Mya Hart wakes before the alarm, before the second ring, before he can get angry. Every movement is calculated-every breath taken like it could cost her. The bruises don't show yet, not to strangers, not in the gentle hum of the café where she takes her son, Noah, to work and forces a smile for tips. But behind closed doors, love comes laced with fear. "You know he's mine too, right?" Jack says. Her hand stills on her son's bag. Her chest tightens. He wasn't asking. He was warning. At home, he says he's sorry. Says he panicked. Says he loves her. And she believes it-just long enough to stay. Because when he's sweet, it's almost worse. Because when he's sweet, she remembers the version of him that made her fall in the first place. And maybe, if she's careful enough, quiet enough, small enough-maybe he won't break what's left of her. Maybe she can stay whole for her son. Maybe she can keep them both safe. Maybe she can hold out until... something. Anything. But hope is dangerous. And tomorrow always comes. And one day soon, she'll have to choose-stay silent... or run.

Once a luminous axis in the outer systems-spoken of in tones usually reserved for miracles-Elydra is now erased with bureaucratic indifference, as if entire civilizations can be papered over by omission. Its constellations have been renamed. Its soil ground to carbon beneath the crawl of imperial machines. Its myths sold back to the galaxy in the form of sterilized exhibits curated by historians who never walked among the breathing temples or listened to the skyroots whisper their ancestor names. The Empire called it justice. Progress. Efficiency. Brother Day, cloned god-emperor of recursion and ritual, wears divinity like a costume passed down too many times. Sculpted in logic, crowned by inertia, he ordered the erasure of a civilization as if reformatting a file. But even precision fails when the data fights back. Elira-its one and only rightful heir-was meant to die with it. A child of the sacred bloodline, born into rites older than the Empire itself, her lineage etched in the sacred spiral script known only to the astronomer-priests and neurospirit-weavers. Her name was carved into orrery stones beside celestial predictions no longer believed. Her soul was intended to be a cipher through which the stars might remember themselves. Now chosen-offered, bartered, condemned-into political union with the executioner of her lineage, Elira maps the anatomy of revenge. Her existence is a blasphemy in the house of the Empire's gods, and she intends to profane every altar. All original characters and story elements belonging to the Foundation TV series remain the intellectual property of their rightful creators. This work is an original extension of that universe for transformative purposes. All additional characters, worldbuilding, and narrative designs contained herein are creations of my own‼️

Madelyn has one job on this cruise: plan the perfect event and prove to her father-her boss-that she's capable. But when she forgets to book a band, everything spirals. That's when she meets him-a charming yet passionate musician who offers to save the night. He's here to chase his dream, to make his family proud, to escape their endless money struggles. She's here to win her father's approval, even if it means staying in a loveless past. But as their worlds collide, feelings grow-ones Madelyn refuses to accept. She's been hurt before. Love is a risk she won't take. Especially when her father wants her to be with someone else. Yet the closer she gets to him, the more she wonders: Is she really chasing success? Or is she running from something much deeper? A story of love, ambition, and finding your own path-even in the middle of the ocean. ⚠️ Content Warnings: This story contains mentions of suicide, emotional manipulation, toxic family dynamics, anxiety/panic attacks, and emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.