The mirror-finished black car glided through the humble streets of the neighborhood where Luna had lived for years.
She sat in the backseat, silent, watching through the window at the worn-out facades, clotheslines full of laundry swaying in the wind, graffiti-covered walls and slightly crooked aluminum gates. That world remained the same—and by contrast, she was unrecognizable.
Luna nibbled at her fingernail, an old habit she'd buried under impeccable manicures and amethyst salt baths. But now, nervousness clung to her throat again.
"I should've come here invisible..." she murmured.
Ivy, as always present as a discreet hologram floating on the car's dashboard, responded gently:
"Miss Luna requested a visit with moderate visual impact. I selected an outfit with an 82% chance of positive commotion and 100% 'jaw-dropped-for-over-3-seconds' effect."
Luna sighed.
The car door opened smoothly.
And the sound of her stiletto heels echoed like a sentence on the cracked concrete sidewalks.
She wore a pearly white jumpsuit, tailored with millimeter precision. Her loose blonde hair seemed to move with its own personal breeze. Gradient gray-lensed sunglasses shielded her galaxy-like eyes.
Within five seconds...
The neighborhood's first resident dropped her bag of bread.
"Sweet mercy...is that Beyoncé?" whispered a teenager wearing crooked flip-flops.
A dog barked three times then lay down, confused.
A child pointed with wide eyes. "Mom...Barbie escaped from the TV."
Luna walked toward building number 88.
Old. Stained. Broken tiles in the lobby. A gate that never closed properly.
She smiled with bittersweet recognition.
This was home.
The studio apartment where she'd spent nights crying, counting coins for instant noodles, writing resumes in the dark to save electricity.
She climbed the stairs slowly, like someone paying respects at a cemetery of her former selves.
The doorbell rang three times before the door swung open violently.
Dona Marlene, the building's landlady, appeared with a flip-flop in hand (the neighborhood's standard weapon), ready to shoo away some nosy visitor.
But she froze.
Eyes widening.
Mouth slightly agape.
"Luna...?"
"Hi, Dona Marlene."
Silence. Absolute silence. The kind that happens when even the universe is watching.
"But...girl...what happened...did you become an actress? Model? Get work done? Dating a celebrity? Is this a cult?"
Luna laughed genuinely. "None of that. I just...got lucky."
Her voice remained the same. But her tone was firmer. Serene. Like someone who no longer needed to beg for respect.
Children, mothers, flip-flop-wearing elders, teens with colored hair. All holding phones, secretly filming.
"Guys, it's Luna! The one who lived in 302!"
"The girl who sold truffles on the street?"
"No way! The one who bucket-bathed when the water got cut?"
"But look at that hair...and those clothes! That's imported...that's...that's straight from a primetime soap opera!"
Luna just waved, trying to seem less alien.
Dona Marlene clutched her chest, nearly having an attack.
"My child...if you won the lottery, just tell me so I can stop paying this cursed electricity bill."
"Not the lottery," Luna replied. "But close enough."
She climbed to the third floor. The hallway was the same: smell of mold, worn floors, the old neighbor blasting AM radio at nuclear volume.
She stopped before her old door. The lock was still scratched.
Ran her fingers over the wood.
"This is where everything fell apart...and where it all began."
When she came back down, the crowd in the courtyard had tripled. People who didn't even live there showed up. Neighborhood influencers were already livestreaming, speculating about her identity.
Ivy appeared discreetly in Luna's field of vision, whispering:
"Secondary Mission Complete: Silent Social Impact."
"Reach: 2,371 people."
Luna sighed.
Smirked slightly.
And turned to the crowd.
"Thank you. Truly. But now...I need to go."
Dona Marlene suddenly grabbed her hand.
"Child...whatever happened...I'm glad it happened to you. You were always good. You deserve the world."
Luna felt her eyes burn. Swallowed hard. "Thank you, Dona Marlene. You gave me rice on credit more times than I can count. That...I'll never forget."
She entered the car.
The crowd still trying to film.
Some waving.
Others still in disbelief.
As the car pulled away, leaving the past behind and carrying Luna toward an absurdly new reality, she rested her forehead against the window and whispered:
"I can't tell them the truth. But...maybe I can change their lives anyway."
Ivy reappeared, smiling her holographic smile. "Sure you don't want to anonymously donate five million to the third-floor lady? She still hand-washes her clothes."
Luna looked up, laughed and said: "Make it a hundred."
The luxury car moved silently through the avenues.
Luna leaned against the window, but her eyes weren't seeing the city.
She was lost.
Not in GPS—in memory.
At ten years old, she'd been left at a bus stop with a small backpack and a note written in cheap pen:
"We're sorry. We can't take care of you anymore. Be strong."
Adoptive parents.
Funny how a beautiful word can hide a blade.
She waited there. For hours.
Sun turned to rain. Rain turned to night.
And no one came back.
The following days were blurs of hunger and fear.
Cold streets. Cruel stares. Disguised disgust pretending to be charity.
She learned quickly that people offering bread with one hand sometimes hide stones in the other.
Learned to run. To lie. To pretend she was invisible.
Slept in bus terminals, ate leftovers, faced drunk adults and aggressive boys.
And yet...she never broke.
At twelve, she met a woman with a raspy voice and bleached hair who taught her to sell candy at traffic lights.
At fifteen, she used public libraries as shelters, pretending to study while warming cold hands on books.
At seventeen, she took college entrance exams. Alone. Without a fixed address.
Passed. Got a scholarship.
Cleaned bathrooms at a fancy restaurant while attending night classes.
She fought. Alone. Always.
Luna blinked slowly. A tear almost escaped, but she held it back with the same strength that held back so many screams throughout her life.
Now the world saw her as a rich, mysterious, flawless woman.
But only she knew how many times she'd screamed for help in the silence of the streets.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
"I swore I'd never go hungry again. Never return to that bus stop," she whispered.
And as if the universe was listening...
GRRRRRRRRRR
Her stomach growled loudly.
She laughed, surprised. "Okay, body. Message received."
Luna pulled up the car's digital control panel and activated the AI search function.
"Ivy, is there any fancy restaurant nearby that accepts rich people with trauma?"
The AI appeared floating in the form of a maître d', with a subtle smile. "There's Astralis Dining Lounge, Miss Luna. Located atop the Celestine Hotel, five stars. Discreet ambiance, panoramic views, and chefs who yell in French even when in good moods."
"Perfect. Make a reservation. And tell them I want a seat where I can see the sky."
"Considering today's emotional history, I've also added a self-affirmation dessert. Chocolate with edible gold."
Luna raised an eyebrow.
"You really do know me."
Twenty minutes later...
The car stopped at the entrance of the luxurious Celestine Hotel. A man in a top hat—yes, a top hat—opened her door, and the red carpet seemed rolled out straight from designer heaven.
People in the lobby froze.
"It's her..."
"The mysterious billionaire."
"Augustus Malroth's heiress..."
"Did you see those heels? You couldn't buy those here even with organ trafficking!"
The elevator ascended to the top floor, silent and mirrored.
Luna studied her reflection with a strange expression.
She looked perfect.
But inside...echoes remained.
And perhaps that would never change.
As she exited the elevator, a hostess in a silver dress approached immediately. "Welcome to Astralis, Miss Luna. Your table is ready."
Luna smiled politely.
"Thank you."
The table faced a massive glass wall overlooking the entire city. Urban lights twinkled like stars on asphalt. It was beautiful.
She sat down slowly. Pulled up the digital menu, but Ivy appeared instantly.
"I've preselected dishes recommended for emotional reconnection: black truffle risotto with aged cheese and filet mignon with ancient wine reduction. Beverage: wild berry juice with aromatic mist. Oh, and the waiter is cute."
"Of course he is..." Luna murmured, laughing.
As she waited, linen napkin on her lap and delicate glass in hand, she noticed all the discreet stares from the elite.
Whispers. Theories. Stealthy photos.
But this time...
she didn't shrink.
Didn't hide.
She lifted her chin, crossed her legs, and gave a slight smile.