"My eyes are full of salty tears, I imagine sweet dreams. Like rippling water, like a lazy, greedy stomach… this is my comeback season. Watch how you talk to me."
The dynamic beat pulsed through Bella's headphones as she pushed open the door of her favorite cake shop. The chime above jingled softly, announcing her arrival.
She stepped inside with effortless grace, immediately capturing everyone's attention.
Dressed in a black lantern-sleeved sweater tucked into a pair of high-waisted, slightly cropped jeans, and finished off with crisp white sneakers, she looked effortlessly stunning. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Even the background playlist seemed to take a breath.
Behind the counter, Sophia looked up from her register, her eyes lighting up. "Wow, Bella! You look gorgeous today. I'm so jealous—how do you manage to make anything look like designer wear?"
Bella chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear with a humble smile. "You're exaggerating."
From the back room, a middle-aged woman in white overalls appeared, balancing a tray fresh from the oven.
"Hey, Tarina," Bella greeted cheerfully.
"Hey, honey! Looking lovely as always," Tarina beamed.
"Thanks," Bella replied.
"Still the usual?"
Bella nodded. "Of course."
This little cake shop in Queens was her hidden gem. The cheesecakes were to die for—each slice a perfect harmony of buttery biscuit base, rich cream cheese, and an array of toppings from fresh fruit to whipped cream, nuts, or even chocolate syrup.
She wasn't even particularly fond of sweets, but this place had won her over. She made the trip from Manhattan to Queens every few days just for it. Worth every mile.
It helped that she had history with the place. She'd discovered it while renting nearby during her early days in New York. Over time, she'd become a regular, and now everyone knew her. The shop was owned by Sophia's parents—Tarina and her husband—and had been in business for over a decade.
Sophia herself, bright and cheerful, often helped out between classes. Bella liked her. She had good energy, even if she had a persistent habit of trying to set Bella up with her older brother.
Apparently, he was an NCAA basketball player. Bella had seen a photo once—a tall, athletic guy with a classic all-American smile.
Handsome? Sure.
But her heart never fluttered.
She might look like a fashionable twenty-something woman, but on the inside, her soul hadn't really caught up with her appearance. The idea of being wooed or seduced just didn't resonate. At most, she tolerated denim shorts in the summer. The rest? Hard pass. Let the world chase romance—she preferred cheesecake and solitude.
She quietly ignored the lingering gaze of a young man at the counter—clearly smitten—who was eyeing her with admiration, maybe hoping to start a conversation.
Instead, Bella casually turned to Sophia.
"By the way," she asked, "I noticed a lot of police cars on my way here. Did something happen?"
Sophia blinked. "Not sure. I'm just covering a shift today."
Before she could elaborate, the smitten boy chimed in enthusiastically, eager to impress. "Oh! I heard some gang violence flared up again. A couple of shootouts this past week. People have died."
Bella gave him a polite nod of thanks, then turned back to the counter to check out. She made a quick LCQ gesture to Sophia before leaving—an inside way of saying text me later.
As she exited, the boy stared after her with a mix of longing and regret. The girl he liked, the one he'd never even had the courage to talk to, had just walked out of his life.
"Snap out of it, Griffin," Tarina said gently from behind the counter, watching the boy with amusement.
She knew Bella better than most. Beneath that soft-spoken charm was a quiet confidence—too independent, too strong-willed. And with looks and poise like hers, it was no wonder many guys didn't feel worthy.
But still... maybe her son could give it a try someday.
Outside, Bella unlocked her car—a sleek yellow Chevrolet Camaro with scissor doors that hissed open dramatically.
It had cost her 31,000 gold. Don't ask what kind of black-market exchange rate she'd used. Just know she had always wanted this car.
Yes, it was that car. The Bumblebee lookalike.
Back in her previous life, this had been her dream car. But now that she'd driven it for a few weeks, her feelings were... mixed.
Stylish exterior? Check.
Impressive performance? Sure.
Interior space? Nonexistent.
The trunk? A glorified glove compartment.
But hey, it was a civilian sports car. Her expectations weren't sky-high. She still enjoyed driving it around. Though, she was already eyeing SUVs for the future. Something with room and ruggedness. Maybe an Audi or a Land Rover.
Bella settled into the driver's seat and started the engine.
As the Camaro purred to life, more police cars screamed past on the main road, sirens wailing.
She didn't even flinch.
Through the tinted windows, she could see the tense faces of the officers inside. They looked alert, almost nervous. Something big was happening again.
Ah, the price of freedom.
In the grand, dysfunctional democracy of the "lighthouse nation," Bella thought, people got twitchy when they had to go even a single day without feeling "free."
Gunshots rang faintly in the distance. Another gang conflict, probably. Maybe a turf war. Maybe something worse.
But Bella didn't react.
Today was her day off.
Let the Punisher or the local defenders handle it. Let the would-be vigilantes and righteous agents deal with shootouts, gang killings, and street turf.
She was a different kind of superhero now.
Her job was global, sometimes cosmic. She showed up when portals to Hell opened, when gods clashed, when the world teetered on the brink. Not when two gangs couldn't agree on who owned a block in Queens.
Besides, with her current strength, dealing with petty villains didn't help her anymore. No power gains. No skill progression. Just boredom.
She wasn't the same woman who had first stepped into New York with nothing but fists and fire.
Now, she was something else entirely.
Something divine.
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