Chapter 2
1232words
She turned the faucet on and off repeatedly, splashing cold water on her face. Each time she looked up, that flawless reflection confirmed this wasn't some bizarre hallucination.
Part of her—the old Ava, insecure and accustomed to blending into the background—screamed in protest against this impossible reality. Yet another part, new and unfamiliar, greedily cataloged every change, thrilling at the strange power she could feel radiating from her skin.
Goddess Halo System.
The phrase echoed in her mind like a mantra. A Pandora's box accidentally opened by her accident, unleashing something powerful enough to upend her entire existence.
In the days that followed, Ava sequestered herself in her bedroom, adjusting to this alien body. She discovered the "Basic Halo" wasn't visible but rather an intangible aura. Her walk became naturally graceful; her silence took on a magnetic quality; even brushing hair behind her ear somehow became an act of mesmerizing elegance.
Beauty, she realized, was an overwhelming privilege.
Yet this heaven-sent gift couldn't change the harsh reality surrounding her.
That evening, her father dragged himself home from the auto shop, his massive hands—once strong enough to lift her overhead—now permanently stained with black grease and crisscrossed with deep cracks. He slumped at the dinner table, too exhausted for conversation, mechanically shoveling food into his mouth.
Her mother had rushed home from her cashier job, still wearing her work apron as she bustled around the kitchen. While cooking, she absently kneaded her lower back with her fist. Throughout dinner, she kept heaping food onto Ava's plate: "Eat up, honey. You're still recovering—you need your strength back."
The dim light above the table cast a warm glow, highlighting the fresh wrinkles at her parents' eyes and the bone-deep exhaustion etched between their brows.
Ava knew her father had pulled double shifts all week to cover her hospital bills.
And her mother had picked up extra hours washing dishes at Ava's favorite diner.
They never complained—just two stubborn oxen pulling the family's heavy load day after endless day.
Ava stared at the food mountain on her plate, her throat suddenly too tight to swallow another bite.
Her newfound beauty, in this moment, seemed utterly worthless.
It couldn't clean her father's hands or straighten her mother's aching back.
Just a pretty dress in a shop window—nice to look at, but changing nothing that mattered.
The next day, the family's ancient pickup ran dry. Her father was too exhausted to move, so Ava volunteered, grabbing some crumpled bills and the emergency credit card before driving the rust bucket—older than she was—to the town's only gas station.
She wore a faded t-shirt and plain jeans, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, face bare of makeup. She'd hoped the casual outfit might make her look more "normal."
She was wrong. When she stepped out of the truck, everyone at the station—customers and employees alike—froze as if someone had hit pause. Ava was growing accustomed to these reactions. She walked directly to the pump without making eye contact and tried to unscrew the gas cap.
The cap, rusted from disuse, refused to budge despite her best efforts. Her face flushed with exertion as sweat trickled down her temples, strands of hair sticking to her damp skin.
At that moment, the rear window of a black Cadillac Escalade beside her—towering like a mobile fortress—silently lowered halfway.
Inside sat Julian Vance, just finishing a two-hour transcontinental conference call. As senior partner at CAA—one of Hollywood's three major talent agencies—he'd come to Kansas to handle a family crisis involving a temperamental A-list client. His mood matched the weather in this godforsaken place—hot, dry, and irritable.
He rubbed his temples, glancing out the window to rest his strained eyes.
And then, he saw Ava.
In Julian's twenty-year career, he'd seen countless beautiful women—curvy and willowy, posed and candid, each striking in their own way. He'd assumed his beauty threshold had maxed out long ago, that no face could genuinely move him anymore.
In that moment, he realized how wrong he'd been.
The girl outside his window, in this unremarkable, grimy Kansas gas station, wearing the cheapest clothes Target sold, frowning slightly at a stubborn gas cap. Her cheeks flushed with effort, damp tendrils of hair clinging to her smooth skin.
She was like an uncut diamond carelessly tossed among river rocks. Even in the harsh midday sun, she radiated a brilliance that outshone everything around her. Not the calculated, packaged beauty he saw daily, but something raw, vital, and untamed.
Julian felt his heart seize, his breath catching in his throat.
He felt like a master jeweler discovering the century's largest flawless diamond in a roadside pawnshop; like a lifelong skeptic witnessing an undeniable miracle in the middle of nowhere.
His carefully cultivated composure—honed through countless negotiations and fake smiles—shattered into rippling waves of emotion.
Yet his face betrayed nothing.
Julian methodically extinguished his Cuban cigar with practiced precision. Through the swirling smoke, his gaze sharpened like a predator's. He adjusted his bespoke Armani suit, ensuring every detail was flawless.
Then he pushed open the door and stepped out, his hand-crafted Italian loafers making a soft thud against the oil-stained concrete.
Ava was still wrestling with the stubborn cap when a shadow fell across her. She looked up, squinting against the sun, to find a tall man in an impeccable suit standing before her—as out of place in Prairie View as a peacock in a chicken coop.
His gaze was steady and intense, devoid of the usual male appraisal yet somehow more penetrating than any look she'd ever received.
"Hello, miss," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Need some help with that?"
As he spoke, he effortlessly took the gas cap from her hands and twisted it open with one smooth motion.
"Thanks," Ava mumbled, instinctively stepping back.
Instead of leaving, the man produced an elegant silver card case from his inner pocket. With practiced precision, he extracted a single card and extended it toward her.
"CAA, Julian Vance." Each word crisp and deliberate. "I don't mean to intrude, but if you have even the slightest interest in the entertainment industry, I'd appreciate five minutes of your time."
Ava froze. CAA was a name she recognized—the Hollywood powerhouse that represented every A-lister worth mentioning.
Julian's gaze bored into her. Noting her confusion, he added deliberately: "Miss, I'm not just approaching a pretty face. I'm recognizing a fact—your appearance could rewrite certain rules in this industry."
Rewrite the rules.
The words detonated in Ava's mind. She stared at the business card—minimalist yet weighty, those three gold-embossed letters catching the sunlight like a promise.
She thought of her father's grease-stained hands, her mother's stooped shoulders, the stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter.
For the first time in her life, she faced a genuine crossroads. A path leading somewhere unknown, promising both glory and pain. This small rectangle of cardstock was her only map.
Her hand trembled slightly.
Finally, under Julian's unwavering gaze, Ava reached out and took the card. Her fingertips brushed its edge, the thin paper somehow heavy as stone.
Julian's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. He nodded once, said nothing more, and returned to his car.
The black Cadillac glided away from the station, vanishing down the road as if it had never existed.
