Novels by Ms. Anonymous

LIAMI stop in my tracks, my grip tightening around my keys.What the hell is she doing here?It takes me a second to fully register her — petite frame drowning in an oversized hoodie, a cap pulled low over her sunglasses, a face mask hiding half her face. The only thing that doesn’t scream incognito is the short skirt and the ridiculous heels that do absolutely nothing for her height.For anyone else, this would look over the top. For her? It’s subtle compared to the media frenzy that’s been following her lately.Still, she shouldn’t be here. Not at my place. Not in the middle of the night.This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.The elevator doors slide shut behind me, breaking the silence, and that’s when she finally looks up.She tugs down her mask, lips curling into a soft, almost teasing smile.“Hey, Li.”Her voice is light, like she’s testing the waters.I don’t answer right away. My brain is still catching up, trying to figure out what the hell she wants — why she’s here, of al

LIAMHockey practice at six in the morning should be illegal.I’m already regretting every life decision that led me here as I step into the rink, duffel bag on my shoulder and the cold air biting at my face. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker slightly, casting a dull glow over the ice. Most of the guys are already here, stretching, taping their sticks, chugging down whatever energy drinks they swear by.I should be focused. Locked in. Ready to skate until my legs give out. But my mind is still stuck on yesterday — on Emilia.She looked at me like I was the problem. Like she needed to put as much space between us as possible.And maybe she’s right.I shake off the thought and drop my bag onto the bench, yanking my jersey over my head. Cam claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes by, his grin too bright for this hour. “You look like hell.”I roll my eyes. “Thanks, man. Really needed that.”“You good?”I nod, even though I’m not sure. “Yeah. Just tired.”It’s not a total lie. But t

EMILIAI get home earlier than usual, and the moment I step inside, I hear the unmistakable sounds of Tessa rummaging around. Shoes clatter. Cabinet doors slam. Something — probably a measuring cup — clatters to the floor.I glance at the calendar. It’s her day off.Usually, we spend her days off together, but with the wedding coming up so fast, she’s been pushing me to spend more time with Liam. If only she knew how that was going.Well, she won’t exactly want to hear about it.“I’m home!” I call out, kicking off my shoes and flopping onto the couch.Fifteen minutes pass, and there’s still no sign of her. Not even a sarcastic remark. That’s weird.Just as I’m about to get up and look for her, something hits me.A smell. A truly awful smell.It’s thick, heavy, and wrong. Like something is burning, but also… maybe rotting? My stomach churns, my eyes sting, and I slap a hand over my nose.Oh God.I stand so fast that my head spins, and the moment I do, I regret everything.Because there

EMILIAI don’t know how to explain the feeling in my chest. I don’t even know why I can’t explain it. So, I don’t try. I just drink my juice and pretend to be very, very interested in the flavour.Liam watches me, then grimaces. “I swear I’m not some creepy stalker if that’s what you’re thinking.”He rubs the back of his neck. “There’s always empty strawberry containers in the fridge. And, uh… you eat them with melted chocolate, right? Because whenever I throw them out, the containers always have little chocolate stains.”I blink. I never even realised Liam was the one tossing out my empty strawberry containers.I mean… I always figured once I finished them and shoved the pack back into the fridge, it would eventually disappear. Somehow.Also who actually notices stuff like that? He saw a few empty containers, some chocolate stains, and just knew what I liked? Isn’t that too small of a detail to pick up on?I just nod and take another sip of my juice, humming in appreciation. It reall

EMILIAI miss when rush hour only happens at noon.Ever since Liam decided my bakery was his new favourite playground, business has been nonstop. He waltzed in one day, threw on an apron, and announced he was going to learn how to bake. And just like that, rush hour became every hour.Apparently, no one on earth can resist the sight of Liam Calloway covered in flour. And honestly? I get it.I won’t lie — the extra attention has been great for business. I’ve made more money in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life and I’m not even exaggerating. But it also means I’m constantly on my feet, barely catching a break.And Liam? He’s loving every second of it.Especially since it also means I barely have a second to breathe. I’ve come to realise Liam relishes in my suffering.Right now, the line stretches out the door, and I’m pretty sure half these people don’t even care about the pastries. They just want to snap a picture of Liam rolling dough or pretend to be interested so they

ZANEThe unread messages started piling up the night I left for Chicago.I clench my fist around my phone, trying to steady my breathing as my feet pound against the treadmill. The steady hum of the machine does nothing to quiet the frustration building up inside me.I’m in the indoor gym in our house. Emilia researched the brands — only filling the house with the best of the best — of all the equipment and decorated the gym meticulously according to my tastes. Hell, she’d decorated our entire house.Hmph. Well, I guess it’s just my house now.The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The house feels emptier, quieter—like something’s missing. But I shove that feeling down, focusing on the burn in my legs instead. It’s better this way. It has to be.The week Emilia moved out, Bec moved in.It was easier that way. Having someone who understood what it was like to always be in the spotlight. Someone who got the pressure, the expectations, the constant need to be at your best. We cou