Anastasia American Doll Novels & Stories

POV Anastasia “Wow, is that your skirt from middle school? Because damn, those buns are out today, baby.” I adjust the hem of my definitely-too-short plaid skirt and give Delilah my most innocent smile. “What? This old thing?” “Anastasia , I can practically see your entire ass.” “Can you? Whoops.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re up to something.” “I’m literally just getting dressed for school.” “In a skirt that’s two sizes too small and a top that’s barely holding your boobs in. Very casual Tuesday vibes.”

Anastasia was nowhere to be found, and she'd curled into herself on the sun lounger, her knees pressed against her chest and her arms wrapped around them, while she stared into the pool, her gaze entirely blank. The pool lights cast a soft glow on her tiny frame, creating an angelic hue around her. Something stirred in my chest. I didn't like seeing this version of her. She was almost doll-like—frozen and expressionless. Her face was usually overly expressive, and even though she couldn't speak, it was one of the things that drew me to her. I knew when she wanted to stab her fork in my eyes. I knew when she wanted to claw my eyes out with her long nails.

My hair was swept back into a severe, elegant chignon, and my makeup was a mask of cold perfection. Daniel stood by my side, his hand possessively on my elbow as he introduced me to a rotation of European dignitaries. He was glowing, fueled by the ego of having "fixed" me. "Anastasia is finishing her dual degree," he told a Swiss minister, his voice booming with a false warmth. "She’s the future of the Drewmore interests." I smiled when I was supposed to. I laughed at the right intervals. But inside, I was screaming. The air in the ballroom felt thin, recycled by a hundred wealthy lungs. Every diamond around my neck felt like a link in a chain.

“Eat properly.” Everyone watched as he took a bite from the same fork he had just used to feed her. Damien had always been particular about sharing his food, but here he was, breaking his own rules. Madam Callahan turned to Anastasia, curiosity in her eyes. “Anastasia… what do you do?” “I’m a designer,” Anastasia replied. “Like your sister?” Madam Callahan asked. Anastasia politely corrected her, “Like my mother. And, madam, you are mistaken. I’m an only child, I have no siblings.”

I responded. Anastasia closed the gap between us, her eyes stern. "Aren't you, Golem?" she said, her voice laced with frustration. "Go ahead and tell me. You forgot about my name!!! Who would ever believe that," she yelled. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Or maybe it's just me overreacting. You probably hit your head somewhere while flying and suffered from amnesia, am I right?" She held me gently by the chin, examining my face. Suddenly, her eyes turned red with flames, and I could feel the heat of the fire burning within her as she demanded, "Whose lipstick is this, Golem? Don't tell me your dead mom kissed you now."

“Some things can’t wait, Mother.” The air crackles. They’re smiling, but it’s a duel. Every word a blade. Anastasia steps closer, diamonds flashing. “You always did have… peculiar taste,” she says, eyes raking over my dress, my bare back, my trembling fingers clutching Nicholas’s sleeve. “Tell me, darling,” she addresses me directly, voice honey over broken glass, “what exactly is it you do? Model? Influencer? Or are you one of those girls who just… spreads her legs for the right last name?”

Smiling faintly, I reached out to take it. My hand had barely touched it when someone snatched it right out of my grasp. “I’ll take this,” a familiar voice said smoothly, filled with venom. I turned slightly, and there she was—Anastasia. She stood before me in a tight red dress and high heels, her lips curling into a mocking smile as she observed the shirt. “Mom, this will look good on James, right?” Anastasia said sweetly, turning to the elderly woman beside her. She didn’t even care that she’d just snatched it from my hand.

My dad is trying to minimize my time outside Maxy to Me: So you’ll be sneaking out by nine after he’s gone to bed, right? I laugh, jolting when the roof door shoves open. I grunt my discomfort when Anastasia, smelling so sweet and dressed in a sexy pair of jeans, thigh high boots and white shirt with thin arms. She must have a connection to my dick, fuck. Her jacket dances off her elbows like it going to fall but it doesn’t. ‘Who the fuck is that?!’ Dell growls, and I instantly look behind her seeing the janitor bristling through the door.

When dinner was over and Kathy had cleared the dishes, her dad excused himself while her mom stayed. ″Sweetheart, I have some designs to make. I was wondering if you'd like to join me,″ her mom said. Anna's mother was the owner of Your Style fashion house. She had several branches in different countries and had recently moved her head office in America to New York city. ″No mom,″ Anna said standing up. ″I have to get some sleep.″ Her mom looked downcast but agreed anyway. ″Okay dear,″ she said as Anna left the table and went to her room but not before wishing Katherine a good night.

“Seeking solace I guess.” Anastasia nodded slowly. She turned the stool to face Ezra until her knees and Ezra's were touching. Anastasia wears a short black skirt above the knee, a black stocking wraps around her long legs together with black leather ankle boots. She wore a tank top and a warm purple fur jacket to wrap around her body. She's decent enough as a Hooker, thought Ezra. But Anastasia is aggressive. "Am I enough to cheer you up?" "How much do you charge per night?"