The beeping came first.
Soft. Rhythmic. Steady like a distant metronome.
Then the warmth of light—too white, too clean. The scent of antiseptic and the dry cold of a hospital sheet beneath her palms. Nova didn’t know where she was at first. Only that her body felt too heavy and her thoughts too thin, as if someone had taken her mind and soaked it in fog.
She blinked.
But the room didn’t appear.
Instead, a memory.
Laughter. Low and boyish.
He was standing by a photocopier with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck, grinning like he didn’t know he was beautiful. That smile. She remembered the way it made her stomach flutter. Not because it was charming—but because it was his. Luca Steel, heir to a company that didn't know his worth yet. She had been his assistant back then. Just the assistant. Wig too tight. Glasses too large. Voice too soft.
Lyla, he used to call her.
That wasn’t her real name. But she let it be, for a while back then. She used to think it was her new life, the way it had to be. As Lyla Monroe. Not as Nova. She had no idea how her life would turn soon, of course.
The scene melted. Shifted. Rewound.
Champagne bubbles on her tongue.
A veil pushed back. His hands cupping her cheeks, tears in both their eyes.
“You’re my whole world,” he’d whispered at the altar, his voice cracking.
A swell of music. Applause. Flashbulbs. And his hand on the small of her back, guiding her into a new life.
Nova, she reminded herself. My name is Nova.
The baby was crying.
The nursery was filled with pastel warmth—stars painted on the ceiling, clouds drifting lazily across the walls. Her arms ached, heavy with the weight of motherhood, and yet it was the most natural thing in the world. She rocked the tiny bundle, forehead pressed to downy curls, humming a lullaby she once knew by heart.
But the tune wouldn’t come.
The child cooed, then giggled, then blurred.
Feet pounded through the hallway. A teenager now—long hair, sharp words, frustration blooming in every step.
The slamming of a door.
“I hate you!” echoed off the walls.
Nova winced.
Though, she remembered loving even those moments. Even the hard ones. Even when it was painful, sharp, sometimes even too much. Because it was her family.
Right?
Then the laughter returned. The same girl. Eyes rolling but lips curved into a crooked smile. Dinner table. Luca pouring wine. Alex poking fun at something Nova didn’t quite hear. The sound turned to honey in her ears. Thick. Sweet. Familiar.
Alex, she thought. That’s her name.
Isn’t it?
A flicker. A blink. A fracture in time.
She saw her reflection in a mirror—but it wasn’t her face. It was Lyla’s. The assistant with the dusty wig and secondhand shoes that she remembers picking out for hours, wondering if they'd look "poor enough" for her disguise. The wig didn't fit, it kept falling off or slumping back, revealing her real hair. The same with those oversized glasses that never quite fit her face, too large and too obnoxious to wear all the time, but she did it anyway. Her heart pounded.
She turned, expecting Luca.
But it was Alex’s voice that reached her.
“Mom.”
She tried to answer. The words caught in her throat like threadbare silk.
“I’m right here.”
Nova opened her mouth, but nothing came.
Faces swam past—investors, nurses, doctors, boardrooms, childhood friends, reporters, Zade’s mysterious half-smile, Michael’s clenched fists. They all flickered like static. None of them stayed long enough to make sense.
She called out again—this time with more urgency.
“Luca?”
But the voice that answered was small. Faint.
“Mom, it’s me.”
Nova turned in her dream, but all she saw was a carousel of memories. Luca in a jail cell. Luca holding Alex as a baby. Luca storming out after an argument. Luca asleep beside her on the couch. Luca standing alone at the edge of a ballroom, looking proud and terrified and in love all at once.
She clung to that image like a rope.
Don’t forget that one. Hold on to him.
The carousel spun faster.
Wedding bells warped into flatline beeps.
Alex’s baby laugh echoed, but she couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t remember the last time she held her daughter without wondering what she’d forget next. She saw herself in a hospital gown—then in a designer dress—then again in that old assistant outfit. The scenes melted, looped, twisted.
The lullaby finally returned, but the words were jumbled.
She mouthed them anyway.
Hush, my darling...
The voice was her mother’s now. Or maybe her grandmother’s. Maybe it was her own. Time folded in on itself like a letter never sent.
“Luca,” she whispered—not aloud, but in her mind.
It was the last word she could trust.
The only name that held.
The machines continued to hum.
Outside her room, the world moved on. Doctors passed clipboards. Nurses refilled IVs. Alex sat in the hallway chair with bloodshot eyes, knees drawn to her chest. Luca stood like a statue beside the bed, holding her hand and kissing her knuckles, whispering stories he hoped she could still hear.
Nova didn’t hear any of it.
She had slipped too far into the haze now.
But in that final, quiet breath of clarity, she repeated his name once more—just to herself. Just to remember.
Luca.
And then the light folded around her, and she drifted into sleep.