Emma White Author Novels & Stories

“And then, there's someone out there who has fifty one thousand with just two books.” “I knew it all along,” Alicia’s tone made Emily tear her gaze from her phone, something that once seemed impossible. “I knew she was a good writer that stayed humble.” “What's that? I'm confused here,” Emily leaned in. “The author of those books,” Alicia inhaled deeply, combing her hair backward. “The name is Elysia Alderidge.”

Emma Reynolds, a 25 year old writer and journalist, sat in her cluttered office at the Silverwood Gazette, her gaze fixed on the computer screen displaying the latest article she had written. For months Emma has been trying to uncover a mystery. The room hummed with the soft whirring of the ancient air conditioner, struggling to combat the summer heat that seeped through the old windows. Towering stacks of newspapers, teetering piles of research notes, and a collection of mismatched coffee mugs adorned her desk, creating an organized chaos that mirrored Emma's racing thoughts.

I whirled around, and that was when I saw her. Emma White. She was in the same major as me, but we couldn’t have been more different; she was a cheerleader, a tall and slender girl with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes. She was one of the most popular girls at this school, and she hated me. And she was holding my notebook. No, not just my notebook; it was my journal, a place where I poured out my inner thoughts, my fears, my… desires. It wasn’t for anyone but me, and yet here Emma White was, reading all of it.

Anna was a miracle child, and so is this book. She looked down on the paperback on her lap, its cover dazzling as ever. The Anthem of Lycanthropy. She couldn’t believe she was the author of this, that this was her life, and that her life story went viral — with everyone thinking it’s a realistic fiction. But of course, nobody knew that she was the writer behind the works except her and Ellie. Everyone just knew the writer as L.M.H. and that was it. Leal Miragia Horryn.

I passed everything I found back to Matthew, who used the information to sabotage the company in ways no one could trace. But then, I met Emma. Emma was just another worker in the office back then, quiet and unassuming. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to her, but over time, I started noticing the little things. The way she stayed late to finish work no one else wanted to do, the way she always greeted people with a smile even when she was clearly exhausted, the way her eyes held a sadness she tried to hide. “She’s nobody,” Matthew said dismissively when I mentioned her once, “Focus on the mission.”

"My author didn't tell me to meet here until an hour ago. If not, it would have been nice." When she said that, Emma looked back and forth between Luke and Allen and suddenly put two and two together. "Wait, are you meeting Luke, the writer?" Luke looked up sleepily when he heard his name and looked around for the coffee he thought was ready, while Allen's eyes grew wide. "How did you find out?" Emma poked Luke and laughed as she brought the straw of Luke's drink up to his face so he could drink. "This zombie over there is the great author Luke."

Maybe things could work out between us? One of the publishing editors stopped in front of us and began raving about the models who were posted around the room, “This is unlike anything you’ve ever done before, Matthew, it’s incredible! Where did you come up with all these ideas?” “I’m very pleased to hear that you enjoy them, Joyce, it was actually Emma here who inspired the change,” Emma finally looked back up at me, I figured she had been looking for Kay after Isabella stole her. “Joyce, this is Emma, my latest muse, and Emma,” I looked over at her and she had an unreadable look on her face, “this is Joyce Freeman, editor of the New York Fashion Journal.”

All her books and material were spread on the coffee table in front of the couch. Emanuel and smith shifted their duties with the night guards, before retiring to the backroom to sleep for the night. Emma was writing her assignments when one of the night guards came inside for water. He looked at Emma, who is writing something. He always had his eyes on her. He thought the boss will get bored of her after a couple of weeks, so he can have his fun after he tosses her away. Today she is particularly enticing in her short shorts, which just reach up to the middle of her soft creamy thigh.