Fifty Shades Darker Anastasia 소설 & 이야기

"You're worth waiting for forever, if I have to. I love you Anastasia, I'm never letting you get away from me again." "Good," she said, smiling. A bright light filled the driveway of the mansion, flooding the vehicle and its occupants. Anya laughed and reached for the door handle. Opening it, she hopped off Ash's lap and patted his erection naughtily before slamming the door shut and skipping toward the front doors of the house. Ash rolled his window down and mock growled at her retreating form, "Get your ass back here so I can spank it!" She flipped him the finger as she continued to walk away, hips swinging, her purple nail polish glinting in the bright light.

My thoughts drifted back to Anastasia, staring out at the dark sky beyond the window. Was she on the pill? I’d have to warn Nico about her ex and the chance she might be carrying another man’s child. Best to wait until she got her period before tying the knot. Her eyes caught mine in the reflection on the glass. She didn’t flinch. I liked that. Most women either feared me or at least my reputation. Anastasia didn’t seem to care. In fact, she had more fire in her than anyone who’d dared defy me in the last decade. Would that same fire show behind closed doors?

she spat under her breath, slamming the wheel with her palm. Her plan was simple , get to Damon’s mansion, question the maids, slip them money if needed. Someone would break, Someone always did. But just as she neared the familiar neighborhood, her eyes caught sight of a slim figure walking alone along the street. Long hair doll with beautiful hairpins youthful frame, the face illuminated briefly by a passing car’s headlights. Penelope, damon’s precious daughter. Anastasia’s lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. A thought as dark as it was tempting slithered into her mind.

Antony replied with a hint of threat that honestly gave Anastasia goosebumps. “Sure. I'm a person who is good at keeping secrets. You've proven it all along.” Anastasia replied with a sweet smile. “Is there another problem?” Antony asked when Anastasia didn't get up from her seat. Anastasia clearly understood the subtle suggestion. “Well, since I have another photo shoot in this area, I'll take my leave.” Anastasia got up from her seat and tried to act casual. “I don't see Altezza, where is he?” She asked curiously.

“When has something like that ever stopped us before?” He hesitated still, and I sighed, leaning forward to grab the lotion from his hand. “It’ll work,” I assured him. “You just have to trust me, like you always have.” He didn’t argue after that. I dipped my fingers into the lotion and gently touched the bruises on his cheek. “Let me help,” I said softly, even as my mind spun with the dark satisfaction of what was to come. Anastasia had no idea what awaited her. She’d played Queen long enough. Soon, I’d make her remember exactly who she was, and who I was.

Lady Melissa asked when she got nearer to the girl. The girl turned at her voice, and what greeted Lady Melissa was one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen. The girl looked older than her, probably 20 years old, blonde hair with green eyes. She was petite and standing next to Lady Melissa, she seemed smaller in size. She looked up and smiled at Lady Melissa. Even her smile was captivating! Who's this girl? "Lady Melissa Knight, is it? My name is Lady Anastasia Blackwell. I'm Prince Xavier's fiancée." She answered, all the while smiling at her.

"Uh you go. I'll order something." She scowled but handed her bag and ran off. I rubbed my forehead as I walked to MacDonald's, wondering why Bryan was behaving the way he is. I looked around for a place to sit but my eyes froze on a particular figure. Long black hair, hazel eyes, high cheek bones, pink lips, sleuth figure, dressed in skinny black jeans and cream fashion top. She looked gorgeous. Anastasia. ~~~ Well, who's ready for the drama!!??

But he would have expected Anastasia to have broken down by now. Instead, she stood regal in her pristine black dress, which instead of toning down her beauty somehow managed to accentuate it. Black had always been her color, emphasizing the white perfection of her skin, and highlighting the cyan blue of her eyes. Not that they were visible under the huge shades she was wearing, the rest of her face rigidly stony so that he was unable to make out whether she was actually dejected about her father’s demise.

It was genuine. “You must be Vittoria,” she said, already moving toward me. “I’m Anastasia.” She stopped short, eyes roaming my face, my posture, the sling on my arm. Her gaze was frank, unfiltered, professional. “Nikolai’s sister,” she added, as if that alone explained her presence and her energy. So this was her. She dressed in black, but not in the controlled severity Nikolai favored. Hers was layered, intentional chaos; textures clashing and somehow working, sharp lines softened by movement. A measuring tape hung around her neck like jewelry. Her fingers were faintly stained with chalk and ink.