Ana Steele Novels & Stories

“One more time, sweetie.” This time, five more smoking cigarettes greeted her delicate skin. She didn’t stop her scream this time. Sasha Steele, a Slave of the Fire Moon Pack, shrieked in a broken voice—in a voice begging for help. Her shout thundered in the room, sending shivers in the skin of Ansel Steele, son of the late Alpha Ariel, as he barged inside the bedroom, almost wrecking the door into pieces. “Oh hi, Ansel!” Cal faced him with the scorching cigarette on his left. His right hand is still caressing the naked body of Sasha.

"That was a bold move. It’s bad for business.” “I never invited Julian," I snapped, then stepped toward her. "Darius invited him. Or have you forgotten they are related?” She sighed. It was a sound that reeked of alcohol. "You should be careful Anessa. You’re playing with fire. The Steeles aren’t like the Danes. They don’t just take what they want; they keep it. You’re in over your head.”

But i still picked the call anyways. "Hi, please are you by anyways, Miss Selene Woods?" - A feminine voice came from the other end, soft, polite and yet, straight to the point. "Yes, i am she!!. How may i be of help to you?" - I replied in a wary tone. "Great!!. My name is Anne Moreau, i'm a manager at Livelia entertainment and also a friend of the professor." - She introduced herself briefly, her tone filled with strict professionalism. " Oh..." - I gasped.

He doesn’t agree with Kael, and so Kael gives him cold shoulders while he busies himself with preparations for the Cup, law school, and a mysterious lady who smells absurdly good. As soon as they got to the reserved group discussion room, he was once again slapped in the face by her scent. He had to close his eyes and breathe in the heavenly scent, before keeping himself in check in case he looked weird in front of her. Kael found her sitting in the middle of the U-shaped table, typing on her keyboard before her eyes went to them—him. “Oh!” she quietly gasps and stands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am Divina Anastasia, but you can just call me Anna.”

Reporters are usually a lot more chill in serious events. "Annie," Charlie calls, breaking our moment and making Anastasia turn to him. He gives me an annoyed look before reaching for her hand and pulling her closer. I follow close behind as he steps in front of a cluster of mics, "This is my youngest daughter, Anastasia. She just finished getting her master’s degree in France and has returned home to take on a role in the company. We're very excited to have her back, she's my little genius and the reason Bloom Beauty has taken a fresher turn lately.” I can see Anastasia go tense when all the attention turns to her in an almost aggressive way. They start throwing questions at her like hungry

“I-I n-n-notice you s-staring with—with S-Sloane—” Raising one of her brows, Z looked over her shoulder. She clenched her fists when Anastasia stopped mumbling. There’s no need for her to act like that. She’s never weak. In fact, she’s got potential, but if she kept doing such an irksome thing, she’d die even before unraveling her true capabilities. Unlike Sloane, Anastasia fashioned herself with a plain tee, yoga pants, and running shoes. It’s so like her. Somehow, Z's insecurities ebbed away. Why should she worry herself with such a trivial thing when the world literally depended on her hands?

"Thank you, Karla." Natalie and Luciano hovered supportively, diffusing with easy charm. "Eliot, Karla—join us at the VIP table." Natalie suggested brightly, steering them inside. A sleek black Rolls-Royce purred to a stop, its door opening to reveal Anastasia. She stepped out like a storm in human form, her emerald gown—deceptively similar to Natalie's—clinging scandalously low, slit high on one thigh to reveal a toned leg. Blonde waves cascaded artfully, red lips curved in a predatory smile, but her eyes blazed with hidden fury. She scanned the carpet, locking on Howard and Charlotte, jealousy twisting her features into a fleeting snarl before she schooled it into sultry poise.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my jaw clenching as I drove us home in tense silence. The truth was, I was actually quite reluctant to participate in the competition with Anastasia last night. The admission grated against my thoughts, uncomfortable and unwelcome. Anastasia was wonderful, objectively speaking. She was beautiful, intelligent, and capable at work. She understood the business inside and out, could discuss quarterly reports and market trends with the same ease as discussing art or literature. She'd even given up her position at Cole Industries to become my assistant when Victoria had suggested it—a significant career sacrifice that showed her dedication.

“You’re still as short-tempered as ever.” There was a brief pause on the line, a sharp inhale. “Stop talking like you know me,” Bobby said, his voice hard, unwavering. “Tell me who you are.” “Pardon my manners,” Aurora said amused. “My name is Aurora Steele, and I need your service.” There was a brief silence. Then, a sharp laugh that sounded like disbelief cracked through the phone. “Aurora Steele? The wife of the billionaire Xavier Steele who runs half of New York?”

As they turned to leave, Celeste suddenly asked in a loud tone of voice, "There's something I really wanna know about, Nathan. Are you connected to Anasta?" "What the hell are you talking about?" "You sure know what I am talking about, why the need to play such an act then?" Nathan smiled angrily and glared at Celeste, through gritted teeth he asked her, "What are you trying to do now?" Upon seeing him angry, she couldn't help but smile. Something about it made her happy and to think the dots were connecting... "Babe, who is Anasta?" The woman next to him questioned cluelessly. "She is nobody. I don't know who it is..."