. “They will not have her,” I growled, my voice warping into a deep howl. “Alpha, look,” Marcus said, pointing ahead. We reached the mouth of the Eastern Pass. The snow here was not white, but gray, as if ash had fallen on it. Between the rocks stood a figure. Neither wolf nor human. A tall, unnaturally thin woman whose clothes moved like smoke in the wind. Where her face should have been was a bone mask, and her hands ended in long claws like shards of ice.