Stand-in Novels & Stories

Someone with access to Limelight's archive room. The file needs to disappear. Sent. Phone face-down. Lamp off.

In the video, Emily—who had never lifted a finger around the house—was wearing an apron and cooking for him. They had also changed their profile pictures to couple photos of them in wedding attire. In the latest post, Kyle showed off Emily's pregnancy test results, announcing that he and Emily were becoming parents. While showing off, he tagged me in the comments: [Chris, did you ever get treated like this as a stand-in?] A bunch of people joined in to mock me. [Honestly, if Kyle hadn't wanted to wait so long to get married, Chris wouldn't have even been a stand-in. He's not fit to be compared to Kyle.]

Kara apologized as she slowly approached them. Stan got on his feet to reverence the presence of the governor but Stacy remained sitting holding her cup of drink to her face.

"Then hurry up and feed her." My entire body went rigid. The room was filled with his Soldati. Several assistants stood by the door. Here? Right here? Was he really going to strip me of all dignity like this? I looked at Lucas in despair, my eyes filled with pleading as I signed: [Can you ask them to leave first?] "What are you stalling for? Can't you hear Luna crying herself breathless?!" He understood sign language, but he simply chose cruelty. "Miss Lang, Luna comes first," Serena said with feigned kindness. "Look how pitiful she is. At a time like this, why care about pride? As a mother, you should learn to sacrifice."

"If you're going to stay with us, you can join in and learn. Unless you feel your skills are above ours?" "Seriously?" "Yes. Take the end. Move. Burney, partner her." Burney stood and grabbed my hand, pulling me after him until I'd reached my place. I felt stupid standing there, lined up with kids that couldn't be any older than fourteen, and Burney's amused look was making it worse. "This is embarrassing," I hissed, as he positioned himself across from me. "Quiet," Stan said, giving me daggers. "Positions!" I knew it meant something, because those on my side moved into a defensive stance. I frowned, grounding my feet as best I could.

Each step toward the stand feels like a journey through quicksand, my heart racing as I approach the place where I must lay bare my truth. The stand looms ahead, a symbol of both vulnerability and strength, and as I finally take my position, I remind myself that this is my moment to speak out, to reclaim my story amidst the swirling chaos of accusations.

"You're out of a job and I'm offering you one. I don't see how that's a game." I narrow my eyes, not sure if I trust him. "What's the catch?" "No catch," he says, holding up his hands. "Just offering you a job." Oh, hell no. I won't let him drag me back into that home ever again. "I’m not interested.” “Think about it and let me know what you think.” And with that, he rises from his seat, his imposing height, towering over me. “I’ll be expecting your call.”

“Stand up, sir. You’re under arrest.” .

Nothing here has been cleared. Nothing here has been replaced. I wasn’t brought here to start anything. I was brought here to hold it in place.

Because it seems everywhere I go I feel like a victim eaten up fast For once I plead Someone to ask me Will you please..." " It's not the right time. I have to go home and do it." He says. I can hear the confusion in his voice. I continue the poem in my head. 'Will you please... stay.' Yes, that's it! I need to note this down. I grab a sticky note which I store in my pocket. I write down 'stay' with my the only pen I have, a red ballpoint.