Home Alone Movie Book Novels & Stories

Scarlett stared at the book before her. She came back home after the surprising incident with her father and now sitting in the living room of her apartment with her mother's book. Her mind was loaded with several thoughts, especially things that happen around her today. "Mama was the writer of this book and from uncle Tyler's explanation, it seems mama was a perfumer." She talked to herself.

She had been here for almost three months and she had still not seen the whole house. After a refreshing bath. She went around the house. There were so many rooms. What did he need all of them for? He never had guests around. She finally found his library. It was enormous. She walked from shelf to shelf pulling out books and looking at covers and titles. Maybe she would find something she might like. She had no phone and it seemed like no one ever watched the TV. His books were mostly business and management. She did find a reasonable number of books on sex and male domination. Was obvious he was the BDSM type of person. Seemed she too had a secret kink for it. She even found all 7 volumes o

Their future. He looked at the bookshelf, neatly lined with books of all kinds. Alizeh’s books, her mother’s books, and Isabella’s books. He could not believe what was happening. This was her home, and she was gone. Her mother was here and barely hanging on, but Alizeh was gone.

It was too quiet, eerily quiet. Dolores decided to walk forward, after wandering for a while, she finally saw...a book. As soon as Dolores got close to the unusual book in the middle of the white room, she was sucked in. As if watching a document, Dolores felt her eyes going through a novel called, "Saving my moonlight in the haunted mansion". Sadie Laurent was going through her late grandfather's stuff when she found an old key. Sadie being a curious cat spirit, kept pestering her parents to know where this place was, but her parents kept avoiding answering. At last, Sadie pestered the old granny of her house.

"She wouldn't be begging you like this if she weren't desperate. And don't you live in a three-bedroom all by yourself?" I couldn't help but find it ridiculous. "So just because my place has extra rooms, I'm supposed to hand one over to her? Do I owe her that?" Madison pursed her lips. "But you're all alone. Why can't I stay there? Unless... there's something in your apartment you don't want anyone to see?" The moment she said that, the murmurs around us grew louder. I took a deep breath. So apparently, living alone in a big apartment meant I must be hiding something.

On the living room shelf — the long one by the east window that had held nothing but architectural books and a clock since I moved in — there was a gap between two volumes where something new had been placed. Her worn paperback. The one she carried everywhere. The one she read when she was anchoring herself. She had put it in the shared space. Not on her floor. Not in her room. Here. I stood in front of the shelf for a long moment. The apartment was quiet. Forty-two floors below, the city continued without comment. I did not move the book. I turned off the light and went to bed. And I lay in the dark with the particular awareness of a man who has spent eleven years alone in a space that now,

He stopped it with his hand. “Enjoy your night with Tyler,” he said. “Just remember whose cum was dripping out of you a few hours ago.” Then he walked away. I shut the door and leaned against it, heart racing. Behind me Tyler asked if everything was okay. I told him yes. But nothing was okay. Outside in the hallway I heard Sophia’s voice calling Damon’s name, soft and sweet. And for the first time since Tyler arrived, I felt something close to panic. This house was too small for the four of us.

Homey. There were no glinting chandeliers or polished marble floors. The space was low-lit, warm, and masculine. A dark leather couch dominated the living room, draped with a fleece throw that looked like it had been dragged off a bed. A punching bag hung in the corner beside a dartboard riddled with holes. The kitchen was neat, almost suspiciously so—counters scrubbed clean, cabinets bare except for protein powder and three unopened bottles of whiskey. But it was the small details that threw me. A stack of books slumped against the wall—wolf history texts, leadership manuals, and, bizarrely, a slim volume of poetry wedged between them like a guilty secret.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with every genre imaginable. I pulled a book off the shelf at random and curled up in the chair, trying to lose myself in someone else's story so I didn't have to think about my own. But I couldn't focus. Couldn't stop thinking about last night. About standing in Zyran's room and asking him what we were supposed to do, and him telling me to go back to my room like I was a child being sent to bed. I closed the book and stared out the window. This was going to be my life for the next year. Maybe two. Living in this beautiful, empty house with a husband who didn't want me. Being alone even when I wasn't.