Novels by Niffy Pen

TESSAThe flashbulbs didn’t stop.The screaming. The chaos. The questions.But all I could hear was my heartbeat—and Leo’s voice from moments ago.“You don’t remember me, do you?”I remembered now. Every inch of him. The boy with the busted lip who stood between me and three girls in the locker room hallway. The boy who handed me his hoodie when I cried through detention. The boy who left a crumpled letter in my locker with words I was too scared to believe at the time.Leo Santiago.My childhood hero.My first almost.Now standing beside me, pretending to be my boyfriend—while the entire world lost their mind around us.Reporters lunged forward.“LEO! Did you two really date in high school?!”“Is this why she moved cities?!”“Is she the girl you wrote that note to?!”Leo didn’t flinch. He reached for my hand. Not for show this time.His fingers were warm. Familiar. Real.I didn’t know what I was doing, but I squeezed his hand back.Then the crowd surged forward too fast.“Run,” he mu

TESSA“What picture is this?” Sloane asked, her voice low, almost too calm to trust.I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My throat felt like sandpaper.“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. Her eyes scanned the screen again. “And here I thought we wouldn’t have any problems—now they’re digging out many things. And why do you have this picture? Was this injury an abuse from someone? In high school or at home?”I nodded slightly, barely. My eyes stung, but I didn’t blink.“Listen, nodding your head won’t help us right now, it wouldn’t answer all the questions the public are about to throw at us.” Sloane yelled at me, her voice cracking.“Hold on, it’s been long, so I am trying to remember what happened. But this picture…” I whispered, shaking my head, “I didn’t take this picture myself, I was turning back to the camera so obviously this picture didn’t come from me. And I don’t even know who took it.”Sloane looked at me, really looked. For the first time, her tone wasn’t icy, it wasn’t calcula

TESSAI blinked at her.Fake dating?Was she serious?Sloane looked dead serious. Like she just drafted a ten-point strategy plan in her head and was ready to bulldoze through anything—or anyone—that didn’t cooperate.“This isn’t a joke,” she said sharply, crossing her arms like some kind of PR principal ready to give me detention for breathing wrong. “We don’t have time for second opinions. We have a crisis. A real one. And Leo’s image is priority.”I stepped back, heart slamming like it was trying to break out of my chest. “I’m not a celebrity. I’m not even full-time. I write copy for coffee ads and then I report things, I am just a low reporter trying to build her career to the top.”Sloane rolled her eyes. “And now you’re the girl the world saw fall into Leo Santiago’s lap like a rom-com scene gone viral. Welcome to the big leagues.”“This is insane,” I whispered, more to myself.She stepped forward, her stilettos clicking like warning shots. “You want to quit? Go ahead. But your

TESSAI was still dazed. Still dying. My foot throbbed. My pride was in shambles.Sloane didn’t say a word to me. She just marched off with Leo right behind her, signaling the event was officially over. People started muttering. Some clapped. Some just kept filming me like I was the halftime show of a championship game.I turned to leave—go breathe, cry, maybe throw up—but instinct and stupidity made me follow them.I didn’t realize until it was too late that I had trailed them into the VIP corridor.Sloane paused, typed in a code on a sleek black door, and pushed it open.Leo stepped in.I stepped in right after—And the door slammed shut behind me.Sloane turned.I turned.We all froze.Oh no.Oh crap.Oh for the love of—this was not the press room.Leo’s suite.A penthouse-style lounge, sleek as sin. Big couch. A minibar. A huge screen still playing the tail end of the Q&A. One of Leo’s jerseys framed on the wall. His gym bag on the chair. His cologne already in the air.I was insi

TESSA“Tessa, you’re needed right now. Leo Santiago is doing a live Q&A with fans and you’re covering it,” Katerina said, thrusting a thick folder into my chest.I blinked. “Wait—what? Nobody told me I’d be—”“The reporter scheduled for it is stuck in traffic, and you’re the only one available. Please, just go. They’re waiting for you.” She didn’t wait for me to object. She was already halfway down the corridor, heels clicking like gunshots.“I’m not even dressed for this,” I muttered, glancing down at my oversized button-up, coffee stain just below my waistline like a sad trophy. I looked like I’d fallen out of a laundry basket. Because I had. Twice. This morning.No time to change.Before I could turn and run, a studio assistant appeared and all but herded me like cattle toward the main media room. Giant screens lit up the dark corners of the hall. Cameras everywhere. A large crowd of reporters already seated, scribbling notes and whispering like vultures in heels.I stepped in, awk