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

“You can’t hit everyone who’s being annoying. And I can defend myself, thank you very much.” I give her a side glance and again I am immediately distracted by the way she looks. From her skin-tight dress that’s supposed to be modest, yet it’s anything but, to the high heels that make her legs seem miles long. And don’t get me started on the sophisticated bun she’s pinned her hair in which only compliments those blood red lips, beckoning me to reach out and ruin it, to paint her in my own vision. She’d look so damn good with it smudged all over her face, my cum mixed with it, her heavy breaths adding the final touches.

“Hardly. I came to remind you that you don’t own this space; you don’t own this city. Tonight, the spotlight isn’t just yours.” With that, I turned my gaze to Gabriella, who took a small step back, observing me with equal parts disdain and intrigue. “Congratulations on your new partnership,” I said, my openness a strategic mask for the confidence bubbling beneath. “Though we all know you’re merely a pawn in Andre’s elaborate chess game.” Gasps spread through the attendees at my audacity, their eyes darting between the three of us, hungry for the unfolding drama. Gabriella lifted her chin, an unmistakable defiance glimmering in her icy gaze. “And you must be the runaway heiress who’s chosen t

she called softly. The man came out to face Emily. When the sunlight revealed his figure, Emily's breath hitched. The man was wearing a mask with a stick in his left hand!

"And so thin. Are you eating enough? I know how stressful it must have been these past couple of days. And… living with a man like Kieran Westfield." The way she says his name, like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, makes my jaw clench. She has no idea what she's talking about, but then again, she never has. Before I can answer, the sound of heels on marble announces another arrival. Natasha appears at the top of the grand staircase like some twisted version of Cinderella. She's wearing a flowing sundress in pale pink with her hair perfectly curled and cascading over one shoulder. "Well, well." Natasha descends the stairs with grace, one hand trailing along the banister. "Look what the cat

He pulled me into a hug then, and I let him, my face resting stiffly against his shoulder, my eyes wide open and cold over his back, staring at the still water of the pond. “It’s real,” he murmured into my hair, his arms tight. “It’s finally real.” “Tomorrow night, then,” I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” I pulled away, giving his hand a final, fake-squeeze before turning toward my car. I walked away, feeling the heat of his triumphant gaze on my back. The performance was over. The trap was set. I got into my car, locked the doors, and finally let the mask shatter. I rubbed my hands over my face, my skin crawling from his touch.

"The best dress they have, something that will make every man in the room envy me." Isabella opened her mouth, then closed it. After a long pause, she nodded stiffly. "Of course, Mr. Russo." As she turned to leave, I added, "And Isabella?" She looked back hopefully. "From now on, knock before entering." The door clicked shut harder than necessary. I leaned back in my chair, already picturing Ariana tonight beautiful in whatever dress they chose, her dark eyes shining, her lips curved in that smile she only showed when she thought no one was looking.

Beside it lay a mask—a plain, featureless white porcelain half-mask that covered the eyes and nose, devoid of glitter, feathers, or expression. "It looks like a shroud," Aria whispered, picking up the heavy velvet. "It’s a Domino," Cassandra corrected, applying a layer of gold shimmer to her collarbones. "Very Venetian. Very mysterious. And most importantly, it blends in with the drapes." She turned from the mirror, her eyes critical and cold. "Tonight is my twenty-ninth birthday, Aria. It is a Masquerade. The theme is 'Gilded Age Decadence.' I am the Queen. Damian is the King. And you..." She gestured vaguely at the gray heap. "You are the shadow."

Emanuela died on the coldest day of that winter. The poison took three full days to run its course. They said her final state was horrifying. Her skin was ulcerated, and her eyes were bloodshot. She was like a rotting corpse. No one claimed the body. Her ashes were scattered into the Blackthorn River. It was where my grave should have been. Alessandro inherited the title of Don. But he abandoned the main estate and moved into the side wing that had once been mine. My room remained untouched. The Colt pistol lay on the nightstand. He polished it daily.

she asked, offering her arm. I couldn't help but laugh at her exaggerated manners. "Yes, let's go," I said, linking my arm with hers. As we made our way into the grand mansion, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation. It had been years since I had been to a masked party, and the memories of my past relationship still lingered. Amelia, on the other hand, was in her element. She danced and mingled with ease, while I found solace at the bar, sipping on a drink and watching the partygoers from afar.

she kept pouting her small round baby lips as she watched them pull out if the drive way. She had also gotten over the fact that her dad was not a masquerade. But she had found his mask either way and held it in her tiny hands. "Let my keep that for you " a maid offered as she ate and okayed around, but she held unto it dearly saying it was her dad's. She was delicate and couldn't be stressed, she they left her to herself as they were too cared to be like the gardener from the day before. As soon as the coue pulled up at the front porch of the Browns in Edward's Lamborghini, Nfrea felt her pm start to get sweaty, so she continued rubbing it on her dress.