Nova was born into wealth so immense that most people could never truly comprehend it. Mansions bigger than hotels, endless black cars waiting outside at all hours, private security stationed like silent shadows around every corner — luxury surrounded her from the moment she opened her eyes. To outsiders, her life looked perfect. Untouchable. Privileged. Like something people would envy without hesitation.

In reality, it was painfully lonely.

Her mother died shortly after giving birth to her, leaving behind little more than faded photographs, expensive jewelry locked away in glass cases, and stories spoken in hushed voices by the older house staff. Nova barely remembers her face. The closest thing she has to memories are fragmented pieces created from imagination — the imagined warmth of her mother’s arms, the imagined sound of her voice, the imagined comfort she never truly got to experience. Sometimes she wonders if her mother would have softened the coldness that consumed the estate after her death. Sometimes she wonders if she would have grown into a completely different person if she had been loved properly from the beginning.

Her father certainly never tried.

A terrifyingly wealthy and influential man, her father built his empire through fear, manipulation, and an obsession with power that consumed nearly every aspect of his life. To him, emotions were weaknesses, affection was unnecessary, and children were little more than extensions of his legacy. Everything he did revolved around control. Reputation mattered more than happiness. Status mattered more than love. Power mattered more than family.

Nova learned very early in life that she would never be treated like a daughter in the way normal children were loved.

She was raised mostly by maids, butlers, tutors, and security staff who rotated in and out of her life so frequently that attachment became dangerous. The household employees cared for her far more than her father ever did, but there were limits to what they could provide. Affection inside the estate always felt restrained, cautious, almost fearful — as if everyone understood that too much softness would displease the man who owned the house.

Her childhood was painfully controlled.

She was homeschooled under strict supervision, taught etiquette before she was old enough to understand why it mattered, and expected to behave perfectly at all times. Mistakes were not tolerated. Emotional outbursts were punished with isolation and humiliation rather than comfort. Every lesson she received carried the same message: weakness had no place in their family.

Friendships were nearly nonexistent.

Her father only allowed her near children from wealthy, influential, or politically valuable families — never because he cared about her happiness, but because relationships were tools to him. Every interaction was carefully calculated. Every dinner party, social gathering, or arranged “friendship” existed solely to strengthen alliances or secure future advantages. Nova quickly learned that most people around her were pretending. Smiling while secretly judging each other. Complimenting each other while competing silently beneath the surface.

As a result, she grew up deeply distrustful of people.

She learned how to read expressions before words. Learned how to recognize fake kindness hidden behind polished smiles. Learned how easily people could weaponize vulnerability. Over time, sarcasm became her shield. Indifference became her armor. If she acted cold first, nobody could hurt her before she had the chance to push them away.

By the time she reached her teenage years, Nova had already developed the sharp tongue and stubborn personality people know her for now. She challenged authority constantly, especially her father’s. While other people feared him completely, Nova possessed just enough recklessness to openly defy him in small ways whenever she could. Sometimes it was subtle — refusing to attend events properly, speaking out of turn during business dinners, deliberately embarrassing wealthy guests with uncomfortable honesty. Other times it was worse. Sneaking out despite security, disappearing into the city for hours without permission, getting into arguments she knew would end badly simply because she hated being controlled.

Causing chaos became one of the few things that made her feel alive.

Underneath all the rebellion, however, was a deeply exhausted and lonely girl who spent most of her life emotionally neglected.

The mansion never truly felt like home to her. It felt too quiet. Too empty. Too performative. Every room looked beautiful but felt lifeless, like a museum pretending to be a family home. She spent most of her free time hiding in the massive private library simply because books were easier to understand than people. Horror novels, psychological thrillers, dark romances — stories filled with broken people, obsession, violence, and emotional ruin fascinated her because they felt more honest than the fake perfection surrounding her real life.

Writing became her escape long before she realized it.

At first, she wrote secretly in notebooks hidden beneath her mattress — messy stories full of grief, anger, monsters, death, and loneliness disguised as fiction. It was the only place she allowed herself to feel emotions she otherwise buried beneath sarcasm and attitude. Her father would have considered it weakness if he knew how much emotion she poured into those pages.

As she got older, her relationship with her father only worsened.

He expected obedience. Nova gave him resistance.

He expected perfection. Nova deliberately became difficult.

He wanted a polished daughter who would strengthen the family’s reputation. Instead, he got someone sharp-mouthed, emotionally distant, impossible to fully control, and completely uninterested in becoming another pawn in his empire.

Ironically, despite being raised in a world where most wealthy people ignored suffering unless it affected them personally, Nova grew into someone deeply compassionate toward others. Maybe because she understood loneliness too well herself. Maybe because she spent her entire childhood wishing someone would genuinely care about her without expecting something in return.

That compassion is exactly what led her into becoming a trauma nurse — something her father absolutely despised.

To him, the profession was beneath their family status. He expected business, politics, or something prestigious and powerful. Instead, Nova chose exhausting hospital shifts, bloodstained scrubs, sleepless nights, and emotionally draining work helping strangers survive their worst moments.

The irony of her career is almost laughable considering how much she hates blood.

Even now, certain injuries make her stomach turn. Some nights after work she sits silently in her apartment trying to scrub the smell of antiseptic and iron from her skin while fighting nausea and exhaustion. But she forces herself through it because unlike her father, she cannot look at suffering and remain indifferent.

She refuses to become him.

That fear — becoming as cold and heartless as her father — secretly haunts her more than she admits.

Now living alone far away from the suffocating control of her childhood home, Nova has built a quieter life for herself. Not necessarily peaceful, but hers. Her apartment is cluttered with books, unfinished writing projects, cold cups of coffee, and the constant presence of her black cat, Salem, who acts more like a demanding roommate than a pet. The local coffee shop and library have become safe spaces where nobody cares about her family name or expects perfection from her.

Still, pieces of her upbringing remain deeply embedded inside her.

She struggles to trust people fully. She pushes others away before they can leave her first. She masks exhaustion with sarcasm and hides genuine affection behind teasing. She sleeps poorly, plagued by nightmares and years of unresolved emotional damage she refuses to openly confront. Even surrounded by people who care about her now, part of her still feels like the isolated child wandering the empty halls of her father’s mansion looking for warmth she never received.

Yet despite everything, Nova survived.

Not soft. Not unscarred. But still human beneath all her sharp edges.