Anon Story Novels & Stories

she reminded weakly. Still keeping his voice low, Connor said, "Annie's an innocent soul. She doesn't know the truth about us. She was just acting on impulse out of concern for me. In any case, we agreed from day one that we weren't going to have kids. Isn't this exactly what you wanted?" Sylvie closed her eyes. "I'm tired. You should leave." She raised her hand to shoo Connor off, only to notice that her arm was bandaged.

, She blushed as she pushed him gently. He smiled and started the car. Author's special: Author: "I'm sorry Mr.Anan I don't seem to have an interview with you today?" Anan: "Don't I seem like a human? Interview me." Author: *gulps down* "Sure." Author: "What are your future plans for Media Score.?" Anan: "Not interested, Next question." Author: "What are your thoughts on your assistant and.."*interrupted* Anan: "Boring, Next."

'I am Steven Gawain. 'Are you kidding?'I laughed. 'No, I am not. I sent those texts by email, and here's the proof,' I replied showing him my cell phone. He remained silent for a while before replying. 'Your work on the magazine is very good, but what you answered on the test is insufficient.' 'I was going through a bad time and under a lot of stress.' 'Come on, Anna, do you think I haven't heard all those rumors going around? There's talk about your sexual preferences, that you spend all day at the bar, and that you're pretty lost.'

And it seemed as if the skies answered her prayers, because she woke up one day, not knowing a single thing about her. She woke up, only being told of her name, age, and why she woke up without a single memory—because she needed a fresh start. She obliged and went by their rules. She trained for a purpose she wasn't aware of; she was just told to train until she becomes the best. And fourteen years later, she became the best. At ten, Divina Anastasia Elcort died and was reborn as Anna. That was when she started to make history.

she added without waiting for a reply. "Aunty hand bag , go and read your books. I wonder how you will pass your exams"Her mother bawled. They talked for what seems like forever before Hussain entered his mother's room. He greeted her happily. "Hussain, why didn't you tell your wife about the journey" his mother scolded him.

I could tell he was really holding himself back for the sake of the answers he needed. "Your brother was never supposed to lose his hand. It was supposed to be his life, but he got lucky," Anson revealed. Whenever he felt like he had nothing more to lose, this is what he would turn to. He enjoyed bringing people down with him. “I lost the plot after you told me you got a text from God,” Alessio mumbled. So did I. It wasn’t strange for Anson to lie. That was what he was good at. Yet, this level of madness and manipulation was even difficult for me to listen to.

His rumbling voice affecting my confidence. “And what your anonym friend is thinking about this?” I mumbled not so sure about the result. “Ha-ha, exploring the loopholes, are we? There is no point. He doesn’t care until you’re not dead.” My brain was frantically searching for a way out of this. Maybe-

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

He was spacing out with a somber expression. Anderson quietly turned to Suit, waiting for the demon to state his question. “Never mind. I already have my answer. Besides, like you said. It doesn’t matter. She’s already burning in hell anyways. So, shall we begin the next story? I believe you’ve rested enough?” Anderson nodded his head, ignoring the bit about Miss. Agnes burning in hell. He did not exactly care. That story was over. The kids were fine and made something of themselves. No matter what, he would most likely choose the same path. He could not guarantee a different approach would work. Most important, the story was over, and he was moving on.

Inspector Rana’s dark voice echoed: “Start the story. The professor who tells the first story… survives.” Anusha took a deep breath. The memory she had locked away in the darkest room of her mind for years returned to her suddenly. “Okay…” she said in a trembling voice. “I will tell you… the most terrifying night of my life.” The lights dimmed. The air became heavier. Some students began to cry. But Anusha’s story had begun— and now it couldn’t be stopped. The Night’s Guest — The Beginning It was 2017. Anusha was a new research scholar and was staying at an old guest house hidden in the mountains.