Code Name Anastasia Chapter 41 Novelas e Histórias

I muttered under my breath and started stomping my feet. It felt like I'd been waiting for long when in reality it had just been a minute—yes, I was keeping track of the time on my wristwatch. Anastasia then came out first, dressed in sweatpants and a sweater. She even had a cap on, which made her look like a man. “Let's get it over with,” she said and then walked toward the door. I followed behind and was going to close the door when Hudson held it back. “You can't—”

“She doesn’t look like she’d be of much use. Besides, she already caused a loss.” My throat tightened. “I’m… Anastasia,” I forced out, my voice trembling. “My name is Anastasia.” A slow smirk curved the lips of the man in black. He stepped closer. Too close. “Pretty name,” he murmured. “But it tells us nothing.” His gun lifted. I flinched—and his smirk widened, like he enjoyed it. Then he closed the distance completely, pressing the cold barrel against my forehead. The metal burned against my skin. A shiver of pure dread slid down my spine.

DISCLAIMER: IF THIS CHAPTER DOES NOT SIT WELL WITH YOU, KINDLY SKIP! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. ~ Anyssa's Pov ~ My legs shook beneath me. What was he going to do? Was he…? I bent over, letting my ass hang in the air, enough for him to see. Enough for him to touch.His fingers touched my asshole, and I shivered from the contact. He was actually going to do this… “I haven't had anal sex before,” I blurted out.

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."

Her blood boiled, jealousy twisting her features into a mask of fury. As the echo of their footsteps faded down the stairs, Anastasia darted forward, her gown's train snagging briefly on the carpet. She burst into the room uninvited, eyes wild, scanning the vanity. The ashtray smoldered, flames still licking the edges of the half-burned file—salvageable, if she acted fast. "No," she hissed through clenched teeth, lunging for the crystal dish. Her manicured fingers plunged into the ash, ignoring the sting of heat as she snatched the charred remnants. Pages blackened but intact in the center fluttered free: key clauses, signatures, dates—enough to unravel everything.

Claudia could make a sailor's ears bleed with her explosive temper. Preferring to daydream about tall, ripped and handsome, Anya let her mind drift while she absentmindedly blew on her hot chocolate. She wondered if Ash was thinking of her, and if his thoughts were amorous or murderous. She really had been there to vet him. Having heard Ash might be available for rent, her brother had sent her keen eye to the warehouse, along with several of his men. Thank god those guys hadn't seen her slip into the change room. Or go running back out like a scalded cat. Blue balls would have been the least of Ash's problems if her bother had gotten wind of that. "Anastasia Sitnikov?"

The faint clink of the glass, the rush of the faucet—it all became a lifeline. But no amount of noise could drown out the pounding in my chest. Because inside, one truth pulsed like a bruise: He was slipping back into their lives. And I didn’t know if I was strong enough to stop it. The rest of breakfast unfolded in pieces, a mosaic of uneasy fragments. Anastasia chatted endlessly—about her doll, about her friend Millie’s new puppy, about how she wanted her pancakes to look like butterflies next time. Her voice was bright and innocent, the way only a child untouched by betrayal could be.

I want them to see that there’s nothing they can do to me that will break me. That’s how I survive this place and these people. I pick up the book on my nightstand and continue reading. I read for a few hours before a knock at the door interrupts me. I close the book and say, “You can come in, Hubert.” I’m incredibly shocked when I see Anastasia walk into the room. She’s wearing tight leather pants and high-heeled boots, and on top she has a black tank top. Her hair is pin straight. She looks like she stepped right out of a movie screen.

Somewhere in that exchange was the outline of the bridge neither of them wanted to admit they were building. Anastasia appeared in the doorway with the tray and the look of a woman whose life has rolled more men into recovery than a church hospital. She gave Nicos a glance that pinned him to his manners and me a glance that remembered the year I refused to eat tomatoe soup for political reasons. Her hair was pulled back, dark and exacting. Her dress was navy, the color of sea that return ships to safe harbors. “Eat,” she said to Elky, as if she was offering him a chance to exist.

"Anastasia, there's... there's nothing to say." Anastasia, however, wasn't easily placated. She studied her friend closely, noting the telltale signs of a storm brewing beneath the surface - the slight quiver of her lip, the trembling hands clenched in her lap. With a sudden rush of determination, Anastasia closed the gap between them, taking a seat next to Asa. She knew her friend was struggling, and she was determined to be the pillar of support Asa needed. "Asa, talk to me," Anastasia urged, her voice tender, a stark contrast to the firm grip she had on Asa's arm. "You're clearly upset. And this is not even about Alfred. What happened?"