The room smelled of antiseptic and iron. The faintest trace of dried blood clung to the air like an old memory—persistent, unshakable.
Noor sat motionless, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, exposing the raw, freshly-stitched wound along her collarbone. Heath worked in silence, his hands methodical as he cleaned another gash across her ribs. The stitches pulled as she breathed, a dull reminder of the countless night's events.
Another battle. Another nameless enemy. Another set of wounds she'd pretend didn't exist by morning.
How tiresome.
"I lost count at fifteen," Heath muttered, dabbing at a cut on her arm. "You're getting sloppy."
Noor arched a brow. "Or maybe they were just better."
Heath scoffed. "Please. If they were better, I'd be stitching you back together with thread and prayers." He leaned back, inspecting his work. "But I suppose it's reassuring to know you still bleed like the rest of us."
She smirked. "I do my best to be relatable."
The door creaked open before Heath could retort. Maya and Zeyla stepped inside, stopping dead at the sight of blood-stained bandages.
Zeyla sighed dramatically. "Oh, good. She's still alive. Guess we'll cancel the mourning feast."
Maya, less amused, crossed her arms. "How bad?"
Heath, ever the professional, replied flatly, "She'll live. Unless she decides to go looking for more knives to run into."
Noor feigned innocence. "What a wild accusation."
Maya exhaled, rubbing her temples. "And yet, not baseless."
Zeyla leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Anyway. Since you're still breathing, I figured you should know—your favorite stray has been sniffing around."
Noor didn't move. "Stray?"
Maya hesitated before adding, "Sanlang. He's been visiting."
The air tensed. Heath's hands stilled.
Noor let the words settle.
"Visiting," she echoed, carefully neutral.
Maya nodded. "He was here earlier. Again."
Zeyla smirked. "Pretty sure he was pacing more than visiting. Looked one wrong step away from punching a wall."
Noor's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Charming."
Heath, who had been silent for too long, finally muttered, "Even if he doesn't remember or perhaps,does he?"
Noor turned her gaze to him, unreadable.
"No," she said simply.
Zeyla shrugged. "Well, he sure acts like he does. More in a why-does-this-woman-make-my-brain-itch kind of way."
Noor let out a breath. Not quite a sigh, not quite relief.
Maya sat on the edge of the desk, watching Noor carefully. "He asks for you every time he comes. Even when he knows you won't be here."
Noor reached for her robe, pulling it back over her shoulder, covering the wound, covering everything.
"People ask for many things." Her voice was even. Distant. "Doesn't mean they should have them."
Zeyla clicked her tongue. "Damn. Stone cold. No wonder no one has the guts to propose marriage to you anymore."
Maya snorted. "She still gets proposals. She just terrifies them out of following through."
Noor smirked. "I consider it a public service."
Zeyla sighed. "Fine. Keep your tragic mystery act going. Just don't act shocked when Sanlang shows up with more questions."
Noor stood, rolling her shoulders despite the pain. "Questions are harmless."
Heath gave her a pointed look. "Not when they lead to answers."
A silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Noor turned towards the window, where the fading sunlight stretched endlessly beyond the estate walls.
She spoke, barely above a whisper. "Then let's hope he never finds them."
---
The moment they stepped out of Noor's chamber, the air between Maya and Zeyla thickened—not with tension, but with the kind of rivalry that had been simmering for years.
"I don't get why Heath is always the one tending to her wounds," Zeyla huffed, crossing her arms as they strode down the dimly lit corridor. "I could do it just as well."
Maya scoffed. "Oh, please. You'd probably poke her wounds just to prove a point."
Zeyla smirked. "And you wouldn't?"
Maya lifted her chin. "I'd be gentle."
Zeyla snorted. "Sure. Because you are the pinnacle of tenderness."
"I'm precise," Maya corrected. "Efficient. Disciplined."
Zeyla clutched her chest in mock admiration. "Oh, wow. So noble. Should I start addressing you as Maya the Magnificent?"
Maya rolled her eyes. "At least I don't treat every mission like an excuse for a bloodbath."
Zeyla wiggled her fingers menacingly. "Oh no, someone's scared of a little collateral damage."
Maya stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "If I remember correctly, the last time we were on the same mission, I was the one who took down three men without making a sound, while you kicked a door off its hinges and announced our presence to the entire building."
Zeyla shrugged. "Details."
Maya took a deep breath, visibly reigning herself in. "The point is, I am better at protecting Madam Noor."
Zeyla narrowed her eyes. "Debatable."
"Not really."
"Highly debatable."
A soft giggle interrupted their back-and-forth.
Both women turned to find a small girl standing at the end of the hall, barely seven years old, her dark curls wild from sleep. She rubbed her eyes, blinking up at them.
"Are you fighting?" the girl asked, tilting her head.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged glances.
Zeyla crouched down, resting her hands on her knees. "Nope. Just having a very serious discussion about who's better."
The girl frowned. "Better at what?"
Maya smiled, kneeling beside her. "At keeping your mother Noor safe."
The child's face lit up. "Oh! That's easy."
Zeyla grinned. "Yeah? Who wins?"
The girl's tiny hands found the fabric of Maya's sleeve, tugging lightly. "Maya is the best at keeping us safe."
Maya smirked, glancing at Zeyla triumphantly.
Then, the girl turned, reaching for Zeyla's hand as well. "And Zeyla is the best at making scary people go away."
Zeyla blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, she ruffled the girl's hair. "Smart kid."
The girl beamed. "Mother Noor is better than both of you, though."
Maya and Zeyla both sighed.
"Obviously," Maya muttered.
Zeyla stood, stretching. "Alright, bedtime for you, philosopher."
The girl pouted but allowed herself to be scooped up, resting her head against Zeyla's shoulder.
As they made their way to the children's quarters, the atmosphere softened. The halls carried the distant echoes of laughter, of stories whispered under blankets, of dreams yet untainted by reality.
Zeyla gently placed the girl on her bed, tucking the covers around her. Maya lingered for a moment, adjusting a stuffed animal near the pillow.
"Goodnight," the child murmured.
They both hesitated before quietly echoing, "Goodnight."
As they stepped back into the hall, the softness faded, replaced by the inevitable truth.
Because in the end, despite their rivalry, despite their differences—
They both served the same woman.
--------
The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of Noor's perfume—something dark, something distant, like memories trapped in glass. Heath tightened the bandage around her forearm, his hands steady, his heart anything but.
"Hold still," he muttered.
Noor didn't flinch. "I am still."
Heath exhaled through his nose, pressing down harder than necessary on the next wound. Noor didn't react. She never did. The silence between them stretched, an old war neither of them had surrendered in.
Finally, he spoke. "He's been here again."
Noor remained quiet.
"Every time you're gone," Heath continued, his voice tightening, "he shows up. Watching. Lurking. And you—" His grip on her wrist tightened before he caught himself, loosening it immediately. "You allow it."
Noor tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "You think I should forbid a man from standing under the sky?"
"I think you should stay away from him."
A slow, humorless smile touched her lips. "Ah, the same old tune."
Heath's jaw clenched. "Don't."
Noor leaned back against the chair, watching him with that infuriatingly calm gaze—the one that made him feel like a boy standing before a storm, powerless.
"You don't see it, do you?" he muttered. "Drangheta was buried. Years ago. And now, suddenly, they return. Right when he comes back into your life."
Noor let out a soft chuckle, but there was no mirth in it. "You think he is the reason?"
"I think it's too much of a coincidence."
She hummed, tilting her head. "You believe fate is cruel enough to bring him back only to take everything away again?"
"Yes," Heath snapped.
Noor stared at him for a long time. Then, she whispered, "So do I."
Something in Heath's chest twisted painfully.
She wasn't denying it. She wasn't even fighting it. She was simply… resigned.
He ran a hand through his hair, stepping back. "Then why—?"
"Because he is mine," Noor said simply.
The room darkened around those words.
"I have seen him broken. I have seen him lost. I have seen him stand at the edge of life and choose to step back." Her voice was low, almost reverent. "You ask me to leave him behind? To sever what's left?"
Heath swallowed. "If it means saving yourself."
Noor laughed softly. "Oh, Heath." She turned her gaze to the window, the moonlight painting her profile in silver. "Salvation was never an option for me."
Heath slammed his hand against the table, rattling the glass vials beside it. "Damn it, Noor!"
She didn't flinch.
"He's not worth this," Heath hissed. "Not your pain. Not your blood. Not your damn soul."
Noor turned to face him fully. "Then tell me, Heath." Her voice was a whisper, but it cut deeper than any blade. "Who is?"
Silence.
It stretched between them, unbearable and unyielding.
Heath's fists curled at his sides. He could say it. You. You're worth it.
But she wouldn't hear it.
Because Noor never saw him. Not the way she saw him.
He exhaled sharply, stepping back. "You're a fool."
Noor smiled. "I know."
He turned and stormed out before he could break any further.
---
The hallway felt colder.
Heath walked, his hands trembling at his sides, his breath uneven.
Ten years.
Ten damn years.
He had watched her build an empire. Watched her destroy men without lifting a blade. Watched her hold children close with hands stained in blood.
Watched her love a man who didn't even remember her.
Heath's vision blurred as he leaned against the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
Noor would never be his.
And yet, he would stay.
Because that's what fools did.
----
Heath's steps were heavy, each one pressing the ache deeper into his bones. The hallway stretched before him, empty and silent, much like the years he had spent beside her.
A shadow peeled away from the wall, falling into step beside him. Zeyla.
"You look like hell," she remarked.
He let out a short, bitter laugh. "You should see the inside."
Zeyla eyed him, arms crossed. "Let me guess. Another battle lost against our Lady of Stubbornness?"
Heath sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don't know why I even try anymore."
Zeyla smirked. "Because you're a masochist."
He let out a humorless chuckle. "Must be."
They walked in silence for a few moments before Zeyla spoke again. "You know… you've been here the longest."
Heath kept his eyes ahead. "Yeah."
"The others come and go. They fear her. Worship her. Some try to destroy her. But you… you just stay."
Heath clenched his fists. "Someone has to."
Zeyla scoffed. "And you appointed yourself?"
"No one else was going to."
Zeyla stopped walking, forcing Heath to pause. "Why, Heath?" she asked, tilting her head. "Why do you keep standing beside her?"
His breath hitched. For a second, just a second, he almost answered. Almost let the truth slip.
But then he exhaled, shaking his head. "Because she doesn't need someone who wants something from her."
Zeyla frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Heath looked away. "Everyone wants something from Noor. Her power. Her loyalty. Her love." His voice turned rough, raw. "She gives and gives and gives—until there's nothing left."
Zeyla studied him. "And what do you want?"
Heath smiled. It was small. Broken. "I just want her to be okay."
Zeyla blinked, taken aback. "That's it?"
"That's it."
A silence settled between them. It stretched too long, too heavy. Finally, Zeyla muttered, "You're a fool, Heath."
He huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah."
Then he turned, walking away before she could see the trail of tears slipping down his face.
The soft click of the door announced Zeyla's entrance, her usual sharp presence muted by the weight of the papers in her hands. Noor remained seated by the window, the dim candlelight barely casting shadows on her face. She was lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the night beyond, where the world moved without her.
Zeyla cleared her throat, snapping the silence. "The reports."
Noor didn't turn. "Speak."
Zeyla exhaled, flipping through the documents. "Two of the orphanage branches reported a delay in supplies due to sudden export restrictions. The government tightened regulations without prior notice."
"Divert the imports through our East connections. Use Aksan Enterprises as the intermediary. They owe me a favor." Noor's voice was distant, detached, as if she were reading off a script rather than solving a crisis that had others scrambling.
Zeyla jotted the note down. "Next—three subsidiaries in the tech sector suffered cyberattacks. Their security was breached, and confidential data was nearly leaked."
"Fire the entire IT security team. Bring in the specialists from CipherCorp. They work in silence and cost a fortune, but efficiency outweighs expense."
Zeyla nodded, making another note. "And the board of directors—"
"Tell them to sit down before I make them kneel." Noor's voice carried no anger, no emphasis—just a cold statement of fact.
Zeyla let out a slow breath, looking up from the papers. Noor was still staring out the window, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her sleeve. It wasn't like her to be this… absent.
She hesitated before asking, "Where were you just now?"
Noor finally turned to her, her eyes holding that same abyssal depth that had swallowed kingdoms whole. "You wouldn't understand, Zeyla."
Zeyla crossed her arms. "Try me."
Noor's lips barely curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Have you ever tried to hold onto smoke, Zeyla?"
Zeyla frowned. "No."
"Good." Noor turned back to the window. "Then don't try to understand."
Zeyla watched her for a moment longer, then let out a quiet sigh, gripping the reports tighter. "So that's it."
Noor didn't respond. She was already somewhere else, chasing a shadow only she could see.
The door creaked open again, and this time, it was Maya. She entered with a stack of files in her hands, her brows furrowed with the weight of the responsibilities she carried. Noor remained as she was, unmoving, as if she had already predicted Maya's arrival before the thought had even crossed Maya's own mind.
Maya exhaled sharply. "The medical centers we fund are running short on resources. The suppliers pulled back due to higher bidding from foreign clients. The orphanage in Southern Province needs security reinforcements. There have been reports of attempted kidnappings—"
"Double the funding for medical centers under the guise of a charity investment. Buy out the suppliers' competitors so they can't outbid us again. As for the orphanage, station twenty of our elite guards under different disguises—teachers, maintenance workers, janitors—no one will suspect them, but they will be there when needed."
Maya flipped through her papers. "The annual charity gala—"
"Cancel it."
Maya blinked. "But—"
"Anyone who truly wishes to help will donate without the need for expensive dinners and insincere speeches," Noor said, turning the page of the book she wasn't actually reading.
Maya hesitated before sighing. "Understood."
Another issue was solved. Another storm Noor tamed with nothing more than an effortless flick of her mind. It should have been relieving, but something in the air felt wrong. The room felt heavier than it used to. Noor was solving these crises with the same precision as always, but there was something missing—a sharpness dulled, a weight pressing against her that neither of them could understand.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged a glance. They wouldn't question her here. Not in this room where Noor existed on the precipice of something neither of them could name.
"You're both dismissed," Noor said, still not looking at them.
And with that, they left.
---
As they walked through the long corridors of the estate, Maya let out a breath, running a hand through her hair. "You remember a few months ago?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Zeyla smirked, shaking her head. "Few months ago, we were nearly at death's door trying to fix these same problems. You and I barely slept, strategized for days, dealt with threats, bribes, people trying to kill us—"
"And now she solves it like she's picking thorns from a flower," Maya muttered, glancing back towards Noor's chambers. "Like it was nothing."
"It's always been like that," Zeyla said. "But something's different. It's like she's here, but she isn't."
Maya's lips pressed into a thin line. "Where was she all this time?"
Zeyla shook her head. "I don't know. And I don't think she's going to tell us."
They walked in silence for a while before Zeyla finally added, "Heath came to see her earlier."
Maya turned to her. "And?"
Zeyla let out a slow breath. "He argued with her perhaps,I don't know the extent of it."
Maya frowned. "What about?."
"He's worried about her," Zeyla admitted. "More than usual. And for him, that's saying something."
Maya nodded. "He's the only friend she has, after all."
Zeyla glanced at her, seeing the truth in her words. Heath had always been the one constant in Noor's life, the only person who stood beside her for as long as anyone could remember.
And yet, even he couldn't reach her now.
_______
The night was still. A celestial hush blanketed the estate, as if the stars themselves had paused to listen.
Inside Noor's chambers, a soft, ethereal melody drifted through the air—gentle, melancholic, carrying a sorrow so deep it was almost tangible. Noor sat by the open balcony, the full moon casting its silver glow upon her. Her white silk dress clung to her frame, delicate yet modest, moving with the faintest whisper of the wind. Her long, obsidian hair cascaded past her hips, strands caught in the cool breeze, swaying like shadows against the moonlight.
A single red thread wrapped around her ring finger, trailing into the unseen, as if fate itself had bound her to something—or someone—far beyond reach.
Her long, thick lashes framed eyes heavy with unshed grief, and her lips, usually firm in command, were now curved around the flute, breathing life into the melody that only she could play. Her slender fingers moved effortlessly, each note seeping into the night, searching, longing.
She played for him.
For the one whose soul still carried echoes of a something long lost.
For the one who no longer remembered her.
For the one who had forgotten, even as fate refused to sever the string that tethered them together.
The sound drifted beyond her chambers, slipping through the vast hallways, reaching every corner of the estate.
---
In a separate wing, Zeyla lay in bed, her arms folded beneath her head. The melody reached her ears, the same song she had heard countless times before. It was a lullaby that wrapped around her, sinking into her bones, calming the storm inside her. She didn't understand Noor—not truly. No one did. But tonight, for a fleeting moment, she felt something more than admiration.
She felt the ache of something she couldn't name.
With a soft sigh, sleep overtook her.
---
Maya, in her own quarters, leaned against the window, eyes staring at the stars.
The melody was the same.
The one Noor played when she thought no one was listening.
It was the song that carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words, of lost battles to cruel hands of fate.
Maya clenched her fists. She didn't know what Noor was going through, but she knew pain when she heard it. And tonight, Noor's pain was playing through the flute, threading itself into every note, seeping into the very fabric of the night.
Maya closed her eyes, letting the sound lull her into an uneasy sleep.
---
Back in her chamber, Noor played on.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent, relentless, like water flowing down an endless stream.
She did not sob.
She did not tremble.
She simply let them fall.
Because tonight, this song wasn't just hers.
It belonged to him.