Backroom Book Novels & Stories

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even curse. Just a breath. A long, slow exhale that passed through my lips like a prayer I never said aloud. I had expected this. Of course I did. I folded the pages again, tighter this time, pressing the edges between my fingers until the crease bit into my skin. My heels clicked softly across the wooden floor as I stepped into the back room, then out the rear door—where the quiet of the world became absolute. The alley behind Libreria Fioretta was lined with flower pots, some blooming, some forgotten. A rusted steel barrel sat beside the back wall. Meant for receipts. Wilted petals. Paper scraps too personal to toss.

I moved deeper into the room. The shelves curved inward near the back wall, the books older here, their spines faded and their titles worn to near illegibility. I had to lean close to read them, my finger tracing the letters carefully. “A History of the Southern Territories,” I whispered under my breath, squinting. “Wolf Genealogy: The Five Great Bloodlines.” “The Post-War Reconstruction—A Council Record.” I paused at that last one. Post-war. I pulled it free carefully and turned to the first page. Dense formal text, the kind written by people who wanted to sound important.

Elizabeth sighed, patting her softly in the back. Minutes passed by before the mother and daughter let go of each other and wiped away their tears, “oh, that reminds me, I had taken a room downstairs and I found a tape under my pillow and I kept it over there," Elizabeth said, pointing at the dining table. Irene frowned, "a tape?” She asked and Elizabeth nodded, she turned immediately and went to the dining to see what she was talking about.

Finally, Emily's due date crept up. The pack healer told her to stay off her feet and move into the pack clinic. But James had other plans—two expecting wolves giving birth at the same time? Perfect cover for a swap. Emily didn't like the risk, but she played along. Came back to the manor, eyeing my bump like it might explode. Three more days. Then she cracked. Even through the wall, I heard her sobbing to James. Two hours later—knock on my door. He walked in, fake smile locked in place, holding that "tonic." Same one from my last life.

" Before leaving, Helen closed the door behind her, thoughtfully giving Kayla the space and time to think. However, Lucian was clearly not calm. When he realized that his mother had secretly brought Kayla into his meticulously organized room, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He had never lost his composure like this, not even at a negotiation table where deals worth billions were signed. But this terrified him. He was afraid Kayla would think he was a creep. After all, no normal person would secretly collect someone else's belongings and dedicate an entire room to store them. So when he pushed open the door, he braced himself for disgust, or worse, outright rejection.

Jared did not return home until late that night. The first thing he did was step into the children’s rooms and kiss their sleeping faces. I looked at the freshly drafted divorce papers in front of me, feeling an unexpected twinge of regret. Jared was, after all, a good father. He just did not love me. My thoughts were interrupted when his angry voice cut through the silence. He grabbed the container of protein powder from the table and threw it into the trash, his expression tense. “What is this? Are you preparing for the Supermodel Showdown?

I froze, trying to process this novel, unexpected experience, while Jeff panted above me. Early exposure to a particularly unfortunate strain of commercial p**n had discouraged me from ever trying this before. Said p**n involved straight guys who were perfectly willing to let their carrot be waxed by another man for money, so long as they didn't have to do any of the dirty work themselves. So rimming had become synonymous in my mind with a particularly submissive (okay, guilty as charged, but, please!) kind of guy who'll do anything to get a man off without expecting any reciprocation.

"That little witch really knows how to twist things, doesn't she? I knew she was up to no good. Good thing I was careful and kept a backup." As she spoke, Mrs. Pena tapped on her phone and began to play a recording.

" My eyes flew open to see Sophia standing before me, still alive and breathing. She was wearing an elegant long dress and had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, radiating youthful energy. Even so, her eyes were unable to hide their contempt. The Sophia from my future was mature, cold, and unapproachable, but this version of her was bright and spirited, still carrying a touch of liveliness. A lump formed in my throat when I laid my eyes on her. The time machine had indeed brought me back to the past, but unfortunately, it seemed to have malfunctioned. Instead of returning to when we first met, I had arrived thirteen years in the past, on the day Sophia and I were about to be married. Tha

“You have five minutes.” Damien nodded. “That’s all I need.” She let him in. The house was small but warm. Family photos lined the walls. School drawings and finger paintings adorned the fridge. There was life here—real, imperfect, beautiful life. It was nothing like the sterile penthouse Damien returned to each night. He stood in the hallway, listening to Camila’s soft humming from the next room, and for the first time in years, Damien Carrington felt… human. “You can sit,” Teresa said, pointing to the couch.