Chapter 38 – Smoke Between the Pages
The night didn't end—it stretched.
Nova couldn't sleep. Not after everything.
Her mother's handwriting still echoed in her mind, looping across the page in ink that had long since bled at the edges. She sat on the floor, legs tangled beneath her, Bea curled against her back like a second heartbeat.
The journal lay open between them. Every sentence a stitch in a wound Nova never let anyone touch—until Bea.
Be careful who you trust, baby girl. Sometimes, love wears the face of your enemy.
Nova ran her fingers over the ink. "She was scared," she whispered. "Of my father. Of what he'd do if he found her. If he found me."
Bea's voice was low, sleepy but grounded. "But she wrote anyway. She kept her love alive in these pages. That means something."
Nova looked back at her, those warm eyes always steady, always kind. "You think love survives that kind of fear?"
"I think love is why we survive it at all."
They sat there for a long time, saying nothing. Just breathing. Just existing together in the weight of old truth and new beginnings.
Then Nova whispered, "I want to find him."
Bea stilled. "Your father?"
Nova nodded. "Not to forgive him. Not to… make peace. But to look him in the eye and tell him I survived. That I'm more than what he tried to break."
Bea took her hand. "Then we'll find him. Together."
---
The Next Morning
They traced records. Went through dusty archives. Nova barely recognized her own reflection anymore, her eyes sharper, her spine straighter.
Piece by piece, the past unfolded.
He lived under another name now—Richard Vaughn. A real estate mogul who kept his claws in everything but his conscience. No one knew about his past. No one knew about the girl he abandoned. The woman he destroyed.
Bea said, "He's living like none of it ever happened."
Nova clenched her jaw. "Then we remind him."
---
Later That Week
Nova stood in front of his office building, tall and gleaming with lies. Her heart pounded, but Bea stood beside her, calm like a lighthouse in the storm.
They didn't have an appointment.
They didn't need one.
The receptionist barely blinked when they walked in. Nova was a flame in human form—every step a match lit.
Then the doors opened.
And he stepped out.
Him.
The man with the same eyes.
The man who once made her mother disappear.
He didn't recognize her. Not at first.
"Can I help you?"
Nova's voice was razor smooth. "You already did. Twenty years ago. When you left my mother alone with a newborn."
His expression shattered.
"Nova."
She nodded. "Yeah. It's me. The consequence you thought you buried."
He looked at Bea, then back at her. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," she said. "But I am. And you're going to listen."
---
In the Private Lounge Upstairs
The walls were too quiet.
Nova stood across from him like a mirror cracking.
"You stole everything," she said. "And I thought if I ever saw you again, I'd want to burn it all down. But I don't."
He blinked. "You don't?"
"No," she said. "Because I built something better. Without you. Without your name. Without your money. And I came here to tell you: You don't own my story. I do."
Bea stood behind her, silent and proud.
Nova tossed a copy of her mother's journal on the table. "I'm publishing it. The truth. Her truth. Mine. You can try to bury it again, but this time, it rises."
He sat down, pale and shaking.
Nova turned. Walked away.
Bea followed.
They didn't look back.
---
That Night
The stars were high and proud when they got home.
Bea lit a single candle.
Nova laughed softly, "Again?"
Bea kissed her shoulder. "Every time you take back a piece of yourself, we light one."
The room glowed gold.
Nova stared into the flame. "I'm not scared anymore."
Bea wrapped her arms around her. "Good. Because the next part of our story? It's ours to write."
Nova leaned back into her, eyes closed, heart open.
And somewhere in the night, a flame flickered.
Alive.