NOVA
It had been weeks since that psycho let me out of his mansion, and my life was still a mess.
Unemployment.
It wasn't new. It wasn't even that humiliating at first. After all, I had a solid reason—how could I explain to anyone that I'd been kidnapped and kept in a gilded prison by Julius Ruvanov? My company wasn't exactly waiting around for explanations. They replaced me, like people replace broken phones—efficient, cold, and final.
That part? Acceptable. I could live with it.
What I couldn't understand was… why hadn't I been able to land another job?
Everywhere I went, every interview I attended, doors slammed shut in my face. And it wasn't because I wasn't qualified. I was damn good. Top of my class, skilled, driven—I had everything they wanted, everything they asked for. Yet rejection followed me like a shadow.
It didn't make sense.
Unless…
Could it be him?
The thought made me freeze, fingers tightening around the edge of my blanket as I sat in my tiny rented apartment. It had to be. Julius Ruvanov—the man who thrived on control, who promised me that even outside his walls, I would still be trapped in his game.
And wasn't this exactly what he meant?
I sighed, dragging my hands down my face. Everything was draining me. Job hunting, sleepless nights, the paranoia of seeing his influence in every failure.
Still, I couldn't just give up.
I had an interview today.
Dragging myself up, I made my way to the café on the corner, ordering the strongest coffee they could brew. The bitter liquid burned down my throat, but at least it gave me the illusion of energy. Then I started walking—fifteen minutes through crowded streets, weaving past strangers, my mind a storm of thoughts and determination.
I needed this job. I would get this job.
---
The interview went well. In fact, it went better than well. The manager seemed impressed, nodding along as I spoke, asking thoughtful questions. I left the conference room with confidence buzzing under my skin. Finally. This time would be different. This time, I'd secure it.
Relief flooded me as I walked into the lobby, heading toward the glass doors that led to the exit.
And then—
I saw him.
My stomach dropped.
Why? Why today?
Of all the days, of all the places—why here?
Julius Ruvanov. Mr. Psycho himself.
I turned my face quickly, praying he hadn't noticed me, that I could slip away, that maybe for once the universe would throw me a bone.
But the universe hated me.
"Miss Valleria."
His voice was smooth, deep, deliberate—and loud enough for the entire lobby to hear. Heads turned. People stared. Heat rose up my neck as irritation and humiliation collided inside me.
I stopped in my tracks, then slowly turned, pinning him with a glare. "What do you want?" My tone dripped with annoyance.
He smirked, strolling closer like he owned the place. "Oh, take it slow, Miss Valleria. I know you like me, but you didn't have to stalk me all the way here."
I blinked, stunned for a second, then scoffed. "Nice dream, Mr. Psycho. And for your kind information, I don't have the slightest interest in you." My voice was sharp, my eyes locked on his. I stepped forward, trying to walk past him.
But Julius never moved aside for anyone.
"Oh, you are very confident," he said smoothly, adjusting his tie, "for someone who doesn't have a job." His smile was razor-sharp.
My steps faltered. A chill crawled up my spine. "What do you mean?"
He tilted his head, watching me too closely. "I know you're unemployed. I know you've been running around interviews, desperate to secure a position. And I also know…" He paused, leaning just slightly closer, "…you won't get this job either."
My stomach twisted. He was behind it.
I forced my voice to stay steady. "Looks like you're the one stalking me. What makes you so confident I won't get this job, Mr. Ruvanov?"
His smirk deepened, the kind that made people feel small. "Because I told them not to give it to you."
For a second, the world tilted. The buzzing in the lobby dimmed, every sound drowning under the weight of his words.
It was him. All along.
"You—" My voice shook with fury. "Why? Why the hell would you do that?"
He didn't even flinch at my anger. He thrived on it. "Because I told you once, Miss Valleria—you'll be living in hell. My hell. And I am a man of my word."
My hands clenched into fists. I wanted to slap him, claw that smug expression off his face, anything to break through his arrogance. Instead, my voice came out low, burning. "I am not your puppet. You don't get to pull my strings."
"Oh, but you're mistaken," he murmured, taking a slow step forward. His presence pressed against mine, suffocating, impossible to ignore. "You already work for me. Remember those files you cracked? That was only the beginning. You could make this so much easier, Nova. Work for me—formally. Accept the offer. And in return, you'll have everything you want. Power. Money. Security."
He said it like he was offering salvation. Like he was God himself.
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "I already did what you asked. And as for working for you?" My voice rose, slicing through the silence of the lobby. "Over my dead body."
The smirk didn't leave his lips. "Careful. That can be arranged."
Every nerve in my body screamed to attack him, to fight him right here, in front of all these people. But I knew better. He fed on chaos, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.
"You'll regret that decision, Miss Valleria," he said, his voice low but carrying, heavy with threat.
I met his eyes, steady, unflinching. "The only thing I regret in my life is meeting you."
That one landed. His smirk faltered—just for a second—but it was enough.
Only then did I realize how close we were standing. Too close. Heat and tension coiled in the air, and I stumbled back a step, breaking the pull between us. People were watching, whispers spreading, phones lifted to record.
I turned sharply, refusing to waste another breath on him, and walked straight toward the exit. His eyes burned into my back, but I didn't stop. Not this time.
Outside, the air hit me like ice, cooling the fire in my veins. Confusion knotted in my chest, twisting tighter with every step. I hated him. God, I hated him. But hatred wasn't enough.
Because he was right about one thing.
This was his game. His hell.
And I wasn't backing down.
Not now. Not ever.
He would learn what happens when you mock a woman. When you push her too far. When you think she's powerless.
Julius Ruvanov might think he was the grim reaper in a tailored suit.
But I'd show him the devil doesn't wear one.