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

Lisa pouted, rolling over and pulling the blanket back over her face. "You!" Avery shouted, repeatedly hitting her with the pillow. Lisa mumbled something in Korean, half-asleep, when suddenly the door creaked open. They both froze at the sound of a throat clearing. The headmaid stood in the doorway, her eyes like daggers, watching their disheveled appearance—messy hair, crumpled clothes, and chaos all around. Avery met her stare defiantly. Lisa looked away in embarrassment. “There is a masked party tonight,” the maid said in her usual sharp tone. “All wives must attend. If not, you’ll answer to Sir Roman. You’ll be taken to Velena Couture for your dress fitting.”

I hum in agreement. Before we can move further, a servant steps forward, holding out a velvet tray filled with masks. I nudge her. “Pick one.” Her brows shoot up. “Wait… this is a masquerade?” I nod. Sid huffs. “Well, that explains your mysterious masked-woman look.” She reaches forward and selects a black mask studded with tiny diamonds, turning it in the light with clear approval. Then she glances at me and frowns. “Where’s Alex?”

“If you leave me waiting for one more second I’m going to spontaneously combust and haunt you for the rest of your days when I become a ghost.” “Sheesh, lady. Have some patience.” I tutted in a teasing manner. “They say it’s a virtue.” “There’s nothing virtuous about me. Now hurry the fuck up.” I rolled my eyes but cleared my throat to read out loud for her benefit. “The Donahues request the pleasure of your company at their annual masquerade ball—an exclusive black-tie viewing of the Donahue Collection of Erotic Art. An evening of art, allure and anonymity awaits at the Donahue Estate. Masks are required, and discretion is appreciated.”

Chapter 45: A Dance with Shadows The gala sparkled with glamour, a testament to the wealth and influence of those in attendance. The air buzzed with the soft hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. Melissa, now disguised as Allison Roman, moved through the crowd with practiced grace. She wore a sleek black gown, her hair styled in an elegant updo, and her demeanor calm yet alert. Every step she took felt like a calculated move in a high stakes game of chess.

The blackened sterling silver tray rattled violently in the trembling hands of the waiter, crashing onto the teak deck with a hollow clatter. The ballroom descended into hysterical pandemonium. Masked heiresses shrieked, clutching their diamond chokers as they scrambled toward the perimeter exits, while European oligarchs stumbled backward, overturning gilded chairs and spilling champagne across the Persian rugs. "Guards! SECURE THE SALON!" Beatrice Kensington screamed, ripping off her delicate porcelain cat mask. Her aristocratic face, usually pristine and smug, was flushed with frantic rage. "They're attempting an insurrection! Detain them!"

She flagged down a server and turned back to the masked man with a playful grin. "Ever tried a 'Tomorrow'? It's pretty good." He was not clueless. He caught a glimpse of the orange juice in her hand right away. "Hey, that's not right. You're sipping juice, but you're setting me up with a cocktail. Trying to get me tipsy, huh?"

“Lilian, why would you try it on?” “I just thought it was beautiful. I’m sorry.” Then she walked to me and handed me the necklace. As her fingers brushed mine, she whispered, so only I could hear, “Only what I don’t want gets passed to you.” She smiled slightly. “You will always come after me.” Then she suddenly stepped back and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I shouldn’t have tried it on. Isabella, don’t be mad. I can buy you a new one.”

The whole top of the country. I walked down the rose-strewn aisle on my father's arm, in a dress made for me. At the end of it, Marco. Dark blue dress uniform. Decorations on his chest. Standing the way he always stood — straight as a line. He watched me come down the aisle. Eyes only on me. My father put my hand in his. His own eyes looked a little wet. The voice still came out hard. "Boy. I'm giving you Enzo Ferrante's daughter. If you ever treat her badly, I don't care if you're an inspector — I'll drag your director father into court, and I'll start there."

Felix watched in surprise as her earlier joyful expression, when she had wanted to surprise Dread at the party, transformed into pure anger. “Thank you for the dress and the mask,” she said, forcing a smile as she handed the masquerade mask back to him. “I have to leave.” Without waiting for a response, she strode past him toward the exit. Before her foot could even touch the threshold, she was abruptly pulled into the darkness. She gasped as her back hit the wall. Looking up, she found Dread pressing his entire body against hers, trapping her between him and the cold stone. “What are you…?” she began, but before she could finish her sentence, Dread crushed his lips to hers with desperate ur

The Masked Ball Upon Your Return - Episode 24 On the evening of the ball, she stood in front of the mirror as she prepared to leave. She wore an emerald gown with a matching glittery, feathered mask, which covered part of her eyes and nose. Her flame-colored locks were piled atop her head in a coronet with the other half falling like a cascade down her back. She wore emerald slippers and toted a like-colored bag. Donning a black shawl against the cool of night, she went to join Rosalie and Helene downstairs.