Novels by Annie gold

Mia POVRoom Three smelled like Axe body spray, dirty socks, and protein powder that someone had spilled and never cleaned up.It was tiny for three people. Three metal beds crammed against the walls, one window that looked out at the stadium lights, a bathroom with no lock that had mold in the corner of the shower. Bed C was the bottom bunk by the door, mattress thin and dipped in the middle where a hundred other boys had slept before.Luis threw his duffel on the top bunk and immediately ripped open a protein bar."House rules, Texas," he said, talking with his mouth full. "One, Ethan snores like a lawnmower, so wear headphones. Two, I eat every two hours because I'm bulking to one-eighty, don't touch my fridge stash. Three, we shower at ten p.m. after last training, no exceptions, Coach checks water usage. If you skip, he thinks you're on drugs or hiding a tattoo infection."He said it like a joke, but he was watching me.Ethan hadn't said anything since we walked in. He sat on his

Mia POVThe bus to LA smelled like old coffee and fast-food wrappers, and the AC was blasting so cold my knees were shaking under my duffel. I sat in the back row, my bag on my lap, hoodie pulled up, trying to make myself as small as possible. My chest hurt. The binder was so tight I could only take shallow breaths, and every time the bus hit a bump on the freeway, the side zipper dug into my ribs. I had to bite my lip so I wouldn't make a sound.I never wore this binder more than an hour for running at home. Now I had to wear it all day. Maybe all week.The guy next to me was asleep with his mouth open, snoring a little. Freeway lights flashed across the window — white, then yellow, then white again. I kept checking my phone. 4:12 a.m. 4:33. 5:01. Time was moving so slowly it felt stuck.I went to the tiny bus bathroom twice just to practice my voice. The first time I looked into the dirty, cracked mirror and said, "I'm Mason Carter," and it came out high. Like a girl trying to do a

Mia POVI was on the floor at 2:17 a.m., my back against the bed frame, my old Adidas ball rolling slowly between my feet because I couldn't sleep. The room smelled like muscle cream and old laundry, and the AC in the window was rattling so loud it shook the glass.My phone lit up on the carpet next to me, bright white in the dark. I thought it was going to be spam.It wasn't.From: Elite Men's Academy - RecruitmentSubject: Application DecisionMs. Carter,Thank you for submitting your application video for our 2026 Striker Evaluation. Your technique is impressive for a female striker, however, after review we have decided not to advance your application. We do not recruit women for our Elite Men's program. You lack the physical aggression and durability required for our environment.We wish you luck elsewhere.J. Cole, Head ScoutI read it three times. Then a fourth. My hands went completely cold and numb.Impressive for a female striker.You lack aggression.I have thirty-eight goa

ARIA POVThe pilot said Chicago in ten minutes, and my stomach dropped before the plane did.I had both hands wrapped around the coffee, black, no sugar, Dante's landing coffee, house rule he said. It was still too hot, burning into my palms, but my feet were cold under the blanket.Luca felt the drop. He didn't say anything. He just pulled the blanket over my feet, the wool catching on my bare ankles, and put his seatbelt over both of us. One belt, his arm over it, heavy and warm.Isabella turned her phone off. Not silent, off. The screen went black, and she set it face-down on the armrest and looked out the window at the clouds breaking open over water."There," Nico said from behind, his finger on the glass. "Lake."I leaned over Luca, the seatbelt pulling across my hips, to see. Lake Michigan, blue and cold from up here, even through the plane window. Then buildings getting bigger, then streets I knew. Not Milan marble and scooters. Chicago brick and traffic lights and that Octobe

ARIA POVI didn't have much to pack.Three black suitcases on the floor, open, that Isabella's people sent up last night while we were at Como. Not mine. Mine was still the one small bag from Day 1, the Moretti house shirt Marco gave me, and the blanket from the floor.Isabella zipped them. Fast, efficient. She doesn't fold, she just makes it fit.Luca stood by the door, checking the hall. Enzo's new lock beeped green when Tony knocked. Our knock.Tony took the bags. He said the cars were downstairs, back entrance, no lobby. Said 1208 was quiet, door closed, no movement. Victoria was still inside.We left 1408 together. I held Luca's hand. I didn't want to look at 1208 but I did. Light under the door, yellow. Nothing else.The service elevator was cold. Mirrored walls. I saw all of us at once. Isabella in her blazer, laptop under her arm, Luca in his suit, Dante with coffees, Enzo with the drive in his pocket, Nico with his hand in his jacket, me in leggings and Marco's shirt, blanket

DANTE POVThe hallway on the sixth floor never really sleeps. Even at 8:15am it hums. AC, ice machine down the hall, that old elevator groan.I stayed up here while Enzo went downstairs. That was the plan. Luca in 1208 with Victoria, Enzo in the basement pulling the keycard logs, and me outside with two coffees trying to look like I just happened to be there.I leaned against the wall opposite 1208, carrier in one hand, phone hot in the other pocket. Recording.I could hear her through the door. Victoria. That sweet LIVE voice she puts on, like honey over glass. Then Luca, low and flat. He wasn't playing her game.He said it clear, right through the wood so my mic caught it: She is not my sister.That was the whole point of this breakfast. She'd been calling Aria his little sister since yesterday in the hallway. Saw Aria behind Isabella and spun it on LIVE so fast. If the photo of them sleeping ever leaked, she wanted people to think, oh, his staff sister is obsessed with him. Not his

LUCA POV 7:00am. Hallway, 6th floor, Moretti Grand.I knocked on 1208 with my left hand. My right hand was in my pocket, holding the small recorder Dante gave me. It was already on.Enzo's new lock worked. Last night 1408 rejected every Caruso master key, including this one. The light over 1208 was still old, it opened with her print. Mine didn't.The door opened before I could knock twice.Victoria was in a white robe. Hair wet, makeup done, like she had been ready since 4am. The shower we heard at 1am was for this. She smiled, wide, camera smile. Her phone was already on a tripod by the window, red light on, LIVE."Luca, you came," she said, loud enough for the mic to catch.I didn't step in right away. "Fifteen minutes," I said, low. "Breakfast, interview, then I leave.""Fifteen is all I need," she said. She stepped back, opened the door wider. "Come in, husband."I stepped in. The suite smelled like her perfume, too sweet, and room service. Two plates, two coffees, one rose. The

ARIA POV 12:35am. Room 1408.Nobody touched the Polaroid after Nico set it down. It sat on the bedside table, facing up, showing all six of us in the hallway outside 1208. Dante closest to the door, Enzo with his hand on his gun, Isabella in front of me, Luca with his hand around mine. It was taken from low down, through a crack, like she was kneeling.She had been watching us while we were watching her.Enzo pulled the curtains first. Not just closed, he pulled them all the way shut and clipped them together with a binder clip from his bag. No crack, no light, no lens."Lights off," Dante said, quiet.Nico killed the main light. The room went dark except for the bathroom glow and the red dot on Enzo's thermal scanner. He moved slow, scanning the bed, the pillows, the sheets where we slept last night.Isabella sat me down on the edge of the tub in the bathroom, away from the windows. "You stay here for five minutes, okay? While they check. I don't want you in there while they look."

LUCA POV12:10am. Moretti Grand, 6th floor.We didn't make it to the rooms.We were three doors down from 1408 when Room 1208 opened. We all stopped. Dante's hand went to his gun, and Nico stepped in front of Isabella and Aria without thinking. Enzo pushed me slightly behind him. Four years of training, and we still move the same way.Victoria.She wasn't in the white dress from her LIVE twenty minutes ago. She was in the black silk robe she wears after, hair down and still curled from the hot tools. Bare feet on the cold marble, phone in her hand, screen on, red light blinking. Still recording.She smiled when she saw us, like she'd been waiting all night in that doorway for exactly this moment."Welcome home," she said, soft and sweet. Her LIVE voice, for the microphone.Nobody moved.The hallway at the Moretti Grand is long and quiet at midnight. Thick carpet that eats sound, gold lights low. Usually you can't hear anything from the rooms. Tonight you could hear everything. The AC