Secrets In Wobbly Life Novels & Stories

It just took a front seat to everything else we have going on. I pull up the web browser and start typing in the search bar, looking for anything that can give me clues about what had just happened. I know there are creatures with the ability to raise the dead, but they are usually dark creatures and from what I know of Willow from her background check and from meeting her, she is feisty and temperamental at times but there is nothing dark about her so there has to be another explanation. If it’s out there I will find it.

She had disobeyed him three times this night; going outside without his permission, bringing that damn cat in his house, and coming down to the basement. Madeline hesitantly opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was far too terrified. Was this really who Matthew was? He hid he fact that he was a direwolf, he hid the fact that he was a cruel torturer who kept men chained up in his basement, what other secrets is he keeping from her? "Answer me." His gaze was menacing. She began scolding herself for coming down here. "You should've just stayed in bed, you idiot. Everything would've been fine."

“I’ve noticed. He kind of likes to annoy you.” “Oh, it’s his life mission.” Mrs. Fisher cleared her throat from the front. “Alright, who can tell me the first step?” Dead silence. I looked at my desk. Eye contact meant certain death and I wasn't prepared for that. Ella leaned closer, whispering, “I don’t get why letters get to hang out with numbers. It just feels wrong.” I smirked. “They call it algebra. I call it identity theft.” Her laugh escaped before she could stop it, and Mrs. Fisher’s gaze snapped to us. “Is something funny?”

A doorway you could walk through in the time it takes to blink and on the other side everything was different. I told myself it didn’t matter. Nobody saw. The street was empty. The only people who would ever know were me, Caleb, and Zara. I would tell Rhys myself – when, if, he ever let me close enough to speak. I would confess before the five seconds could become a secret, because secrets were Caleb’s currency and I refused to carry his coins. Nobody saw. Nobody knew. I pressed my face into my pillow and tasted cheap beer and brick dust and the particular bitterness of a woman who’d spent months building a case against a man’s manipulation and then handed him a weapon in five seconds flat.

I start, trying to catch myself from completely falling apart, “There is something I need to tell you.” “What do you need to tell me?” “That secret.” “The kitchen secret?” “Yes, that secret.” “Tell me I like secrets.” “Well, I have this problem.” “A problem?” “It's not really a problem.” “It's a good problem?” “Yes, something like that.” “How can a secret be a problem.” “Okay, it's just a secret.” “Are you sure?” “Sure about what?” “That the secret is a secret and not a good problem.” “You are confusing me.”

Autumn had never truly believed in keeping secrets, lying, or avoiding reality. She knew she wasn't perfect—she'd told her share of little white lies, hidden things from her aunt, covered up crushes, failed quizzes, even fibbed about where she’d been after curfew back when she used to hang out with Calvin. But this? This was something else entirely. This secret throbbed in her chest like a second heartbeat, heavy and insistent, every time she glanced at the man lying in the spare bedroom. It was the kind of secret that demanded attention, refusing to be buried beneath ordinary worries.

Life’s karma really doesn’t miss, does it? If you were Melissa, would you keep the results secret or use them as your weapon? Choose carefully — secrets have a way of burning down empires. Yours in plotting, Zera

With trembling hands, she surrendered herself to the skilled hands of the esthetician, desperately craving the transformation that awaited her. As the wax ceremoniously danced across her delicate skin, a wave of vulnerability washed over Liza. Each velvety strip inflicted a bittersweet pain, yet she welcomed it with fervent yearning. The rawness of the experience only fueled her desire to emerge anew, shedding her inhibitions and insecurities.

My werewolf metabolism hummed contentedly, always favoring less restriction. The people in this village were terribly friendly, though perhaps a little too curious for my taste. Secrets did not stay in the shadows for long, they were whispered, carried on the breeze, and spread like wildfire before anyone even noticed the spark that ignited them. It was both soothing and unnerving, a place where safety was built on collective vigilance, but privacy was an illusion, shattered the moment a single tongue wagged too freely.

Questions kept piling up—piles of confusion, anger, hurt, even exasperation, all topped with secrets. My mother had secrets. I didn’t even know she was a rogue, much less part of a rogue rebellion. And the Council had secrets, and Amaris had secrets. Hell, even Tyler had secrets. But at least he could tell me them without withholding. As time went on, we would tell each other everything without barriers. That was with time. But at the time, we didn’t have that luxury. Tears pricked my eyes, blurring my vision and obscuring the ancient scroll with its words shimmering like living embers.