The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty Novels & Stories

“Check out the local library. Ask for Yellen’s book. Tom” Leila sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Eduard Yellen. The man whose nutty research had kicked off this whole mess. A dead man with too many secrets and not enough time to spill them. Now she was supposed to dig through dusty old books to figure out how deep this rabbit hole went. She headed for the fridge, hoping for something stronger than a clue, but all she found was a single can of gourmet dog food and a designer bottle of mineral water. Wolfie’s breakfast, it seemed, was more luxurious than hers.

Pushing Whitney’s strange behavior out of my mind, I drifted off to slumberland. The buzz of my phone startled me awake. I got up to use the bathroom, only to find the living room unoccupied. Before I could call out to anyone, the strange noise from Whitney’s room caught my attention. I approached the room and stuck my ear against the door. The closed door did little to block out the sound. I heard muffled, broken sounds coming from the room. “Mmph… Hm… Harder…” I shook uncontrollably as the sounds of intimacy pierced through my ears. Given that Whitney was a widow, and Keith was missing, I shoved my fist into my mouth and went back to my room.

Present Day Emily lived by one rule: look good, work harder. A rule she had set for herself four years ago. Dressed in black pants and a tucked-in pink shirt, accompanied by a pink leather handbag—she stood in the lobby of City Pulse Press. Looking at her, one would think she feared nothing—but deep down, she panicked at the thought of what awaited her behind the doors of Carol's office. Carol was the only person in the building who could see through Emily's composure.

But here, on these pages, I can admit it: I dream about him. More than dreams, sometimes. I wake up sweating, my chest aching, wishing the dreams were real. Wishing he was mine. My hand shook as I wrote the last line. If anyone ever read this, I’d die. But maybe I’m already dying, piece by piece, every time he walks past me in the hallway and pretends I’m nothing. I closed the journal, heart pounding. Slid it under my pillow, where it lived with all my other secrets. Safe. For now.

A faint frown forms on my lips. “What is this…” I murmur under my breath. I slide a finger under the flap and tear it open. A single white sheet. I pull it out and unfold it. The moment my eyes land on the words, my entire body goes still. I KNOW YOUR SECRET AND THE TRUTH YOU ARE TRYING TO HIDE. AMARA ROOSEVELT. My breath catches. My fingers tremble so violently the paper almost slips from my grip. No. No… no, no…

“I am a fast reader. Probably five minutes or less. Granting me permission spares you a trip to see me, but you will likely be very tired afterward.” I nodded. I was nothing if not practical, and I had nothing to hide. Uncle Roger encouraged me to lean my head back against the head rest, and then took one of my hands in his. Soon, I felt a strange tugging sensation in my mind. “If you still want to move forward, let me in,” he said. “Envision opening a locked door.” I did as he said. Exactly five minutes later, it was over. The expression on Uncle Roger’s face was grim.

Twelve years Twelve years of hiding, longing, and pretending we could live separate lives while our packs hated each other. And yet the moment we stood in the same room again, everything returned as if time had never moved. I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around me. My body felt heavy with exhaustion, but my mind raced. Lynx came in, and as soon as he laid his eyes on me, his eyes widened, and a mischievous grin appeared on his lips as he scanned my naked body.

Jibee complained Daddy let us use our private jet and sent his pilot for my convenience. Our jet looks and feels cozy and comfortable. It has four fluffy and comfortable beds, a TV set in front of our beds, a mini kitchen on the left, a bathroom near the pilot and a fridge full of food. "Lily? May I ask you something?" Rose sat next to me on my bed "Yeah?" "Uh... who are you really? I mean... you're really confusing the hell out of me. You're living in a simple apartment then you have a freaking private jet?"