All Chapters of A GIRL NAMED NOVA.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The next morning, the world didn’t feel the same.It was quieter—but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that comes before judgment, the kind that fills every corner before laughter erupts behind your back.I stared at my reflection in the mirror—swollen eyes, bruised cheek, and mascara smudged across my skin like war paint. Grandma’s voice floated in from the kitchen, soft and careful.“Breakfast is ready, sweetheart.”I didn’t move.The lilac prom dress hung over the chair beside my bed, wrinkled and torn at the hem, stained by the dirt from when I ran out of the hall. I wanted to throw it away, to burn it, to erase every memory attached to it—but I couldn’t. Grandma had made it. She’d sewn it with love, each stitch a promise that I was worth something.So, instead, I folded it neatly and put it in my drawer.My phone buzzed again. I had turned off notifications, but it wouldn’t stop vibrating. My chest tightened as I picked it up.99+ messages.Most from classmates. A

“Who let her in here?”Mandy’s sharp voice sliced through the echoing marble hallway before I could even knock on the door. Her tone was dripping with disdain as she descended the grand staircase, her pink silk robe trailing behind her like she was walking on a runway.I froze in the middle of the living room, clutching my small worn-out handbag against my chest. The air smelled of lavender and money. Everything in that mansion screamed luxury—from the glass chandelier hanging like a diamond above me, to the white leather couches I was too afraid to sit on.I hadn’t been here in almost four years.Mandy’s eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she smirked. “Wow. What a surprise. I almost didn’t recognize you—oh wait, I did, because you still look like a charity case.”I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “I came to see Dad.”She scoffed. “Dad?” She mimicked me cruelly. “You mean my dad? The one who actually raised me? The one who doesn’t even mention you?”“Mandy,” I sa

When I opened my eyes, the world around me was silent. Not the kind of silence that calms you — the kind that listens, watches, waits.The first thing I saw was the ceiling: high, carved, and painted white like winter skies. My head ached. My lips were dry. And the air… it smelled faintly of cedarwood and something expensive I couldn’t name.I sat up slowly, realizing I wasn’t in my small shared room at the hotel. The bed beneath me was enormous, its sheets soft and crisp as if no one ever slept on them. Sunlight poured through tall drapes, cutting gold lines across the polished floor.Then memory struck me like lightning.The hotel.The laughter.My father. Mr. Baldwin.The drinks… the burning inside me.The way my body felt foreign, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free.And then — darkness.My hand trembled as I touched my wrist. Someone had cleaned me up. Someone had brought me here.On the bedside table sat a crystal bowl filled with warm water, a towel folded neatly

I moved quietly down the corridor, the tray trembling slightly in my hands. It was my third week in the Lawson estate. Each morning began before dawn, with Henry’s calm but clipped instructions echoing through the halls. Polish the mirrors. Dust the piano. Refill the vases in the east wing. Do not disturb Mr. Lawson.That last rule hung like a law carved into stone.Frederick Lawson—the man who saved me without meaning to. The man whose name sent shivers through every corridor. His presence could still the air, and his absence somehow made it heavier.I’d seen him only a handful of times since that first morning. He passed by like a ghost carved from marble, his suits always perfect, his voice measured, his eyes unreadable. Sometimes, I caught him staring out one of the tall glass walls, as though looking for something far beyond them—something lost.The staff whispered about him constantly. “He’s heartless,” said one maid. “Cold, but kind in strange ways,” said another. And then ther

Frederick Lawson was a man carved from silence. He didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention — he merely existed, and the room obeyed. The air seemed to shift when he entered, like even the walls recognized his authority. And I... I was falling for him. It started slowly — the way all dangerous things do. The brief moments when his gaze lingered too long. The quiet gestures that didn’t match his words. The warmth in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking. But every time I caught myself watching him, I reminded my heart that men like him didn’t feel. Frederick Lawson was an empire built on control, and I was just a girl with too many scars and no right to dream. Still… the heart never asks for permission. *** It was late one evening when I found him in the study, seated behind his massive desk, light from the fire painting his face in gold and shadow. Papers were spread across the surface — contracts, reports, figures. Work that seemed endless. “You’re still up