The Prisoner In The Mask นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“Are you sure, Master?” “I’m sure,” the masked man says in a low voice. “Meanwhile, tell the others to keep an eye on Lazaro. I’m sure he would reveal eventually where he put the money.” “So it’s not with the girl?” “No, it’s not. She’s innocent.” That’s music to my ears. He spared me. He actually spared me. “Are you going to let me go?” I ask, my breath still caught in my throat. “Will I be free to leave?”

“Alright, you’re kind. Since there’s still a bit of time, I’ll go get him something better.” With that, one guard left happily with the thick wad of cash. “You’re not bad. Even on the way to death, you still get a decent meal—and get to meet such a beautiful young lady.” The other guard pressed the man firmly into the chair in front of the table. “Don’t cause trouble at the last moment.” Then he handed Heloise a mask, and, quite knowingly, turned and walked out, standing guard outside and leaving her free to conduct her interview. Heloise glanced at the prison guard, did not take the mask, and instead walked over to the chair opposite the man and sat down, staring at him quietly.

“Good bye, Damian Rodriguez… Say Hello to Lucifer for me..” the stranger walked towards the bed with the intention of injecting unconscious Damian but when he lifted the sheets a Glock was pointed at him… It was a f*Cking trap! “I've been waiting for you..” The man in a mask was surprised and turned around to escape but the guards who were outside had also walked inside the room while pointing their guns at him.. He was surrounded and of course there was no way he could escape…

★★★ UNKNOWN LOCATION ★★★ The dimly lit room was nothing more than a forgotten cell. The walls were cracked and covered in grime, the air thick with the stench of decay. In the center of the room, a man sat on the cold, filthy floor. His hair was long and matted, obscuring his gaunt face. His clothes were now nothing more than rags, torn and stained from years of neglect. The door creaked open, and a man wearing a mask stepped inside, holding a bowl of dog food. The masked figure's steps echoed in the silent chamber as he approached the prisoner. The dirty man looked up, his eyes filled with rage and despair.

He had come to check, only to find Mark attacking me. “You helped me before, so I wanted to return the favor. The only thing in my mind then was to protect you,” he explained, looking so innocent and genuine, his demeanor completely different from the bold, confident man behind the mask. Sadly, apart from their similar physiques and the gentle warmth that Ryan and the masked man shared, I couldn’t find any other similarities. Soon enough, thanks to Ryan’s care, I was discharged from the hospital. As my pregnancy progressed, my belly grew larger, and with it, my cravings for intimacy became stronger. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but think about the masked man again.

I wanted to rip the mask off, to let him see the monster and the woman, and to lose myself in the heat of his embrace. But as his fingers moved toward the silk ribbons at the back of my head, a cold splash of reality hit me. I am a murderer, I reminded myself. I am an impostor in a dead girl's palace. He is a man of the South, a man of secrets. If I let him see me—truly see me—I would lose the only armor I had left. The power of my eyes was my greatest weapon, but my mask was my greatest shield. Just as his fingers brushed the knot of the ribbon, I grabbed his wrist. My grip was unnaturally strong, fueled by the desperation of a cornered animal.

She retorted. “As promised, you can meet Dillon.” The masked man threw a cloth to cover her eyes. “Please bear this for a moment. We cannot let someone see our hideout.” He said. She could hear him turning metal and a switch lighting up. The man then guided her towards a door and walked until they stopped. He then removed the cloth from her eyes and disappeared before saying, “Knock three times.” She did as he said and the door in front of her opened. Revealing a tall man with a black mask on. She could not see his face or even the color of his hair as he was covered with the hood of his cloak.

the man uttered, and she was sure of who that baritone voice belonged to. She looked to her left and saw the man wearing a mask to hide his identity. "The assassin who tried to kill me…" she whispered as she looked him up and down. He nodded his head. "How petty of you to attack when your enemy is vulnerable. Can't fight the mafia boss fairly, huh?" she mocked and he chuckled before putting away the knife and putting it in his pocket. He sat on her bed and she scooted away but he held her arm firmly. "I'm not here to kill anyone," he uttered with a smirk as he looked over at Keisha's facial features. He watched as her face twisted with confusion. He got closer to her and she leaned back to a

The tall frame in front of her knelt down and harshly cupped her neck, their faces only inches apart and Martina could only cringe. This is the face of a man she has loved for ten years, the face of the man she worshiped more than God himself, the face of the man she always looked up to. Right now, even the devil she heard about in stories was much more approachable than this devil in front of her “Please Hardin” Martina began to beg, “please don’t do this to me” tears were still streaming down her almond shaped eyes, “please!!” “Hardin baby” Melisa called out to him while standing up, she was clad in a red colored dress that exposed part of her cleavage which left Martina wondering where i

I snap back, just as the door swings fully open. The man in front steps inside, holding a cattle prod, its metal tip gleaming ominously. He moves just enough to allow another man to enter, who silently sets a jug of water down on the rickety table before turning to leave. “Wait!” I shout, my voice sharp and urgent. The men pause, glancing back. “We will negotiate. What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my tone calm despite the tension in the air. The man at the front turns his masked face toward me. His expression is hidden, but his posture radiates control. “We want nothing,” he says, his voice distorted, processed through some kind of modulator. It’s deliberate—a calculated move to ensur