The Masked Heiress: Don't Mess With Her Mga Nobela at Kwento

As she brushed past him, the unmistakable scent of rich jasmine and sweet silver glitter had drifted from her clothes. He stood frozen, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket to touch the stolen silk panties from the club. The scent was identical. He shook his head, a cold, frustrated sigh escaping his lips. No, he thought, pushing the thought away completely. She was holding a masquerade mask, but half the girls in Madrid buy those cheap things for regional festivals. She is a house help. She scrubs the floors. Luna is a queen who commands the stage. His pride simply refused to let him connect the two. He walked back to his private study, determined to clear his head.

I could clearly see the mask on her face, and it made me scoff. “It seems like wearing a mask is the order of the day now.” I alighted from the car, locked all doors and went back into the hotel. Few meters away, the masked lady was still on her way to the dinner area “Masked lady?” I smiled. It sounded like I’ve met many masked ladies lately. I trailed behind the company while ensuring I kept a distance. We got to the dinner area and I couldn’t help but notice the way Mr Atkinson fawned over the lady, who handed someone her jacket. I must admit the dress’ design looked beautiful. It was then I realized she was the hidden heiress, the one I saw briefly yesterday.

The halls of Moonspire Castle were ablaze with light, golden chandeliers scattering their glow across a sea of silk and jewels. Music poured from the vaulted ceilings — strings and flutes weaving together a melody both haunting and mesmerizing. Serenya stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, hidden behind a silvered mask that curved like the crescent moon. Every noble, duke, and emissary swirled before her in brilliant colors, yet she felt like an intruder at her own stage. No one here knew who she truly was — the lost heiress of Vale, the girl raised in shadows. Tonight, she was only another masked lady at the duke’s elaborate masquerade.

Violet complimented the two She turned her attention to the cabinet and she is picking up something inside “Have a seat first, my dear couple,” even she doesn’t glance to them—Ms. Violet knows that they will not do it When she grabbed the one that she is looking for—her eyes go in their direction “The party is masquerade . . . because that bastard has the guts not to show his face first,” from the words of Madam Violet, Keesha’s confidence goes in The masquerade mask that she gives to her is such a luxurious one.

She stood elegantly by the entrance, her hair cascading over her shoulders with the shiniest brown curls I had ever seen. The red matte lipstick was perfect for her small but attractive lips, I still couldn’t quite figure out who she was yet. Her face was adorned with a white masquerade mask, holding it to her face by the hand. I turned to fully get a good look at her, she removed her mask and I marveled at her elegance, unknown to me that the woman before me was Hayley Marshal. My heart skipped a beat, she came? She came, but she wasn’t wearing the dress I got her. She didn’t come with her friends either, so if she didn’t come using my invite, how else could she be here? Who invited her?

There was something haunting about the way he moved, something familiar, yet unsettling. The nobles murmured among themselves, unsure whether to be afraid or intrigued. But it was the words that came next that sent a ripple of shock through the hall. "Her Heir," the masked figure said, his voice cold and smooth, cutting through the tension like a blade. "The one who will rule in her place." Sienna felt a chill run down her spine. Her Heir. He couldn’t possibly be speaking of her. She was no queen, no ruler. She was just Sienna, a woman caught between a war she didn’t understand and a destiny that was not her own.

​The executive immediately shrank back. ​Richard stood up, picking up a high-gloss business magazine from the dossier. The cover featured a striking photograph of Isabella. She was dressed in a sharp, pristine white power suit outside the Chen Capital high-rise, wearing dark sunglasses, a cold, confident smile playing on her lips. Power and calculated precision radiated from every pixel of the image. ​Richard studied her face, searching for the ghost of the woman he had destroyed nearly three decades ago. ​"A woman trapped in a suburban cage doesn't magically manifest an international investment empire in ninety days. Not unless she already possessed the mind for it."

On went the midnight blue dress, dripping in diamonds. The mask... a silver and sapphire masterpiece slipped over my face. Steadying my breath, I stepped out. Then... The announcer’s voice rang through the ballroom. “Ladies and gentlemen, The reason for this party, let's welcome on stage the Heiress of Lancaster Group of Company... Miss Sophia Lancaster!” Gasps. Whispers. The crowd stilled. Sophia Lancaster was back. No one had seen her face and today wasn't going to be an exception.

Clare Haistings gives me a hug, her sweet perfume filling up my nostrils. It makes me want to vomit. “Hey twin.are you enjoying the party?”she asks but doesn’t let me answer. “Everyone is enjoying themselves and the presents look really good, our guests really outdid themselves”she gushes. Her sparkly dress shimmers every time she moves. And the ruby red necklace she is doning looks amazing on top of her cleavage. She looks perfect.

It was ancient money. I was escorted by a solemn-faced butler into a smaller drawing room first—decorated in muted greys and dusty rose. There were family portraits everywhere, each face as beautiful as it was intimidating. Then she entered—the mourning mother. Dressed in a long black gown with lace sleeves, she looked like a ghost from another time. Her face was still beautiful despite the weight of grief. She held my eyes with curiosity more than suspicion. “You’re from Petrov?” she asked, voice as soft as ash.