A few days passed.
The gala was a dazzling affair—one of those high-profile charity events where people pretended to care about world issues while drowning themselves in imported wine and whispered scandals. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in an ethereal glow, while laughter and clinking glasses filled the air.
Sanlang stood in the center of it all, a masterpiece of effortless charm. Dressed in a sleek black suit tailored to perfection, he exuded a magnetic allure that drew attention wherever he moved. He was used to this—the way people gravitated toward him, the way women threw themselves at his feet. Yet, tonight, it all felt unbearably empty.
His lips curved into a polite, detached smile as yet another woman approached him, draped in a red silk dress that clung to her every curve. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm, her perfume a suffocating blend of roses and vanilla.
"You're always so distant, Sanlang," she murmured, tilting her head just enough to expose the delicate curve of her neck. "What would it take to actually keep your attention for longer than a minute?"
Sanlang took a slow sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he regarded her with mild amusement. "A miracle, probably."
She laughed, though there was a hint of frustration in her eyes. "Then allow me to be your miracle tonight."
He chuckled, low and smooth, as if entertained. But in truth, he was anything but. "I'd rather not test the limits of divinity."
With that, he gently pried her fingers off his arm and excused himself.
The room was suffocating. Conversations blurred into meaningless noise. Every face, every touch, every interaction felt painfully irrelevant.
Because she wasn't here.
His grip on the glass tightened. Noor.
He had caught a fleeting glimpse of her earlier, standing in the distance with her usual impenetrable grace, draped in a black silk gown that clung to her frame in all the right places yet revealed nothing. A vision of untouchable beauty, haunting him like a ghost. She hadn't spared him a glance.
And yet, he felt the weight of her presence as if she were breathing against his skin.
"Damn you, Noor," he muttered under his breath, downing the rest of his drink.
He had tried—he had really tried—to move on, to forget, to drown himself in distractions. But Noor was like a brand seared into his soul, an ache that refused to fade.
A waiter passed by, offering another drink, but before Sanlang could decline, a sharp, amused voice cut through the air.
"I wouldn't take that if I were you."
Sanlang turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met Zeyla's knowing gaze. Dressed in an emerald gown that shimmered under the lights, she stood with her arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.
He exhaled, already exasperated. "And why's that?"
Zeyla leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. "Because I just saw a certain someone spike it."
His jaw clenched. "Who?"
She flicked her gaze toward the crowd, where a man in an expensive suit was laughing too easily, his eyes darting toward Sanlang's untouched drink.
Sanlang scoffed. "How flattering. They think I need drugging now?"
Zeyla arched a brow. "You're a high-value target. And if I had to guess, someone wants to make sure you end up in the wrong bed tonight."
He let out a low, humorless laugh. "That's cute. Almost makes me wish I actually drank it—just to see how their plan would've played out."
Zeyla rolled her eyes. "And that's why you're a disaster waiting to happen."
Sanlang sighed, running a hand through his hair. The heat in the room was becoming unbearable. His mind was already clouded, not from any drug, but from something far worse—her.
He needed to leave.
Without another word, he turned and walked out, the cool night air hitting him like a lifeline. But even as he distanced himself from the party, his body ached in ways that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
The memory of Noor—her scent, her touch, the way her silk gown moved like water against her skin—was already unraveling him from the inside.
He barely made it to his penthouse before the fever overtook him.
As he collapsed onto the bed, his mind was a battlefield.
Visions of Noor consumed him. The way her hair had once cascaded down her back, the way her lips had brushed against his skin, the way she had looked at him before everything had shattered.
A groan escaped his lips as desire coiled deep in his gut. His fists clenched against the sheets.
This was torture.
He had been with women before—countless, meaningless encounters that never lasted beyond a night. But Noor had ruined him. No touch, no kiss, no body could compare.
He pressed his forehead against the pillow, breathing heavily.
God help me… Noor, you will be the death of me.
As exhaustion and frustration consumed him, sleep finally took hold.
And then, the memories came.
Blurry, fragmented images—flashes of a past he had long forgotten.
A dark auction hall. Cold chains against his skin. A voice cutting through the chaos.
"100 billion."
A pair of piercing eyes locking onto his. A touch that had once meant salvation.
Sanlang jolted awake, his heart hammering.
His breathing was ragged, his pulse unsteady. He ran a hand through his damp hair, his entire body taut with tension.
The dream had felt too real.
And for the first time in years, a whisper of doubt crept into his mind.
Had he really forgotten everything?
Or had someone made sure he did?
---------
Zeyla strode through the estate gates, her boots clicking against the rain-slicked stone. The grand hall stretched before her, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, but the silence within was almost suffocating. The tension in the air was thick—Noor's absence had turned the estate into something unfamiliar, something wrong.
At the far end of the hall, Maya stood with her arms tightly crossed, a deep frown set on her face. Heath lingered nearby, watching with sharp eyes as Zeyla approached.
"You found nothing?" Maya's voice was clipped, laced with exhaustion.
Zeyla let out a sigh, tossing her coat over the nearest chair. "Oh, I found plenty—just nothing useful. Unless you count the delightful company of self-righteous martial artists who apparently worship our like she's descended from the heavens."
Maya's frown deepened. "And Madam Noor?"
"Gone." Zeyla rolled her shoulders. "Vanished like a ghost, as usual."
Maya inhaled sharply but said nothing. Instead, she rubbed her temple, as if warding off an oncoming headache.
Maya smirked, eyeing her with amusement. "Speaking of headaches, I heard you had quite the night at one of those insufferable galas in Noor's absence. A little birdie told me you had a rather interesting run-in with Sanlang."
Zeyla groaned. "Don't remind me."
"Oh, but I must," Maya said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Poor Zeyla, abandoned by Noor and thrown into the den of over-polished aristocrats. Forced to endure the unbearable tragedy of fine dining and expensive champagne."
Zeyla shot her a withering look. "I was forced to go because Lady Noor was missing. You think I'd willingly spend my night listening to a bunch of rich fools pretending to be important?"
Maya placed a hand over her heart. "Truly, a fate worse than death."
Zeyla rolled her eyes. "I was this close to stabbing someone with a butter knife."
"And yet, the highlight of the evening wasn't the buffet, but Sanlang," Maya drawled, thoroughly enjoying this. "Tell me, how did it feel to be the object of his brooding stares and dramatic sighs?"
Zeyla scoffed. "He was not brooding."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "Oh, please. The man radiates tragic longing every time our Madam so much as exists in the same city as him."
Zeyla shook her head, looking half-exasperated, half-amused. "He was polite—that's all. He asked about Noor. I told him nothing. End of story."
Maya tapped her chin. "And yet, you look deeply troubled by this short and simple exchange. Perhaps his devastatingly good looks made you momentarily reconsider your stance on men?"
Zeyla deadpanned. "If I ever do reconsider, I promise you, Sanlang won't be on the list."
Maya grinned. "Well, shame. Would've been fun watching you navigate the minefield that is his undying devotion to Madam Noor."
Zeyla exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can we please focus? Noor is still missing."
Maya's smirk faded slightly, and she nodded. "Fine, fine. But don't think I'm letting you off the hook so easily. The next time you get caught in a romantic subplot at one of these events, I will be asking for details."
Maya muttered something under her breath, but Zeyla only laughed, shaking her head.
Then, with a more serious air, she said, "Let's get to work. She won't stay gone forever."
And with that, the teasing was set aside—for now.
_______
As days stretched into week, unease wrapped the estate in a suffocating shroud.
Maya's poised demeanor cracked, her worry palpable as Noor's absence extended into an abyss of silence.
Conversations between Maya and Zeyla became whispers, muted by the weight of uncertainty.
Zeyla, loyal and silent, kept Noor's secrets locked away.
She suspected Noor had gone to a place steeped in their shared history.
Yet, out of respect and fear of uncovering something darker, she held her tongue.
Heath's concern deepened with every unanswered day.
The estate's grand halls, once alive with activity, now felt hollow, every corner echoing Noor's absence.
--------
The Study – One Week Since Noor's Disappearance
The fire crackled softly, its warmth failing to reach the cold tension in the room. Maya sat at the grand mahogany desk, fingers drumming against the surface, the sound sharp and impatient. Zeyla, ever the picture of composed apathy, lounged on the couch, swirling a glass of wine like this was just another evening.
Maya exhaled sharply. "It's been a week."
Zeyla raised a brow. "So?"
Maya shot her a glare. "So? Again. Without a word. Again."
Zeyla took a slow sip of wine. "That does sound like her, doesn't it?"
Maya clenched her jaw. "She left without telling Heath. You know what that means."
Zeyla hummed. "It means she didn't want to be followed."
The doors creaked open before Maya could throw a snide remark. Heath stepped inside, his usual composed face lined with exhaustion. He looked at the two of them, exhaled heavily, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"She left without warning again," he muttered.
Maya threw up her hands. "Fantastic. We have a genius here, folks."
Heath ignored her. "Zeyla?"
She smirked, tilting her head lazily. "Ah. You assume I know where she is."
"You always do," Heath said flatly.
Zeyla sighed, stretching. "Fine. If I had to bet—which I don't because she terrifies even probability itself—I'd say the mountains."
Maya's breath caught. "The martial sects?"
"Where else?"
Heath's expression darkened. "Damn it, Noor."
Zeyla shrugged. "She always comes back."
Heath's jaw clenched. "One day, she won't."
Zeyla chuckled, the sound bitter. "Please. We should all be so lucky."
---
(Five Years Ago)
The Study – Midnight
The candlelight flickered as the heavy doors groaned open.
Zeyla didn't look up immediately. The estate was well-guarded. No one dared walk these halls at this hour. Except—
A familiar scent hit her first. Not Noor's usual scent of cold steel and faint incense. No, this was copper. Iron. Blood.
Zeyla's grip tightened around her quill. "You've got to be kidding me."
The doors opened fully, revealing Noor standing at the entrance, drenched in crimson.
The once-pristine silk of her dress clung to her frame, shredded in places where the fabric had given up trying to survive. Blood dripped from the hilt of the sword she dragged behind her, leaving a dark trail across the marble floor.
Her eyes—normally unreadable—burned with something deeper. Something vast. Something endless.
Zeyla slowly placed her quill down. "Had a fun night?"
Noor stepped forward. The weight of her presence alone made the air heavy. "I've had worse."
Zeyla tilted her head. "Whose blood?"
Noor's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You think I stopped to ask?"
Zeyla exhaled, standing. "I should call Heath."
Noor stepped past her, sword still scraping the floor. "You should get better at minding your own business."
Zeyla followed her. "What did you do?"
Noor stopped. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken horrors. Then, finally, she said, "I put nightmares back where they belonged."
Zeyla swallowed. "And where's that?"
Noor's fingers traced the hilt of her sword absently. "Underneath the dirt. Where they can scream all they like, but no one hears them."
The candlelight flickered again. For a moment, it almost looked like Noor's shadow stretched far longer than it should have—like something unseen clung to her, whispering in a language only she understood.
Zeyla exhaled. "And here I thought you were going to settle down, maybe pick up knitting."
Noor finally turned, a slow, deliberate movement. The smile she gave was something out of a nightmare—too slow, too precise, as if she were indulging in a private joke the world wasn't in on.
"I did consider it," Noor said, her voice soft, dangerously amused. "But I found the needles too delicate. I prefer weapons that don't break under pressure."
Zeyla scoffed. "Oh? And what about people?"
Noor tilted her head slightly, considering. "They're softer than they look."
Maya burst in at that moment, skidding to a stop as her eyes locked onto Noor. The color drained from her face.
"God help us," Zeyla whispered. "What did you do this time?"
Noor's eyes, dark and fathomless, flickered with something ancient. She reached for a nearby chair and sank into it with the grace of a queen who had just executed an entire court.
"Made a few… adjustments."
Zeyla swallowed. "To what?"
"To the number of people breathing."
Zeyla let out a low whistle. "And here I was hoping you finally took a vacation."
Noor tapped a bloodstained finger against the armrest. "Oh, I did. A lovely little retreat in the mountains. The air was crisp. The company was dreadful."
Zeyla hesitated. "And now?"
Noor leaned back, crossing her legs, utterly unfazed by the mess she had tracked in. "Now? I'm back to my usual schedule. But Depends on who annoys me first."
Zeyla pinched the bridge of her nose. "Heath is going to kill me."
Zeyla smirked. "If he's lucky, May be you will do it first."
Noor let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and devoid of warmth. "Heath worries too much. I always come back."
Zeyla crossed her arms. "What if One day, you won't."
Noor's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree. "That," she said, voice soft as a whisper, "would be the best gift I could give this world."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Zeyla, ever unbothered, sipped her wine. "Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"
Noor smirked. "Would you prefer me to be a storm?"
Zeyla groaned. "For once, just once, could you walk in like a normal person and not like a goddamn omen of death?"
Noor raised a brow. "That would be false advertising, don't you think?"
Zeyla opened her mouth, then closed it. What was the point? Noor had a way of turning every argument into a bottomless pit, and if you weren't careful, you'd fall right in.
"Fine," zeyla muttered. "At least let Heath check you over."
Noor gave her a lazy glance. "Do I look fragile to you?"
"Yes," she snapped. "Like glass dipped in poison. Sharp. Deadly. And one wrong move from shattering."
For the first time, Noor's gaze softened—just a fraction, just for a second.
Then, just as quickly, the moment was gone.
Noor stood, the blood on her dress a stark contrast to the elegant way she moved. "Tell Heath he can knock on my door if he dares."
Zeyla glared. "My Lady, You are impossible "
Noor smirked. "I prefer 'inevitable.'"
And just like that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps a whisper against the cold marble floor.
Zeyla waited until the doors closed behind her. Then, with a slow exhale, she murmured, "One of these days, that woman is going to be the end of us."
Her hands curled into fists. "You think we'll even be lucky enough to survive that long?"
The estate had fallen into silence.
For a week, Noor remained behind the locked doors of her chamber. No one dared to disturb her, not even Heath. The staff moved through the halls as if walking across graves, whispering only when necessary. The echoes of that night still lingered—the heavy scent of blood, the metallic ring of a sword dragging across marble, and Noor's expression, hollow and unreadable.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she emerged.
No explanations. No acknowledgment. Just the soft rustle of silk as she walked past the terrified staff, as if they were nothing more than air.
Zeyla had been watching from the staircase, her hands clenched. She wanted to speak, but the words choked her.
Noor paused at the bottom, tilting her head slightly. "You're staring, Zeyla. Should I be flattered or concerned?"
Zeyla swallowed. "I—"
"Save it." Noor's voice was a whisper of amusement, a ghost of something wicked. "If you have questions, keep them. If you have accusations, make them interesting."
Zeyla said nothing.
Noor smirked. "That's what I thought."
She disappeared into the corridor, leaving behind only the scent of winter roses and something colder.
---
Days Later – Noor's Chambers
Zeyla hesitated at the threshold.
The room was dark, the air thick with something unspoken. A single candle flickered on the desk, casting long shadows. In the corner, the sword lay against the wall—clean, polished, and glinting with memories too violent to name.
Zeyla's breath caught.
It wasn't the sight of the sword itself, but what it represented. The weight Noor had carried into this room, the way she had vanished inside herself afterward. Was it grief? Rage? Or something worse?
"You're not very good at sneaking, Zeyla."
Zeyla stiffened. Noor stood by the window, gazing into the night. Moonlight cut across her figure, turning her into something unreal. Her voice was soft, almost lazy, but there was an edge beneath it—one that could slit throats without a second thought.
"I wasn't sneaking." Zeyla found her voice.
Noor let out a dry chuckle. "Of course not."
There was a long silence. The kind that suffocated.
Zeyla glanced at the sword again. "You kept it."
Noor's gaze didn't shift from the window. "Why wouldn't I?"
Zeyla hesitated. "I thought… maybe you'd want to forget."
At that, Noor finally turned. Her lips curled into something that could barely be called a smile. "Forget?" she echoed. "Do you ask the sea to forget its storms? The fire to forget its hunger?"
Zeyla's throat tightened.
Noor stepped closer, the candlelight dancing in her eyes—dark, endless, and cruelly amused. "Memories are funny things, Zeyla. They carve themselves into you, whether you want them or not. Some fester. Some sharpen. And some—" she glanced at the sword, fingers brushing its hilt "—some remind you of who you really are."
Zeyla exhaled shakily. "And who are you?"
Noor's smile deepened, but it never reached her eyes.
"Something you cannot afford to understand."
-------
Days passed, and something shifted.
Zeyla watched, unnoticed, as the orphanage filled with new children. Their faces bore shadows—some from fear, some from loss—but beneath it all, there was relief. Safety.
The puzzle pieces clicked together.
Noor had vanished for a week. She had returned covered in blood. The orphanage was now brimming with rescued children.
Zeyla exhaled, her stomach knotting.
She found Heath in the courtyard, overseeing the staff. "The orphanage has grown."
Heath looked up. "Yes."
Zeyla pressed. "Did Lady Noor say anything about it?"
Heath shook her head. "She doesn't explain. She simply acts."
That was the problem, wasn't it? Noor never spoke of her wounds, only carried them. She never asked for help, only delivered it.
Zeyla crossed her arms. "Do you think she—" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "—paid a price for them?"
Heath's expression darkened, but she didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
---
Late Evening – The Garden
Zeyla found Noor alone in the gardens, surrounded by the whisper of wind and the scent of cold roses. Noor was seated on a stone bench, head tilted back, gazing at the stars as if they had wronged her.
Zeyla approached cautiously. "You did something."
Noor let out a soft breath of laughter. "I do a lot of things."
Zeyla sat beside her. "The children."
Noor's lips twitched. "Ah." She sighed, feigning exasperation. "You figured it out. How terribly perceptive of you."
Zeyla clenched her fists. "How much blood did it take?"
Noor's gaze slid to her, slow and unreadable. "Can you handle the truth?"
Zeyla flinched.
Noor chuckled, low and cold. "You think I'm a monster, don't you?"
Zeyla's jaw tightened. "I think you shoulder too much alone."
Noor looked away, amusement fading. "Perhaps."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with things neither wanted to name.
Zeyla exhaled. "Did it help?"
Noor's fingers tapped idly against her knee. "Did what help?"
"The killing."
Noor smirked, but it was laced with something hollow. But she didn't answer.
Zeyla felt a chill run down her spine.
Noor straightened, her expression unreadable once more. " it does clear the path."
She stood, her silhouette blending into the darkness, a creature that did not belong to the world of men. "Get some rest, Zeyla. I have work to do."
Zeyla didn't move as Noor walked away, disappearing into the night as if she had never truly been there to begin with.
The garden, the orphanage, the estate—everything Noor had touched bore the marks of her sacrifices.
And yet, no one dared to ask what it was costing her.