The grand estate of Noor, once an empire of efficiency, now resembled a sinking ship with Maya, Zeyla, and Heath clinging to whatever debris was left. Noor had been gone for months, and so far, none of them had dropped dead—though it was starting to feel like a serious possibility.
Zeyla sat behind Noor's desk, her usually sleek bun slightly unraveling as she scowled at a ridiculously long financial report. "Do you know how much we've lost in the last three months?" she muttered.
Maya, lying on the couch with her arms spread dramatically, groaned, "If it's anything less than my will to live, I don't care."
Zeyla ignored her. "Fifteen billion."
Maya didn't even blink. "That's fine. Just sell one of gold-plated statues or whatever."
Zeyla looked up, unimpressed. "She doesn't have gold-plated statues."
Maya tilted her head, frowning. "She should. What's the point of being this rich if we can't pawn off a couple of tacky gold lions in times of crisis?"
Zeyla exhaled sharply. "Do you think I'm joking? The board is starting to panic. If Madam Noor doesn't come back soon, we're going to be up to our necks in lawsuits."
Maya waved a lazy hand. "Pfft. That's your problem. My problem is that we have a hundred orphanages and not enough money to keep them running for another six months. Oh, and some corrupt politician just tried to blackmail me this morning. Again."
Zeyla blinked. "Did you threaten to send an assassin?"
Maya scoffed. "I told him I'd personally shove his bribe money so far down his throat he'd be able to digest his own greed. He backed off."
Zeyla nodded approvingly.
Heath, who had been standing by the window, let out a long-suffering sigh. "Can you two not bond over threats of violence?"
Maya sat up with effort, rubbing her temples. "Heath, I love you, but if you're not here to do my work for me, shut up."
"I second that," Zeyla muttered, flipping through another report. "Heath, if you have that much energy, go file some contracts."
Heath looked at them like he was questioning all his life choices. "I don't know how Noor put up with you two."
"She barely spoke to us," Maya pointed out.
"Yeah, smart woman," Zeyla agreed. "She left us to deal with this mess, and honestly? I respect her more for it."
Maya slumped back on the couch, rubbing her eyes. "What if she's never coming back?"
Silence.
"…Good for her," Zeyla muttered after a moment.
Maya let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. I'd leave too if I were her."
Heath shot them both an incredulous look. "You're running a hundred orphanages and a trillion-dollar empire, and you're joking about quitting?"
"Oh, we're not joking, Heath." Maya gestured vaguely at the mess of documents. "I'm one tax audit away from walking into the woods and never returning."
Zeyla pointed at her laptop screen. "If one more investor calls me, I swear to God, I'm going to fake my own death."
Heath pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should have let you two kill each other months ago."
Before either woman could respond, a guard rushed into the office, looking panicked. "Sanlang's here. Again."
Maya didn't even open her eyes. "For the fourth time this week?"
The guard nodded.
Zeyla sighed. "Persistent."
Maya smirked. "Pathetic."
Heath folded his arms. "You do realize this is Noor's estate, right? Eventually, he's going to realize something is off."
Maya sat up, stretching. "Oh, he knows something is off. That's why he keeps coming back like a desperate ex-boyfriend."
Zeyla tapped her fingers against the desk. "Should we just tell him she's gone?"
Maya grinned wickedly. "No. Let's keep rejecting him at the gates. It's funny."
Heath groaned. "You two are insufferable."
Down at the front gates, Sanlang stood in his tailored suit, staring at the estate's towering walls like a man questioning everything.
The guards didn't even look at him anymore.
"Still no entry, sir," one of them said flatly.
Sanlang exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "What the hell is going on?"
For months, he had been coming here. For months, he had been denied entry. Noor's estate had always been open to him before—and now he was treated like a stranger.
It was humiliating.
It was infuriating.
And it was driving him insane.
The storm howled outside the grand estate. The wind slammed against the windows, rattling the glass as if demanding entry. Inside the main hall, the atmosphere was thick with unease. Staff members shifted nervously, eyes flickering toward the massive double doors.
Maya paced like a madwoman, wringing her hands. "She has to back "
Zeyla, standing beside her, sniffled. "What if she—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Maya snapped, but her own voice wavered.
Even Heath, usually composed, was leaning lazily against the fireplace, his sharp eyes betraying the tension he refused to acknowledge. "Relax, ladies. Noor's too stubborn to die." He smirked. "Besides, if she did, she'd probably come back just to scold us for doubting her."
Before Maya could hurl a vase at him, the front doors burst open.
A gust of wind howled through the hall, carrying in a suffocating silence.
Then—Noor stepped in.
Lightning flashed behind her, illuminating her figure like a ghost returned from war. She was drenched, her silk dress clinging to her frame, torn at the hem, streaked with blood—too much blood. Her long, dark hair hung in damp strands over her face, her unreadable eyes reflecting the storm outside.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Then—
"Madam ,...Madam ....Mm..mm..NOOOOOOR!"
Maya and Zeyla lunged at her, sobbing like they'd been widowed in another lifetime.
Maya clutched her arm. "We thought you ...! We were ready to start a revenge mission!"
Zeyla clung to her soaked gown. "I told them you'd come back, but even I started doubting! Why do you do this to us?! Why are you so dramatic?! We could've sent a car!"
Noor barely blinked at their hysteria. "Step AWAY," she stated flatly.
Maya pulled back, scandalized. "WHY... YOU'RE ALREADY DRENCHED IN BLOOD!"
Noor sighed, shaking off droplets. "It's not mine."
The hall fell into a heavier silence.
Heath, ever unbothered, folded his arms. "You know, I'd ask what poor soul you destroyed this time, but judging by your expression, they probably deserved worse."
Noor turned to him, voice smooth as ice. "Heath,"....but she silenced before she spoke.
Maya, still crying, sniffled. "Damn, even near-death she's savage."
Heath placed a hand over his chest dramatically. "One of these days, Noor, your cold rejection will wound me beyond repair."
Noor gave him a look so deadpan it could kill.
"Good," she said simply.
Maya and Zeyla were still holding onto her like lifelines when Noor finally exhaled, her shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.
Then, in a voice so calm it sent a fresh wave of unease through the room, she said—
"Drangheta is here."
Maya froze mid-sniffle. Zeyla's grip tightened. Heath's smirk disappeared.
Outside, thunder rumbled.
"Well, sh*t," Heath muttered.
---
The rain poured relentlessly against the glass windows, the storm outside a mere whisper compared to the one that had just walked through the grand estate's doors. Noor stood at the entrance, her silk dress heavy with rain and something far darker. The scent of iron clung to her like a ghost, her presence sucking the warmth out of the room.
Maya and Zeyla stood frozen, their emotions tangled between relief, fear, and utter confusion. Noor was back—but she wasn't the same.
Maya took a hesitant step forward, her voice cracking. "You… You're back."
Noor barely acknowledged her. Her gaze had already locked onto Heath.
Heath, who hadn't moved.
He stood leaning against the marble pillar, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning her with an intensity that cut deeper than words.
Zeyla opened her mouth to speak, but the weight of the air between Noor and Heath stopped her cold. Something unspoken passed between them, something silent yet deafening.
And then—Heath smirked. It wasn't his usual lazy, teasing smirk. This one held something darker, something edged with knowing.
"I see you found the ghost." His voice was quiet, but it carried through the hall like a blade unsheathed.
Noor didn't respond. She didn't need to.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged glances, utterly lost.
Maya frowned. "What ghost?"
Heath ignored her. His gaze remained locked onto Noor, his smirk deepening. "And? Is he as ugly as ever, or did time make him worse?"
Noor exhaled softly, her fingers twitching at her side. Her voice was cold. "Worse."
A brief silence stretched between them.
Then Heath let out a short chuckle, though there was no amusement in it. "Of course. It's never the dead ones that stay buried."
Noor's grip on her wet sleeve tightened. No, they never do.
Maya's frustration boiled over. "what the hell is going on?" She looked between them, her brows furrowing.
Zeyla's expression was equally troubled. "Drangheta," she murmured, her voice careful.
Maya shook her head, still not understanding. "Who is Drangheta?"
Noor didn't answer.
Neither did Heath.
Instead, their eyes met again, and in that moment, they spoke louder than any words.
Noor's inner voice screamed. Say it, Heath. Say what we both know.
Heath's expression hardened slightly. Why should I? You already know.
But they don't.
Heath sighed, tilting his head slightly. Then let them stay ignorant. The truth won't change anything.
No. But it will prepare them.
Prepare them? Or warn them?
Warn them that when Drangheta comes, there won't be anyone left ,perhaps.
Their silent conversation was suffocating. Maya could feel it in the air, the weight of something enormous pressing down on them.
Zeyla shifted uncomfortably. "Are you two going to actually talk or just… stare at each other all night?"
Heath finally moved, pushing off the pillar. He let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Doesn't matter if we say it or not. You'll understand soon enough."
Noor's jaw clenched. "Not if I end it first."
Heath raised a brow. "You really think you can?"
Noor's fingers twitched again. Can I? Or will I die trying?
Maya stepped forward again, desperate now. "My Lady,please—just tell us—"
Noor turned away. "Forget it."
Maya froze. "Forget what?"
Her voice trembled with something close to heartbreak. Noor wasn't shutting her out—Noor was locking her out.
Zeyla swallowed thickly, her mind racing. Noor was always composed, always in control. But tonight… tonight, something felt different.
Noor took a step forward, her movements slow, deliberate. She stopped just beside Heath, her voice so low that only he could hear.
"I will not let him take anything from me again."
Heath didn't answer immediately. He simply looked at her, searching her expression. Then, with a quiet sigh, he murmured back,
"Then you'd better not lose."
Noor turned and walked up the grand staircase, her shadow stretching long across the dimly lit hall.
Maya and Zeyla watched in stunned silence. Heath, for once, didn't throw out another sarcastic remark. He simply stood there, watching Noor disappear into the darkness.
And for the first time, even he didn't know if she would return from this war alive.
---
The city skyline stretched endlessly before him, lights flickering against the backdrop of the storm. Rain lashed against the glass windows of his penthouse, the sky weeping in relentless torrents. Sanlang stood there, bare-chested, his silk robe hanging loosely off his shoulders, untouched whiskey glass in one hand. But he wasn't drinking.
He was thinking.
Thinking about *her*.
His fingers tightened around the glass as he exhaled slowly. The thought of Noor had been tormenting him all night, seeping into every crevice of his mind, refusing to let go. *That woman.* Untouchable. Unattainable. Yet—he burned for her.
With a sudden burst of restlessness, he set the glass down and stepped out onto the balcony. The moment he did, the rain engulfed him, soaking through his robe, streaming down his skin. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, letting the storm consume him.
And then—he felt it.
A presence.
When he opened his eyes, she was there.
Noor.
Standing just a few feet away, her silk dress clinging to her curves, the fabric translucent from the rain. Her midnight hair was slicked back, water dripping from the strands, framing those **damned eyes**—the ones that haunted him.
She didn't speak. She just *watched*him.
Sanlang took a step forward, his breath heavy. "You always do this," he murmured, voice husky. "Come and go like a ghost."
Noor tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "And you always chase after shadows."
His chest rose and fell unevenly. "Are you a shadow then?"
Her gaze flickered, lips parting just slightly. "Does it matter?"
Sanlang stepped closer, eyes dark with something **primal, dangerous, hungry.**
She stood just beyond the balcony, her silk dress drenched. The world around her blurred into nothingness—only she remained. 'Watching him.'
Sanlang inhaled sharply, his pulse hammering in his throat.
He stepped forward, the marble cold against his bare feet.
The rain whispered between them, an unseen force pulling him closer. His fingers twitched, desperate to reach her, to press against the wet silk covering her body, to feel the warmth beneath the cold.
But then—a sharp, searing pain tore through his skull.
He gasped, stumbling back as his vision blurred, twisting into something else.
"Blood."
Dark pools spreading across stone. His fingers sticky with it, the metallic scent clogging his throat.
Muffled voices—some screaming, some whispering. Chains clanking.
Sanlang staggered, his breath ragged. He saw shadows moving—"someone lunging at him, hands reaching, dragging him into darkness."
His heart pounded. He tried to focus. Tried to grasp something solid in the haze of his mind.
And then—
"Noor."
Not the illusion before him. Not the distant, untouchable Noor of today.
She was smiling—her lips curved in that soft, unreadable way, her fingers grazing his cheek. She whispered something, but the sound was lost in the storm.
Sanlang's knees almost buckled.
The pain in his skull sharpened—so intense he thought his head might split open. The illusion of Noor flickered, like a candle caught in the wind. He stepped forward—"but she was gone."
He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. His entire body burned—not just from the fevered remnants of his vision, but from something far worse.
Not just lust. "Something deeper. Something dangerous."
Sanlang clenched his jaw, his breaths coming heavy and uneven.
"Damn you, Noor," he muttered, voice thick with longing, with frustration.
She was slipping through his fingers—"again."
-----
The cup of tea sat untouched before her, its surface smooth and undisturbed, unlike the storm raging inside her chest. Noor sat by the glass window of her room seeing the raging storm outside.
Her fingers curled into her palm beneath the table, nails digging into her skin.
You've been in pain all this while, haven't you?
The thought struck her with a force that made her breath hitch. A slow, curling ache unfurled inside her, wrapping itself around her ribs like a merciless vice.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Even alone, she could not say them. Because to acknowledge his pain was to acknowledge her own.
Her chest tightened.
How cruel have I been…?
She lifted her cup, only to set it down untouched once more. She didn't need it. She needed air. Distance. Something—anything—to stop the way her mind was spiraling. She rose abruptly, the scrape of her chair loud against the floor.
The window was open, the air wrapped with raindrops cutting against her skin as she stepped toward it. The garden stretched below, oblivious to her suffering, indifferent to the battle waging inside her.
She exhaled sharply.
"I know what it feels like… "
The words slipped out, barely above a whisper. Her voice was hoarse, raw, aching.
"To burn for something you cannot hold. To be shackled by something that will never set you free."
She gritted her teeth. The pain in her chest was unbearable now, sharp and suffocating.
"Tell me… how long have you been suffering? Since the first time I turned away? Since the moment you saw me and felt something you could not name?"
Her fingers curled over the windowsill. The wind swept her hair across her face, but she made no move to fix it.
"Do you know that I feel it too? That even across the distance, even in the silence, I hear you?
Her throat tightened, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You fool… You should have stayed away. You should have never let me touch you, never let me love you."
The word burned as it left her lips. The thing she had long denied, the thing that had poisoned them both.
"Love… what a wretched thing."
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand battles, of a thousand wounds never allowed to heal.
"It is not warmth. It is not light. It is the slow rot of sanity, the tightening of chains that never break."
She exhaled sharply, her fingers trembling as she ran them over the cold surface of the glass in her hand.
"Something that does not cradle you; it devours you. It makes you need when you swore you would never beg. It makes you ache when you promised you would never feel. It makes you bleed for someone who will never stop wounding you."
Her grip tightened.
"It is cruel, isn't it? It does not kill you outright? It keeps you alive just enough to suffer, just enough to crave, just enough to hope—when hope is the cruelest cut of all."
She laughed, hollow and bitter.
"It is not beauty. It is not salvation. It is the weight of a name you cannot forget, the phantom touch that never fades. It is a poison—slow, lingering, inescapable."
Her throat tightened.
"And yet, even knowing this… I let it ruin me."
A cold breeze swept into the room, but it did nothing to chase away the fire burning in her chest.
"Tell me Kang… How long shall I let you suffer? The way it does not heal—it haunts?"
She closed her eyes, but even in the darkness, he was there. He had always been there.
"But you didn't, did you? Just as I couldn't stop myself from wanting you."
Her eyes stung, her vision blurring. She turned from the window, her steps unsteady, her pulse hammering in her ears. She needed to leave . But the ache followed her, relentless, merciless.
As she reached inside her room, she slammed the door behind her, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. She pressed a hand against her chest, as if she could quiet the storm inside. But it was useless. The pain was a living, breathing thing, clawing at her from the inside.
"I will never be free of you."
The confession was a dagger to her own soul.
"But tell me… will you ever be free of me?"
She let out a quiet laugh, bitter and hollow.
"Love is a slow death," she murmured, pressing her fingers against her temple. "A sickness of the soul. It takes your name, your will, your strength, and leaves you with nothing but ghosts."
Her reflection in the rain-streaked window was a stranger—a woman carved out of silence and sorrow.
She whispered to herself. "I paid for it in ways no one will ever understand."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"And yet, you are the one who forgot."
A sharp breath. The weight of memories crushed against her ribs like a vice.
"If love was meant to save, why did it leave me to drown?"
Silence. No answers. There never were.
She turned from the window, her voice barely a breath—
"And if I must love again… let it be my ruin."
She collapsed on her bed in her rain drenched cloths, his absence pressing on her. And somewhere across the city, in the dark night, she knew________
He was suffering too.
---