Powerless Ebook Novels & Stories

"And you only make that small amount of money? How about I talk to my dad and have you fired? That way you can find a new job." "Fire me?" I forced myself to hold back from punching him. With a cold smile, I raised a brow and shot back, "Please. In this company, I matter a lot more than you." Everyone in the company knew it. Jackson was nothing more than the CEO's illegitimate son. Aside from getting his monthly allowance, he held no real power. I, on the other hand, was responsible for the company's entire underlying framework—its lifeline.

I didn't know how to react. Zavier quickly stepped forward and held my hand. "Did you hear everything? In that case, we'll drop our act. It's been tough putting on a show for so long. Don't you feel sorry for us, Alex? We feel so sad…" The numbers above their heads decreased steadily. 98%... 96%... 95%... But still, they shouldn't abuse the power bank! After all, overcharging would damage the power bank. As my consciousness gradually waned yet again, I looked at the three 100% battery levels and shed soundless tears in my heart.

You cannot fight what you are. Eva gritted her teeth. “No,” she hissed. “I am mine.” The shadow voice faltered, as if surprised by the defiance. Her powers flared, responding not to fear but to resolve. Light and darkness intertwined around her wrists, forming tendrils that lashed outward, cutting through the echoes of the whispering. The corridor seemed to bend under the force, walls vibrating, shadows recoiling.

I cross to the door, pausing in the doorway to look back at him—sprawled across the bed, king of this crumbling kingdom, certain he’s the one who set the rules. He thinks he’s untouchable, safe behind his walls, his “no-strings” speech a shield.

I let go of his forearm, hoping maybe he would walk away again, but this time, he stayed, refusing to let me out of this conversation. "What do you want me to say? You know my powers come from the people who pray for me...from how much the Moon wants from me. Here, now, I'm powerless," I explain, hoping he sees what I'm trying to say to him. What happened with my healing powers was a fluke...I haven't Me being powerless, and you not, scares me.

I've lied to heads of state and some of the wealthiest people in the world, but one little Midwest angel stumps me. I cleared my throat around the lump that had formed there, blocking the false words from escaping and wishing I could go back to the man I was a few days ago. It's an odd feeling, being powerful and powerless at the same time. What I'm coming to feel for her makes me feel full of vigor, but when I thought she was in danger, the powerless fear that assailed me was just as strong.

Trying to shut both, her eyes and her senses, for what she was experiencing was a hard blow to her self-worth. 'The Raichands! The Princes! The chiefs! All are the same, the wretched mentality of men! Isn't it?' They could use a woman whenever he wanted, however they wanted, making them a pawn in their petty games and then the instant they would realize that the pawn had turned useless and the game was over, they would try to unburden their shoulders the very next moment. And if by any chance, her dear husband believed her to be pawn in his little play-down, then he is the biggest buffoon in the world.

The secretary looked at Ken in hesitation, and he was unsure about what to say. “What are you talking about? Just say it!” Ken was unhappy. “Say what? Is it because you realized that you can’t handle it?” someone mocked them. “Could they be actually powerful?" Ken asked. ‘There’s no way! If they're really influential, how would I not know about them at all?’ “No, they are actually insignificant. It might be a little embarrassing for you if you want to settle scores with them. They have a company worth tens of millions and someone who works in the government. They only have a little power,” the secretary explained awkwardly.

“That’s common. Weak men hide behind force.” My chest tightened, but I didn’t interrupt. “Real power,” he went on, turning back to me, “is invisible until it’s too late to fight it.” He tapped one screen, isolating a network diagram that branched like veins. “This,” he said, “is influence. Companies, governments, banks. They don’t move independently. They respond to pressure.” He looked at me then, truly looked. “And so do people.” I shifted in the chair, my fingers curling against the armrest. “So how do I do it? How do I find the power?”

I comb my hair down, and catch my reflection in the mirror, allowing myself a small, controlled smirk. I take the journal, and lock it in my safe behind the towel rack in the bathroom. Heavier than it looks, that little book. Paper and ink shouldn’t feel like leverage, yet it does. Like holding a pulse in my palm. People think power comes from guns, money, men who answer when you call. They’re wrong. Power is knowing someone’s secrets. Power is knowing the exact sound they make when they’re lonely. I rest my hand on the safe door for a second longer than necessary, exhaling slowly.