After an exhausting day filled with renovations, consultations, and logistics, the atmosphere at home softened into warmth. Elara and her mother shared a quiet, intimate dinner, the kind that felt like a balm to their once-tattered lives. The lights were dimmed low, the scent of steamed rice and vegetable stew mingling gently with one of Elara's softer, lavender-based creations that diffused subtly through the dining area. Their conversations were calm but affectionate. Despite the weight of everything resting on her shoulders, Elara allowed herself this moment of peace.
Just as they had cleared the dishes and were preparing to retire for the night, a sudden knock echoed through the hallway.
Elara's senses sharpened instantly.
Her mother's brows creased with worry, and she walked cautiously toward the door. Elara followed behind her with quiet steps, already calculating the probability of late-night danger. But when the door swung open, the tension turned into surprise.
Standing at the threshold, shoulders slumped and expression weary, was her uncle—her mother's younger brother.
His name was Jaxon. Once the pride of their modest family, he had chased dreams in tech startups and coding gigs in the city. Now, he looked like a man weathered by a personal storm.
"Jaxon?" Elara's mother blinked in disbelief.
"Aunt Mae…" he mumbled, then glanced up at Elara. "I… I didn't know where else to go."
He explained everything once he stepped inside. He had lost his job—downsized, he said, though the truth ran deeper. He had caught his girlfriend of two years in a compromising position—with his boss, no less. The betrayal shattered both his personal and professional life.
"I should've seen it coming," he muttered, staring into the steaming cup of tea Elara's mother had prepared.
Elara sat back silently, her fingers tapping the side of her cup. Her gaze was calm, unreadable. She saw past the mess he was. She wasn't interested in his emotional breakdowns—what caught her attention was his background.
"You said you still code?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Jaxon nodded weakly. "Basic stuff. Python, some Java. I was more on the UI/UX side for the firm."
She raised a brow. "Show me."
He blinked at her tone but obeyed. He pulled out his laptop and ran a basic code sequence—something functional, but unimpressive. Elara leaned forward, took the mouse from his hand, and opened a new file.
Her fingers moved with precision, efficiency, and the mastery of someone who had not just studied but lived in code. Within the hour, she had assembled the skeletal framework of a 3D game engine. The UI was clean, the logic modular, and the concept scalable.
Jaxon watched, transfixed.
"This… this is insane," he breathed. "Where did you even learn this?"
She glanced at him, her expression flat. "You're not the only one who's been hurt by the world, Jaxon. I learned to build from ashes."
The next morning, Elara's mother had already gone ahead to open Scentra. Jaxon lingered in the living room, now looking more inspired than broken.
Elara emerged from her room, sleek and sharp in a black turtleneck and tailored blazer, eyes glinting with a cool determination. "Let's go. You'll shadow me today."
Jaxon blinked. "To Scentra?"
She nodded. "The world isn't going to wait for you to stop licking your wounds."
On the way, they stopped at a corner café. Jaxon offered to get coffee, leaving Elara standing by the street, her gaze absently scanning the crowd.
That's when she noticed the commotion.
An old lady had collapsed on the sidewalk. People crowded around, murmuring and taking videos, but no one stepped forward to help. Elara's first instinct was to ignore it. But then she recognized something in the woman's complexion—flushed skin, erratic breathing.
Heat exhaustion. Perhaps a mild panic-induced syncope. Simple, if handled quickly.
She stepped forward.
"Move," she said coldly.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Elara crouched by the woman, uncapped a small vial from her inner coat pocket, and waved it gently under her nose. The scent—a unique blend of rosemary, clary sage, and citrus—was designed for neural stimulation. A few seconds passed before the woman jolted awake, gasping.
"Easy," Elara said, standing up. "You're fine. Don't try to get up too quickly."
The old lady blinked, confused but grateful. "You… you helped me?"
Elara didn't respond at first. She was already putting the vial away.
"What's your name?" the old woman asked.
"Elara."
"I'm Meredith," the woman replied, her voice soft but steady. "Thank you, young lady. I don't know what would've happened if—"
Elara turned, already walking away. "Take better care of yourself."
She didn't need praise. She hadn't done it for that.
She was almost at the café door when she turned back briefly and saw the same old woman climb into a luxury vehicle—a sleek, matte black sedan with dark-tinted windows and diplomatic plates.
Elara's eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
She filed the information away in the back of her mind.
Moments later, Jaxon returned with coffee.
"What'd I miss?"
"Nothing important," she replied. "Let's go."
As they walked toward the now-bustling Scentra store, Elara's stride was steady, sharp, and deliberate. The world was moving fast, but so was she.
And nothing—not failed men, not luxury cars, not unknown organizations—would derail her plan.
Not this time.