Chapter 10
500words
The human metropolis glittered against the night sky.
In a luxurious penthouse, the city's elite mingled at an exclusive gathering. Impeccably dressed figures from finance, technology, and the arts—the true power players of human society.
Yet every gaze in the room kept returning to one woman.
Nova.
Her name circulated through the crowd in hushed, reverent tones. In just six months, she had built an empire through ruthless efficiency and brilliant strategy. Her past remained an impenetrable mystery. All anyone knew was that she commanded vast wealth and possessed an intellect sharp as a blade.
She was Elara.
Elara had died that night of betrayal six months ago. From those ashes, Nova had risen.
Nova stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the city below. Her reflection showed a face of perfect composure—no love, no hatred, not even a flicker of emotion. Her past had been erased as thoroughly as footprints on tide-washed sand.
A man in a perfectly tailored suit approached silently.
"Ms. Nova." Liam, her most trusted lieutenant, kept his voice discreetly low.
She didn't turn, her gaze remaining fixed on the cityscape.
"Speak," she commanded softly.
Liam presented a slim folder. "The information you requested."
Nova finally turned from the window. Taking the folder, she walked toward her private study without a word. The door closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her away from the world.
She opened the folder to find a single sheet of paper and a grainy photograph. The report was brutally concise.
Location: South City slums.
Subject: Silas.
Status: Located near garbage disposal site. Severely malnourished. Mentally unstable. Completely powerless. Repeatedly muttering an indiscernible name.
The photograph showed a figure huddled against a filthy wall—more skeleton than man, draped in tattered rags. Matted hair obscured a dirt-streaked face, but the eyes remained visible: hollow, wild, and utterly broken.
Nova studied the image for precisely ten seconds.
Her expression never changed. Her breathing remained perfectly steady. The name that once shattered her heart and fueled her vengeance now meant nothing—just ink on paper.
She closed the folder with a decisive snap.
A compact shredder sat beside her desk. She activated it and fed both report and photograph into its hungry maw. The machine reduced them to confetti—Silas's broken face and pathetic existence transformed into unrecognizable scraps.
Nova switched off the machine. In the ensuing silence, she acknowledged a fundamental truth: she was no longer anyone's possession. Not a vulnerable Omega. Not a Luna requiring protection. She had once surrendered her identity to a false love, chaining her power and potential to empty promises. Now she had severed those chains forever.
She was Nova. And she belonged only to herself.
She opened the study door, allowing the party's energy to flow back in. As she rejoined her guests, all eyes immediately found her. She raised her glass to a business associate, her smile subtle yet commanding.
This power, this presence—it was entirely hers. And her true story was only beginning.
