The Agnes family was perfect — at least in the eyes of everyone else.

Golden hair, porcelain skin, and striking blue eyes ran in their bloodline like a royal trait. Camille, the eldest daughter, was graceful and praised like a goddess. Adrian, the eldest son, was the pride of the family — athletic, charming, brilliant. Even their youngest, Clarisse, was delicate as a doll with curls kissed by sunlight.

And then there was Issa.

With hair the color of moonlit frost and eyes the shade of the deepest ocean, she was the odd one out. A single look at her was enough to earn a scoff from her mother, a slap from her father, or cruel words from her siblings.

“You’re a mistake,” her mother would sneer.

“Stop looking at me with those cursed eyes,” Adrian spat once, throwing her against a wall.

“No one will ever love a freak like you,” Camille said sweetly, brushing Issa’s hair only to yank it hard moments later.

Their abuse wasn’t just emotional — it was ritual. A daily cycle of dehumanization. She was the family’s secret, the shame hidden behind drawn curtains and tight smiles at galas. They blamed her for things that broke, for secrets that leaked, for their own unhappiness.

But Issa took it. She endured it all in silence — because she wanted to belong. She tried to smile like Camille, study like Adrian. She worked harder, cried quieter. Maybe, just maybe, they’d one day see her as part of the family.

The only one who ever did… was Clarisse.

The youngest child, just twelve, was the gentle heartbeat of the house. She never raised her voice. Never joined the others in mocking Issa. When Issa was locked in the attic without food, Clarisse would sneak up the stairs late at night, quietly push open the door, and bring her warm dinner — food she’d hidden from her own plate.

“Sis Issa… I saved this for you,” she’d whisper softly, placing it by her sister’s side with teary eyes.

She would hold Issa’s hand in the dark, wipe her tears with her small fingers, and hum lullabies they both barely remembered.

“I’m sorry they’re mean… You’re the prettiest person I know.”

Those moments were the only warmth in Issa’s cold world. And that warmth was what helped her survive.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop what was coming.

That hope died the day her father called her into his study.

He didn’t even look up from his whiskey glass.

“Your presence ruins this family’s name. You’ll never be one of us.”

Something inside Issa cracked.

“Then I won’t be,” she whispered, voice trembling but firm.

He blinked, surprised.

“What did you say?”

She looked up — straight into his eyes for the first time in years.

“I said I’m done,” she said louder, her fists clenched. “I’m done pretending I’m one of you.”

And then it exploded — years of pain, of bruises, of swallowed screams — all breaking loose like a dam giving way.

She threw the glass vase at the door. She screamed back at Camille, who tried to slap her again. She pushed Adrian when he grabbed her wrist. She tore the family portrait from the wall and shattered it beneath her heel.

“You’ll regret this!” her mother cried.

Issa turned, hair wild, eyes like a storm.

“No. You’ll regret not killing me when you had the chance.”

She ran.

Not out of fear, but freedom. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t crawling. She was done being their ghost.

Her breaths were shaky, her heart pounding. She stopped at the empty park where she used to go as a kid. The moon hung above like a silent witness.

She pulled out her phone with trembling fingers… and called the only person she ever trusted outside that house.

“Felix,” she said the moment he picked up.

There was silence on the other line, then a calm but concerned voice.

“Issa? Where are you? What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, tears finally spilling.

“I need your help,” she said. “I want to disappear. For good. I want… I want to start over.”

Another pause. Then his voice, firm and unwavering:

“Tell me where you are. I’m on my way.”

That night, Issa Agnes died.

And from the ashes of that cold-blooded family’s discarded daughter, a new identity began to rise — forged by pain, strengthened by betrayal, and named with power:

Shana Rivera.

And beside her…

The only one who never saw her as a monster.

Felix Delgado.

End of Chapter 1

The sun rose over the Agnes estate like any other day — calm, golden, and indifferent.

No one in that grand house stirred with dread or guilt. Just silence. Peace. The kind that follows after a storm… or after someone vanishes.

Then, a knock at the door.

It echoed through the marble halls like a final heartbeat.

Camille answered, brows furrowed. A police officer stood on the porch, stiff and somber.

“We’re here regarding a young woman by the name of Issa Agnes.”

Within minutes, the entire family gathered in the drawing room, not out of love — but curiosity. The only expression on their faces was expectation… as if they’d known this day would come eventually.

The officer spoke carefully, eyes sweeping the cold, golden faces before him.

“There was an incident. A drunk driver veered off the highway near the cliff road last night. He crashed into a pedestrian. The impact was… severe. She died on the spot.”

The room froze.

“A young woman matching Issa Agnes’ age and features was found. No identification was on her… except for a badly damaged old phone in her pocket. The lock screen matched her image from school records.”

Silence stretched long and heavy.

“We believe it was her. We’re still working on final identification, but… we wanted to inform you right away.”

Adrian let out a low whistle.

Camille raised an eyebrow. “So she just… ran into traffic?”

“There’s no indication she intended to. More likely, she was running — from something.”

“Hmph,” their father muttered, standing and heading toward his bar cart. “Probably from us.”

“We did our best with her,” their mother said casually, fingers running along her pearl necklace. “But not every child is meant to survive the real world.”

No one asked where her body was. No one cried.

Just small sighs. Shrugs. Muted relief.

“That’ll be all, officer,” their mother said, already turning her back.

And with that, the final thread tying Issa Agnes to that household was cut.

---

But not for everyone.

Upstairs, in the quietest room of the mansion, a small girl clutched a worn sweater against her chest, eyes swollen and red.

Clarisse had overheard everything.

She hadn’t eaten breakfast. She hadn’t gone down with the rest.

She just sat curled up on her bed, hugging the last piece of Issa she had — the only sister who had ever truly loved her.

“You promised we’d leave together…” she whispered through her sobs.

“You promised you’d take me with you someday…”

She buried her face in the fabric, weeping until exhaustion pulled her into restless sleep.

No one came to comfort her.

Because no one else in the family missed the girl they had pushed away.

---

But far from the mansion, on a near-empty train headed toward the city, a girl in a hoodie stared out the window, her frost-colored hair hidden beneath a dark cap.

She said nothing.

She didn’t have to.

Beside her, a young man in glasses typed methodically into a laptop — eyes sharp, voice quiet.

“The scene’s been cleaned. The real driver’s already being handled. The police received the fake report this morning. The phone you left… it worked.”

She nodded faintly.

“They believed it?”

“They did.”

She leaned back, exhausted.

She had run away on foot. Almost didn’t make it. But the plan — Felix’s plan — worked perfectly.

“What happens now?”

He glanced at her, a trace of something warm in his usually cool eyes.

“Now… you get to live.”

A small, almost broken smile tugged at her lips.

“Then I need a new name.”

“Got a list.”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want a list.”

She turned her gaze to the sky outside, the city skyline coming into view.

“From now on… I’ll be someone I created. Not someone they destroyed.”

She held out her hand, and he took it.

“Call me Shana. Shana Rivera.”

End of Chapter 2

---

Two years.

That was all it took.

Two years to turn ashes into gold.

To take a dead girl’s name and replace it with one the world would someday worship… or fear.

---

VIREYA HOLDINGS.

A symbol of vision and innovation.

A conglomerate with countless branches — fashion, beauty, tech, lifestyle, and even entertainment — that touched every age, every gender, every social class.

It grew like a blooming tree, each petal kissed by progress, each root buried deep in society.

Young professionals looked up to it. Teenagers worshipped its products. Adults relied on it.

It was everywhere — and yet, no one ever questioned where it came from.

Just a name: Vireya.

Fresh. Warm. Bright.

As if it had always existed.

Then there was its opposite.

---

NOVARE CORPORATIONS.

Not a name spoken casually.

Mysterious. Clean. Surgical.

It operated in the shadows of the elite — an entity whispered about in boardrooms, political circles, and crime syndicates alike.

Where Vireya seduced the world, Novare controlled it — with secrets, information, and influence.

It was the hand behind powerful men, the ghost that buried scandals, the whisper in a rival’s downfall.

You didn’t seek Novare. Novare found you — and if you crossed it, you vanished.

The public only knew its CEO: a cold, brilliant man who never showed a hint of mercy.

---

He sat now in a darkened conference room, sleek black suit tailored to perfection, the city skyline glowing behind him.

Felix Delgado.

The quiet, ever-smiling CEO of Novare Corporations.

He wore his long brown hair tied loosely and neatly to one side, the tail draped over his shoulder like a soft ribbon of silk. His green eyes could melt into pure gentleness when he looked at her…

Yet to the rest of the world, those eyes were unreadable — cold, chilling, inhuman.

He adjusted his glasses, the subtle glint on the lenses hiding his expression.

His lips curled into a polite smile — one that was perfectly measured, always business-appropriate…

And somehow still enough to make grown men’s hands tremble.

Felix Delgado didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“We’ve handled the internal leak,” an executive stammered. “The source has been erased— I mean, relocated. No one will connect it to us.”

Felix didn’t speak for a moment.

Then the corner of his mouth curved — a subtle, deliberate twitch.

“Good.”

The meeting ended. Everyone filed out with barely concealed relief. The room emptied like air escaping a sealed box.

Then, and only then, did Felix speak again — to the air.

“He said ‘relocated,’ huh?”

“You trained him well,” came the reply, smooth and amused.

From the shadows behind a two-way glass, a figure emerged. Poised. Regal. Untouchable.

She walked like royalty — slow, elegant, commanding. Her presence filled the room even before she sat.

Shana Rivera.

The woman behind everything.

The true founder of Vireya Holdings and Novare Corporations.

She had left her name in the grave… and risen wearing a crown of thorns.

Her hair, long and cascading like liquid snow, shimmered faintly under the light — a unique shade of blue-white, impossible to mistake.

Her eyes were oceanic, vast and deep, framed by thick lashes that cast shadows like secrets.

Her skin, pale and soft, glowed with quiet power.

She wore black — always — like mourning, like power, like armor.

Beautiful wasn’t enough to describe her. She was divine.

And yet behind that beauty was a fire that had never been extinguished — only sharpened.

She poured herself a glass of wine, the silence between them companionable.

“And Vireya?” she asked, voice low and velvet smooth.

“Expanding. Seoul and Paris this month. Our influencer campaigns broke three records.”

She raised her glass in a small salute.

“To the flower they called ugly.”

Felix raised his as well, eyes soft only for her.

“To the girl they left to die.”

Their glasses clinked.

Behind them, the city kept moving — unaware that the most powerful hands shaping it belonged to the girl no one mourned.

End of chapter 3

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