Chapter 6 Beyond her fragility

Amara finally reached home with the few changes she had left. The wallet she had taken earlier was already gone-handed over to that stranger without hesitation. A stab of guilt pierced her as she remembered leaving him behind, unconscious and vulnerable. But what choice did she have? She was walking straight into her own battlefield.

The taxi rolled to a stop before the Hayes estate. She quickly handed the crumpled bills to the driver, whispering a soft "thank you" before stepping out.

As the vehicle pulled away, silence pressed in on her. Her gaze lifted to the towering gates of the mansion she once called home. The very sight made her chest tighten, a familiar suffocating weight pressing against her ribs.

Her fingers curled into fists at her side. Steady yourself, Amara. You've survived worse. You can survive this too.

The estate gleamed under the night sky, its lights spilling across the marble steps like an illusion of warmth. Yet Amara knew better. Behind those gilded doors lay venom dressed as family.

And tonight, after daring to disrupt the engagement ceremony, she was certain they would not let her go unscathed.

Taking one final, trembling breath, Amara pushed open the gates and stepped into the lion's den.

As soon as Amara stepped through the grand doors, she froze.

The mansion, once buzzing with guests and mocking laughter, was now eerily silent. Only a handful of servants lingered, quietly clearing away the remnants of the ceremony. The empty hall stretched before her like a hollow shell.

Her brows knitted in confusion. Where is everyone?

Then it struck her-they must have gone to the after-party dinner banquet. A private celebration, no doubt filled with laughter and schemes, where she had never belonged.

Relieved yet heavy-hearted, Amara moved silently through the house. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she climbed the long staircase, returning to the one place that was hers-her little dark room at the far end of the corridor.

The room was small, cold, and stripped of luxury, but to Amara, it was the only place that ever offered her a shred of comfort. She closed the door behind her and finally let herself collapse onto the creaky bed.

A sharp pain twisted in her stomach, forcing her to curl up. She hadn't eaten in days, and the only thing she had consumed tonight was alcohol. Now, it burned through her empty stomach like poison. Her brows furrowed as she endured the ache, refusing to let out a sound.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she took a warm shower, letting the water wash away the weight of the evening. When she returned, she collapsed once more onto the thin mattress, her eyelids heavy.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Amara slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep-knowing all too well that this fragile moment of calm would shatter the second they returned from their banquet.

Late into the night, Amara's eyes slowly opened. Her brows furrowed as if she had been dreaming of something unpleasant. Her throat burned with dryness, her body still weak from the alcohol. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bed and moved to the far corner of the small, dim room.

Her fingers brushed against the old wooden floorboards until they found the hidden gap. With practiced ease, she lifted it and pulled out a plain, worn-out backpack. To anyone else, it would seem worthless. But to her, it was her lifeline.

Unzipping it carefully, she reached inside, and drew out a phone. Not just any phone. Sleek, glossy, customized down to the tiniest circuit. It was the kind of device the world hadn't even seen yet, a model whispered about in high-end circles, something only the rich or the dangerously powerful could get their hands on. But even among them, this one was different. Hidden beneath its plain casing was tech so advanced that only a true genius could recognize it.

Amara switched it on. The screen lit up, and with one scan of her eyes, a dark emblem appeared, opening into a hidden app. This wasn't something anyone could find, it was a world only the dangerous and powerful had access to. It was a place where the wealthy and the dangerous left their dirtiest tasks in the hands of the skilled-hackers, mercenaries, ghosts of the web. Every profile was a mask, every name a codename. Here, power wasn't flaunted through money or family names, but through skill, secrecy, and reputation.

Her interface loaded, notifications flashing one after another. Dozens of requests were piled up, but she didn't even glance at them. Instead, she tapped into her private chat. Only two usernames glowed there.

A message pinged, the username flashing across her screen:

IronWolf: Nocturne. Finally. Where the hell have you been?

Almost instantly, another notification lit up.

NyxFlame: You had us worried. Two weeks offline without a trace? That's not like you.

Amara's gaze lingered on the screen. To the outside world, she was nothing but the Hayes' discarded niece, a fragile girl with no future. But here... she was Nocturne. Highly respected, skilled, efficient, and unwavering. A name people trusted when everything else was chaos. And these two-IronWolf and NyxFlame, were the only ones who ever saw the real her.

Her fingers danced over the keys.

Nocturne: I'm fine. Just caught in things I couldn't avoid. I'll be out tomorrow. Same place. Don't worry, I'll see you both then.

There was a pause. Then:

IronWolf: You better. Disappearing on us again, and I'll drag you out myself.

NyxFlame: Stay safe, Nocturne. Don't make us wait too long.

Her chest tightened. She felt a faint warmth in her heart, a place where only cold had lived for years.

She powered the device down, slid it back into the pack, and tucked it into its hiding place. The night swallowed the room again, and once again, she let herself drift back to sleep with the tiniest sense of peace.

Somewhere, far beyond the walls of this mansion, something was stirring.

And Amara had no idea what's in store for her