The Other Girl

Nova hadn't seen Damian since she'd let him touch her.

She wasn't sure if she was grateful or pissed.

The house didn't ask questions. It just adapted. Every room she walked into was precisely the temperature she liked. Her favorite tea was already steeping by the time she arrived in the kitchen. A new novel she'd added to her wishlist but hadn't bought sat on her nightstand when she returned.

The wildflowers were still there.

Still quiet. Still delicate. Still just one vase.

But Nova could swear there were more than before.

And she hated that she noticed.

By noon, Nova gave up, pretending to ignore it all.

Nova needed answers, real ones. Not riddles whispered between kisses or control wrapped in silk.

She returned to the study. Not the journal cabinet. Not the desk.

The wall.

It looked like art at first. Abstract. A mixed collage of framed sketches, blueprints, and old photographs. But Nova realized that half of it was hers. From different years. Different apartments. Different versions of herself.

One photo made her stomach twist. It was her in her old bookstore, chin in her hand, looking out the window with tired eyes and a faint smile.

And beside it… was Odette.

Same warm skin. Same full mouth. Same untamed curls.

The resemblance was eerie. But now, Nova saw it for what it was.

He'd tried to find her before and and failed.

She didn't hear him enter.

"You're still looking for the flaw," Damian said behind her.

Nova turned slowly.

"I'm not a copy," Nova said.

"No. You're not," Damian replied.

"She was the trial run," Nova said.

"She was the mistake," Damian said.

Nova folded her arms. "What did she do? Love you wrong? Disobey a rule?"

"She tried to escape what she asked for."

Nova narrowed her eyes. "You keep saying that. What did she ask for?"

He came closer. Not predatory. Not even apologetic. Just… still.

"She wanted to be seen. Understood. Protected. But she panicked once I gave her that—once I revealed how far I'd go."

"And ran," Nova said

"And ran," Damian confirmed.

"Did you chase her?"

Damian was silent for a moment too long.

Nova's voice dropped. "Did you hurt her?"

"I let her go."

She studied his face, searching for the truth behind his control.

"But you didn't stop looking," Nova said.

"No," Damian admitted. "Because after her, I realized… she wasn't the one."

"And I was?"

"I didn't realize it right away," Damian said quietly. "But yes. You were the difference."

Nova looked back at the wall. Her face was frozen in time beside that of a stranger. They had the same features but different energy.

"You built a life around her once."

"I built a cage," Damian corrected. "With you, I built a home."

"You built a replica," Nova snapped. "Of a woman you couldn't keep. Of a life you couldn't control."

"I built a world that would never reject you," Damian said. "Not like they always have."

Her breath hitched.

He was right.

And that scared her more than the obsession.

Nova walked past him, fast. She needed air. She needed distance.

Nova made it halfway down the hall before she stopped.

The second floor was quiet. Too quiet.

Nova turned into the library, needing the smell of paper and the weight of silence. The shelves were full of titles she recognized. One she'd read, some she hadn't.

One shelf stopped her.

All the books were romances. Old favorites. Messy spines. Dog-eared pages.

The exact collection from her childhood home.

Her hand hovered over the center title: The Princess and the Pirate. It was a silly, worn-out paperback with no real value except… it was hers. Her mother used to read it to her when she had nightmares.

Nova opened it. Her initials were on the title page, in neat handwriting she recognized from old school notebooks.

This was her copy.

Her blood ran cold.

"You bought it from a secondhand shop two years ago," Damian said softly behind her. "They had your name on the order slip. It took me three weeks to find the full collection."

Nova turned around slowly. "Why?"

His answer was soft. "Because you told the world no one ever kept anything just for you. Not until now."

Her knees almost gave out.

She didn't remember telling him that.

But she had written it. Once. In an old blog post buried beneath years of drafts.

He'd read it.

He'd remembered it.

He'd believed it.

That night, she didn't sleep. Again.

She sat by the window in her room, wrapped in a throw blanket, watching how shadows stretched across the floor. The house was breathing around her.

Alive in its silence.

And her heart wouldn't shut up.

Nova glanced at the vase of wildflowers.

Still just one.

But…

Had there always been that many?

She stood and walked closer, fingers tracing the rim of the vase.

And then she saw it.

A tiny folded slip of paper tucked beneath the base. Nova pulled it free and unfolded it with shaking hands.

Three words.

You're not her.