Dark Romance Masked Man の小説・ストーリー

The masked man turned toward the doorway, adding casually, "She's probably running right now, abandoning you to die alone. So much for love, eh?" "Don't fucking move." Viktor stepped into the light, gun trained on the masked man's chest, his finger on the trigger. "Hands where I can see them," Viktor commanded, advancing slowly into the room. His eyes flicked briefly to his brother's prone form, jaw tightening at the sight. The masked man raised his hands, but there was no fear in his posture—only amusement. "Viktor Romano," he said, tilting his head. "Always cleaning up big brother's messes."

My grip tightens on the phone. No. No, no, no. My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse roaring in my ears. I watch him—Ghost—standing in that fucking room, his hands shaking, desperation clear in his eyes. He wasn’t pleading for our lives. He was trying to undo what he did. “Why should we believe you?” the masked man asks. Ghost lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. “How else would I know the name? Come on, why do you think I told that idiot to stop?” His hands clench at his sides, his whole body tense. “Just take the three million and let us go.”

For one fleeting second, sunlight struck his back, and I could have sworn I saw the outline of a silver mask etched into his skin. A mirage that vanished the moment I blinked. The Masquerade Ball was just around the corner. And with Santino Alexios now entering the game, I realized that my date with destiny would be far more dangerous than I had ever imagined. The truce between my mates hung by a thread... And even now, the masked man continued to haunt my every thought.

Just when I figured my plan had failed, I heard the familiar sound of a whistle. I shot up from the bed and quickly switched on both lights in the bedroom. The masked man entered, and I stubbornly turned my back to him, pretending to be upset. "Are you mad?" His body, hot as ever, pressed against me from behind, and he took my cold hand, warming it gently in his own. “I’ve been busy lately. That’s why I haven’t come to see you,” he said. I wasn’t even sure why I felt angry or why he felt the need to explain himself. It was all so ridiculous. He seemed to find it amusing, too, as he turned me around, trying to get a good look at me.

“Interesting reading.” “Give it back.” “I can’t.” “Why?” The masked man’s posture stiffened. “Because if you read it now…” He looked directly into Ashley’s eyes. “…everyone you love dies.” A heavy silence followed. Ashley searched his face, but the silver mask revealed nothing. “Who are you?” The man chuckled. “I’ve had many names.” Dominic’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I won’t ask again.” The stranger ignored him. Instead… He reached into his pocket and tossed something toward Ashley.

The grand ballroom pulsed with dim candlelight. Masks hid identities. Sophia adjusted her lace half-mask, the crimson dress hugging her body like a second skin. Her husband was away on business. Tonight she was just a masked stranger craving release. A tall man in a sleek black mask approached, his suit tailored to perfection. Broad shoulders, confident stride. He offered his hand without a word. Sophia took it. They danced close, his palm sliding low on her back, fingers brushing the curve of her ass.

He asks, lighting the cigarette he had behind his ear. "We're always ready. But I need to tell Starlight what her signal is." Thomas nods and he follows behing Izzy, making sure he knows what cue to give her. I take the time to stare in the mirror attached to the door. There's plenty of them in this room, but this is the only one that doesn't lie to me. The lights over head are bright and harsh, highlighting every flaw you have. I have to admit though, I look amazing. Breasts are high, spilling out of my corset, the dark leather biting into my skin. My hands go to the sides of my mask automatically, making sure they stay in place.

“But proof… changes everything.” The next night, Isabella and Damian attended a charity masquerade, the perfect cover for a confrontation. Guests danced beneath glittering chandeliers, masks hiding identity while secrets thrived in plain sight. Isabella wore a crimson gown, the fabric hugging her curves, her mask delicate but concealing sharp eyes. Damian’s tuxedo was impeccable, mask black and angular, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. From across the room, Matteo watched, mask in place, his movements deliberate. Isabella sensed his presence immediately, heart tightening. Damian’s hand brushed hers, a silent reassurance. “Stay close,” he murmured.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked for Room 402, the sanctuary where I was supposed to meet the man I'd been flirting with all night through the safety of a disguise. I pushed open the heavy oak door at the end of the east wing. The room was bathed in the crimson glow of a single dim lamp. A man stood by the window, his back to me, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his black tuxedo. He wore a heavy, obsidian crow mask that obscured everything but a sharp, predatory jawline. "You're late," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the very floorboards beneath my feet.