The Masked Heiress: Don't Mess With Her Novels & Stories

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.

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.

“Get the hell out I need to dress up.” “Yeah. You should…” he replied to her and carried the big box on the table stretching it to her. “What's this?” She asked with a little frown settled on her face. “Check it out.” She wrapped herself well in the towel and gently opened the box. Inside lay a deep midnight-black satin dress and a silver mask. She looked up to him with her brow curved. “A dear friend of mine is hosting a masquerade ball tonight and he invited me over….”

I head in, careful not to wrinkle to beautiful dress in my hands. And with the curtain falling to a close behind me and I start to peel off my shirt, mindful not to press onto my wound. The bleeding has stopped but I am not taking any chances with it. I do not think I can afford to pay for the dress if I stain it. I smell cigarettes from beyond the curtain. Elena is smoking. “The masquerade party,” she begins with a drawl and my ears perk up, intent on catching every word that comes out of her mouth, “is not merely a party. It is a façade for the rich and powerful to mingle, to strike business deals and to carve out alliances.”

My instinct tells me it is induced. “Are you saying somebody deliberately made her sick?”. Stone didn't get a response as Enzo shut him up with an icy precision. *** Time flies so fast. One of the biggest and mightiest weddings in New York is about to take place. “You fool. I told you not to put too much blush on my face”. Brittany yelled with a venomous gaze “I am so sorry ma'am. It was a mistake”. She tried cleaning the makeup with the tissue in her hands but Brittany slapped her hands away.

I was watching the heiress, dressed in a shade of yellow so garish, my fingers itched to tear it off and reveal the naked skin I’d seen last night at the hotel. “What is this?” she seethed, glancing pointedly at the unfolding interrogation. Her made man stood stiff behind her, ready to put a bullet in me if things escalated. “Your arms dealer sold me high-grade fakes. And now he’s going to pay.” Her eyes widened, like she’d just remembered what world she lived in, before the cool mask slid back on. A near-pout tugged at her lips. I stared at it, wondering how she’d taste.