Novel & Cerita Cyberpunk Woman

a angelic voice said startling me out of my thoughts. The moment I turned to face the voice who startled me i was mind blown , she was the most beautiful women i had ever seen. From the very way her hair flowed in a euphoric way, shining with a bright midnight blue color, she had this strong aura surrounding her that made me almost feel connected to her. " who are you i said " taking a step back to be cautious, "I am whoever you want me to be , but the most common name i am called is the forbidden moon goddess" she said while gracefully offering me a smile.

Warriors, alphas hungry for power, widowed she-wolves craving release, and omegas sold as entertainment. No “respectable woman” is ever seen here. Which is exactly why I love it. It makes me the least respectable woman of all. I flash my VIP token, and the guard stiffens, then nods. Money buys silence. Fear buys obedience. And I have both. I settle in the upper balcony—the seat with the best view of the chaos below—and order my drink. The first sip melts tension from my spine. The second smooths the edges of my anger. By the time I raise the third to my lips, I almost feel human.

I walked toward the glass cylinder, the crowd parting like a black sea before a rusted ship. ​The brass plates beneath the seeds began to glow with a soft, bioluminescent hum. As I drew closer, a holographic projection shimmered into existence above the cylinder. It wasn't the cold, geometric eye of an Architect or the flickering static of a Sovereign drone. It was a woman—old, her face a map of deep lines, wearing a lab coat stained with real soil.

Same room, same lights, same suffocating perfection. Only back then, she’d been nineteen, naïve, broke, too trusting. She’d thought being invited into this world meant she belonged. She’d been wrong. Her fingers tightened around her clutch. Not tonight. Tonight, she wasn’t the prey. “Champagne, ma’am?” A waiter appeared beside her, she took a glass. “Thank you.” Then she looked up and saw him. Jack Knight. Hecentre near the centre of the room, dressed in a flawless black tuxedo, smiling as he entertained a group of investors. Exactly as she remembered. Polished, confident, and untouchable.

The neighborhood lay in ruins, with rubble and dust drifting in the air. I furrowed my brows, my OCD pushing me to walk away. Just then, a hunched, filthy woman came in my way. She was wrapped in a filthy down jacket, its original color long buried beneath layers of grime. She clutched a handful of empty plastic bottles, her eyes vacant and glassy. “M-Ms. Bray?” She spoke, her voice raspy and scratchy. I stopped in my tracks and looked at her from a distance. It took a while for me to scan her bloated and wrinkly face before I recognized her to be the once arrogant Little Miss Sunshine.

"But there are others here. Women who've been fighting this network longer than you can imagine." She pressed her palm to a scanner, and the door clicked open. Inside was a room that looked more like a war room than a hiding place. Multiple computer screens covered one wall, showing security feeds, financial records, and what looked like surveillance photos. Three women sat at workstations, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their monitors. "Ladies, I'd like you to meet Ava Cross." The first woman to turn around made my breath catch. She was elegant, with silver hair pulled back in a perfect bun, wearing a pearl necklace that probably cost more than my old apartment. She looked like

The morning after Jaxon reappeared in her life, Irene sat in her office with her fingers pressed hard into her temples, as if the right amount of pressure could keep her past from spilling out. Her reflection glared back from the sleek black screen of her laptop—flawless makeup, ironed blouse, lips that didn’t tremble even when the rest of her did. That was the image she gave the world: Irene Nowell. Polished. Untouchable. The kind of woman who didn’t have ghosts clawing at her every night.

She, along with Derek, was the reason I was never bored before. “Good,” I murmured instead, stepping into my private elevator. The mirrored walls reflected my image, a woman who'd lost everything once, and was now here to take it all back. Aside from the sound of the elevator, the ascent to the top floor was silent, until Rhea broke it.