Rejected Lost And Found Novels & Stories

"Good morning too. What's up?" My secretary explained the problems that had occurred while I was gone for the past few days. “Sorry, sir. There are some agendas that you missed. I have rescheduled them for you. The problem is the logistics rejection. They said that today they are short of supplies and asked our company for more.” “Oh, yes. Just do your best! I told them that if they ever lack logistics, they can tell me right away.” “Okay, sir, then. I will finish everything soon.” My secretary excused herself after that.

Then I remembered Leo's fornal personal assistant. I remember how just one day he stopped coming around, and Leo hired a new one. I never asked why. Maybe this old assistant knows something, perhaps he saw things I didn't. What was his name again? James… James Carter. I pull up an old business article-one with small mention of Leo's former assistant-and feel a flicker of hope. If anyone knows the truth, it'll be him.

Did she just call me their Luna? A sick feeling twisted in my stomach. No. That couldn’t be right. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t meant to be here. I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. “I’m not your Luna,” I rasped, forcing the words out. The old woman’s sharp gaze flicked over me with something between pity and disapproval. “That’s not for you to decide, child.” Her words sent a cold shiver down my spine. Before I could protest again, she sighed and moved toward a side door, pushing it open. “The bath is warm. You stink of sweat and filth. Wash yourself before the Alpha returns.”

With me out of the picture, there was nothing left to stand in the way of his devotion to her. But then, one day, Owen appeared before me, looking disheveled and weary. His suit was ill-fitted, and his tie hung loosely. His eyes were clouded with sorrow. "Where have you been these past three years, Audrey?" he asked. "I've searched everywhere but couldn't find you. Susan and Gerard wouldn't tell me where you went. Your friends curse me out whenever they see me. I've missed you so much." His words didn't stir anything in me except for a feeling of disgust.

"If you don’t find a way to move past this, it will forever be a barrier between you that only grows." "That’s why I can’t lose you and Adis," I mumble into him. "I’ve already lost Tjeck." "No, you haven’t," Thorn says, holding me at arm's length. "You still have Tjeck. You two just need to talk this through. Go find him. If not for yourself, then please do it for him." ***** I find Tjeck in the weapons basement, moving some boxes around. He emerges from a room with a case under his arm just as I nearly walk into him. "Hi." I don’t know what to say.

"I know but…" "Think it through. Your phone’s been ringing," he said, already walking past me. "I’ll be in my office." My phone vibrated again. I fished it out from my bag. A strange number. "Hello?" I answered. "Miss Jacqueline? This is Judge Henson Blackwood’s assistant. We've been trying to reach you. Your lost folder was found. Please come to the courthouse to collect it." Lost folder? I hadn’t even realized I lost anything.

In case of a rebellion or war amongst species. It wasn't a hassle locating the dealer's shop. I already had the details at hand and I knew him to an extent. I stepped into Andrew's shop, and the doorbell chimed alerting him of our presence. On the outside, the place appeared all sweet and innocent marketing luxurious and timeless jewelry pieces. But deep down Andrew used the shop to launder money and traffic arms. “Alpha Roland!” Andrew called out once I stepped into the shop. “We can drop the ‘ Alpha’ .”

I pulled it out. It was a tiny, velvet black jewelry box. It felt light in my palm, looking completely out of place inside the messy dashboard. I popped the box open under the dim, orange light of the radio screen. My breath caught hard in my throat. Sitting inside the white silk lining was a single, silver high school cufflink. It was dented, deeply scratched, and covered in old scuffs. It was the exact cufflink I had lost six years ago, on the very night the Hayes family had me thrown out into the pouring rain. Next to the silver metal was a small piece of folded white paper.

It was some pictures. The girl had a nervous look. The look which told her she was a culprit in doing something wrong and illegal. She had seen a lot of these tricks in the past. Madam Anderson picked up the girl's phone. "Can I have my phone back, please?" The girl's hasty tone gave her out. Something was amiss. Not giving the photos a single glance, she deleted them quickly. In fact, she deleted the whole pictures of the phone. She gave the phone back to the nervous girl and smiled at her.

Which was strange. Resignations were usually documented. Graduations archived. Even disciplinary removals carried footnotes. This one didn’t. Just a line. Status: Resigned. No explanation. No follow-up. No trace. At the time, I’d dismissed it as incomplete filing. Now, standing beneath a 1956 article referencing “restricted archival relocation,” it didn’t feel incomplete. It felt… edited. I knew this was valuable information, the kind that raised questions and got answers. I also knew something else.