The Authenticity Project: A Novel Novels & Stories

I take one last look at myself until I strike a pose and say,"Perfect," I hear mom from downstairs telling me to hurry up, so I grab my book bag and put on my glasses and was about to leave my room until I remember my most important thing. I go to my book-shelf and pull out a book that reads, Gone Girl by Giliian Flynn on the front cover. I've always loved mysteries; I can't remember one day where I wasn't watching Criminal Minds or Goosebumps in my room.

Without looking back, I vanished into the snow. Andrew stood in the snow, staring in the direction I had gone. His hoarse voice drifted through the wind. "You won't abandon me, Eleanor." A month later, at a bar in Glaciercrest Pack, I sat by the window, sipping coffee as I admired the snowy landscape outside. The murmurs of travelers around me reached my ears. "Did you hear? Darkmoon Pack’s strongest warrior confessed to murdering his ex-father-in-law and was sentenced today." My fingers froze around my coffee cup.

​To the woman who makes time stand still, the inscription on the back read in a delicate, flowing script. ​I traced the words with my thumb, the cold metal biting into my skin. For a second, the bunker felt too small, the silence too heavy. I remembered the way he’d looked at me that night—as if I were the only real thing in a world of ghosts. I remembered the warmth of his hand on my back and the way he’d promised that we were a team. I had believed him. I had let myself be powered by his movement, his world, his gravity. ​But that was before the bridge. That was before the "identity truth." That was before I found out I was a patented project funded by his father's trust.

Vivian pov When I saw myself standing on the stage, a flicker of confusion crossed Nash Smith’s eyes, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He turned to Cecilia Johnson, urgency in his voice. "Give me the item!" Cecilia looked a bit guilty as she replied, "Nash, according to the auction rules, if any fakes are discovered, they must be destroyed on the spot." Nash's anger flared. "Do you think I can't tell the difference between a fake and a real one? How dare you destroy my junior's hard work! That's unforgivable!" The crowd gasped in shock. Cecilia, recalling that she had already instructed the staff to dispose of the item, stood her ground. "While I respect you, Nash, please don't make bas

He even read an article about a director who was planning to make a movie out of the novel. "Damn it! You're dead, but you're still causing trouble, Ella. I should have destroyed your cell phone back then. Damn it!" he cursed again with mounting frustration. Now, he felt trapped. The novel was really about their true story. Johan's name was actually written there. And what Ella wrote was true, exactly as it had happened. Not to mention the video of Ansel's conversation with some unknown woman. How could he get out of it if the police caught him someday? Suddenly, he remembered his conversation with David Foster on WhyApp. He smiled.

I said, sounding like I was trying to convince myself instead. They looked at each other then started laughing. “Yeah, sure. The truth will set you free Hayes.” Theo muttered. “Veritas vos liberabit.” Max said in a language I didn’t understand. The truth she tried to remind me of. That was the only truth in all of this. Somehow, I was leaning closer than I should be. And I was stil texting her. YOU : You’re coming tonight right? JUNE : do I have a choice? YOU : no. JUNE : that sounded slightly threatening. YOU : good.

Her heartbeat quickened. “This face… it feels familiar.” She leaned closer to the mirror, studying every detail. The eyes. The nose. The lips. “I’ve seen this face before,” she whispered. Her mind raced, memories colliding— And then it hit her. “No…” Her eyes widened in horror. “This is the villain from that novel.” Her heart pounded violently. “The Dirty Mafia…” Her breath caught. “And this girl…” Her voice trembled. “Rose Whitmore.” Her knees nearly gave out.

Elena’s POV The room smelled like antiseptic and cold steel, the kind of place where secrets were peeled open layer by layer until nothing survived intact. I sat alone at the long glass table, my hands folded tightly in my lap, nails biting into my palms. Across from me, a thin file lay open its pages heavy with words I had chased across two lifetimes. Project Rebirth. Seeing the name in black ink still made my stomach twist. Alexander stood by the window, his back to me, shoulders rigid beneath his tailored suit. The city lights outside shimmered like distant stars, cruelly beautiful, unaware of the truths about to be unearthed inside this room.

he said, his voice steady despite everything. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without breaking down again. As we lifted off, I cast one last look at our blood-stained patio where the bullet had struck Abigail in the head. A bullet meant for me. I wanted to find Sinclair, to crush him with my bare hands. After this blatant act of aggression, all pretenses are off. Abigail’s life hangs in the balance, and we are officially at war with the Red Lords. Book 4 in the Obsidian Knights series is to be released in December 2025. For more information, please visit www.laurajquinnbooks.com

"She said: I need to look at the woman who wrote this. I need to see that she is real." Adaeze felt that land somewhere. I need to see that she is real. She understood it. The book was honest in the specific way that made it feel, to some readers, almost too honest to have been written by a real person in a real life. The kind of honesty that seemed, from the outside, to require something beyond the ordinary capacity for self-exposure. The kind that made people need to see the face behind it to confirm that it was possible, that someone had actually been inside the experience she described and come out of it and was still walking around in the world.