Nova's room was on the fourth floor, far away from everything.
The staircase spiraled like it had no end, and every floor she passed whispered with wealth: glass sculptures, oil paintings, rugs softer than memory. She hated all of it.
The door to her room creaked open. It was huge. Too huge. Bigger than her parents' old apartment. There was a queen-sized bed she didn't want to sleep in, a walk-in closet with clothes she didn't buy, and a view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a glass box.
Nova didn't unpack. She just sat on the bed and stared.
She could still hear their voices downstairs—her stepbrothers. Laughing. Talking. Living their perfect, stupid lives like nothing had changed.
For them, nothing had.
She came down for dinner only because Leon told her it was "polite."
The dining table was long enough to seat twenty. Only six places were set. A maid gestured for Nova to sit at the far end.
The boys were already there. Darian sat silently, eating like the world didn't exist. Ryder stabbed at his food like it had wronged him personally. Max tossed a grape into the air and caught it in his mouth. Ethan, calm as always, nodded politely when she sat down.
Leon lifted his glass. "To new beginnings."
Nova didn't raise hers.
Later, she found the kitchen on her own—just to get water. She didn't mean to overhear. But their voices were sharp.
"Why is she here?" Ryder.
"It's not like we had a choice," Ethan.
"This place was fine without her," Darian muttered.
"She's not even related to us," Ryder snapped. "Not our sister. Not anything."
Nova stepped back before they could see her.
She didn't cry.
She just went back upstairs and shut the door. Slowly. Quietly. Like she didn't exist.
She started avoiding them.
She ate breakfast before they came down. Stayed in her room most of the day. Walked the halls only when they were silent. Leon gave her space. The staff never bothered her. And the brothers? They acted like she was a ghost.
It was better that way.
Until the night she couldn't sleep.
She wandered into the library around midnight—barefoot, wrapped in a blanket, looking for silence.
Max was already there.
He looked up from the couch, headphones around his neck, a book in his lap.
"Well," he said with a grin, "the ghost walks after all."
Nova turned to leave.
"Hey—" his voice changed. "Wait. I didn't mean that in a bad way."
She paused.
Max scratched the back of his neck. "You can sit. I don't bite. Much."
Nova said nothing. But she sat.
They didn't talk.
But for the first time in days, she didn't feel completely alone.