The distant boom of fireworks did nothing to drown out the ragged breaths between them, the charged silence stretching so tight it might snap.
Sanlang's grip was unrelenting. Noor barely had time to take a step back before his hand caught her wrist, dragging her flush against him.
His lips crashed against her cheek, rough and hungry, trailing down to her ear. A sharp bite. His teeth scraped against the delicate skin before he murmured, voice thick with obsession—
"You have no idea what you do to me."
Noor's breath hitched. His other hand had already found her waist, pulling her closer, making her feel every inch of his body against hers.
His lips brushed against her jaw, down the curve of her neck, a bite. She shuddered, fingers gripping his shirt as if to push him away—or hold on.
"Sanlang—"
His lips found hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim.
She tried to turn her face away, but his fingers slid into her hair, forcing her to meet him, to take him, to feel every ounce of his torment.
Noor gasped against his mouth, hands pushing at his chest. "You're drunk."
His grip tightened. Dangerously tight.
"No," he whispered against her lips, his breath hot, his voice dark. "I am not drunk. I am ruined."
His teeth pulled at her bottom lip before his tongue swept in, devouring, stealing what little air she had left.
Her body trembled. His hands roamed. The silk of her dress bunched beneath his fingers, and the moment his palm grazed bare skin, she gasped and turned her face away.
"Sanlang, stop."
Her voice was softer now.
His breath came hard against her skin. His lips hovered at her pulse point. His fingers curled possessively around her hip.
"Tell me to stop and mean it."
She opened her mouth.
Sanlang's lips curled into a dark smirk. "You won't."
His lips ghosted over hers again. Slow. Intoxicating. Dragging her in.
Until he felt it.
Her pulse—racing.
Her body—stiffening.
His hand was still around her wrist, and when he looked down, he saw how tightly he was holding her.
And when he met her gaze—his world shattered.
Her eyes—gleaming with unshed tears.
Sanlang froze. His chest caved in.
His stomach twisted. His grip loosened immediately, as if her skin burned him.
"Noor," he breathed. Guilt clawed at his throat. "I—"
She blinked, slowly. Her lips were slightly swollen, her breaths uneven, but she didn't say a word.
Sanlang stepped back. His hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking.
What had he done?
He had wanted her so badly he lost himself.
And the worst part?
She didn't yell, didn't push him away, didn't call him a monster even though she should have.
She just looked at him.
Silent.
And somehow, that silence was louder than any scream.
Sanlang swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
Noor inhaled slowly, smoothing her dress. Her expression remained unreadable. Then, softly—
"Let's go home."
________________
The elevator doors slid open, and Sanlang stepped inside his penthouse—
—and immediately regretted every decision that led him here.
The place looked like it had survived a tornado, a bar fight, and a minor war all at once.
—The couch? Flipped over like it owed someone money.
—The glass table? In pieces.
—A very expensive-looking lamp? Dead in a corner, its sacrifice in vain.
And in the middle of it all—
Zeyla had Yilan in a full-on Mortal Kombat death grip, lifting her clean off the ground.
Meanwhile, Maya stood to the side, twirling a knife like she was waiting for her turn to stab something.
Noor stepped in beside Sanlang, took one long, exhausted look at the chaos, and exhaled.
"…I was gone for thirty minutes."
Sanlang nodded, staring at Zeyla—who looked like she was contemplating murder—and then at Yilan, whose soul was visibly trying to escape her body.
"Yeah," Sanlang muttered. "I think this is a new record."
Yilan, barely able to breathe, choked out, "DO SOMETHING."
Sanlang scratched his head. "Zeyla, we don't kill guests."
Zeyla, squeezing harder: "SAYS WHO?!"
Sanlang: "…Fair point, actually."
Maya, still twirling her knife, chimed in. "She insulted Zeyla."
Sanlang raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
Zeyla snapped her head toward him. "THAT'S IT?!"
Maya nodded. "Yep. Yilan said Zeyla's haircut looks like it was done during an earthquake."
Silence.
Sanlang grimaced. "Okay. That's a little harsh."
Maya, tilting her head: "Is it though?"
Sanlang, sighing: "I mean, it's not... wrong..."
Zeyla: "I WILL END YOU."
Sanlang: "I am on your side! But objectively speaking—"
Zeyla's grip tightened. Yilan's eyes nearly popped out.
Yilan, struggling: "I-I was just being honest!"
Zeyla gritted her teeth. "Say that again. I dare you."
Maya, now leaning casually against the counter, gestured toward Yilan. "To be fair, Zeyla, your hair does look like—"
Zeyla whipped around. "MAYA."
Maya: "WHAT?"
Sanlang, pinching the bridge of his nose: "Can we focus?"
Zeyla turned back to Yilan. "You think you're funny, huh? You think you can just say whatever you want and walk away?"
Yilan, wheezing: "Technically, no—because you're holding me hostage—"
Zeyla: "EXACTLY."
Sanlang, shaking his head: "Alright, I think we've had enough attempted murder for one night."
Cue Noor.
With all the effortless authority of a mafia boss shutting down a riot, she spoke—
"Zeyla. Let her go."
Instant obedience.
Zeyla dropped Yilan like a sack of bad decisions. Maya casually retracted the knife.
Sanlang was 75% sure Yilan saw her ancestors in that moment.
But instead of being grateful, Yilan, who clearly had a death wish, coughed and smirked.
"That's not what really made them mad."
Sanlang's amusement vanished.
Zeyla's jaw clenched. Maya's fingers flexed over the knife.
Sanlang stepped forward, voice dangerously low. "Explain."
Yilan, smiling like an idiot who enjoyed near-death experiences, tilted her head toward Noor.
"I might've said something about her."
Sanlang's entire demeanor shifted.
The room? Cold.
The air? Suffocating.
Sanlang, voice like a razor: "What did you say?"
Yilan chuckled. "You really wanna know?"
Noor, completely calm, cut in before Sanlang could move.
"That's enough."
Yilan blinked. "…Huh?"
Noor turned to Zeyla, her tone as indifferent as if she were discussing the weather.
"You didn't need to go this far. I would've simply pulled out my investment."
Yilan froze.
Noor continued, unbothered.
"Without my funding, your father's company would return to its natural state." She gave Yilan a neutral, almost pitying glance. "Falling. Just like it was before."
Yilan's face went pale.
Sanlang's expression remained cold.
Noor studied Yilan's reaction, then turned slightly—her gaze landing on Sanlang.
A pause.
Then she sighed, tilting her head slightly.
"…Perhaps not."
Sanlang didn't move, but his eyes carried promises of nightmares.
Yilan swallowed hard.
Sanlang let the silence stretch, enjoying the sheer existential dread settling into Yilan's bones.
Then, finally—
Noor exhaled. "I need tea."
Sanlang ran a hand down his face. "Yeah. Me too."
Noor rose from her seat with eerily calm elegance, glancing once at the mess of the penthouse before speaking—her voice devoid of emotion.
"I will pay for the damage."
Maya and Zeyla stiffened.
Noor turned away before they could respond, her silk dress sweeping past the broken glass as if none of this concerned her. She walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and as the doors slid open—
She left.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged a look.
Then—panic.
"Wait—she left us?" Maya blurted out.
Zeyla blinked. "She left us."
A beat.
Maya turned to glare at Yilan, who was still lying on the floor in shock. "This is all your fault."
Yilan, still gasping from earlier near-death experiences, wasn't listening. Her wide eyes were glued to her phone, jaw practically unhinged.
Zeyla raised an eyebrow. "What's with your face?"
Yilan didn't answer. Instead, she slowly turned the screen towards them.
Maya and Zeyla leaned in.
—And froze.
Because on Yilan's screen—
A bank notification.
The amount?
Nearly an entire year's worth of her net worth.
Deposited.
By Noor.
Silence.
"…You're joking," Zeyla finally said.
Maya let out a long breath. "She actually paid us to destroy your place."
Yilan looked traumatized.
Maya shook her head. "Damn. I kinda feel bad now."
Zeyla crossed her arms. "I don't."
Yilan finally managed to choke out, "I—what—why—what even is Noor?"
Zeyla tilted her head. "You want the short or long answer?"
Yilan, staring at the numbers on her screen: "…Neither. I want therapy."
Maya sighed, rubbing her temple. "Forget that. What did you say that made us want to murder you again?"
Yilan hesitated. Then, under the weight of two very unimpressed, very dangerous women, she muttered—
"…I might've said Noor was just another pretty face with a lot of money."
Dead silence.
Maya and Zeyla both inhaled sharply.
Zeyla: "…Oh."
Maya: "…OH."
Zeyla cracked her neck. "Yeah, that'll do it."
Maya shook her head, disgusted. "You have no idea, do you?"
Yilan blinked. "I—"
Zeyla cut in, voice dark. "She bled for us."
Yilan stilled.
Maya's gaze turned sharp. "Noor didn't just buy this empire. She built it. With blood and bones."
Yilan swallowed hard.
Zeyla exhaled, rubbing her forehead. "Damn. No wonder she left."
Maya nodded. "…We should go."
And with that, they left Yilan in her wrecked penthouse, still staring at the absurd amount of money in her account, wondering if she had just signed her soul away.
---
Somewhere in the Night—
Noor gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
Her breath? Shallow.
The pain? Unbearable.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay conscious.
With sheer willpower, she drove to a place she knew no one would follow.
Seclusion.
By the time she arrived, the world around her had tilted dangerously.
She stepped out, knees nearly buckling, and stumbled toward the cold spring hidden in the thick forest.
Her steps were unsteady.
Her breath ragged.
And then—
The moment her foot touched the water—
Red.
The entire spring darkened.
Blood.
Pouring from her.
Her old wounds—reopened.
Her body, already fragile, was breaking all over again.
But she didn't flinch.
Didn't cry out.
She just stood there, watching the water stain with her suffering.
Her vision blurred further.
She swayed.
Noor's breath came shallow as she leaned against the jagged rocks, her body half-submerged in the blood-stained water. The cold of the spring seeped into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside her.
Then—
A whisper.
Soft. Like the brush of fingertips over an open wound.
A voice she shouldn't be hearing.
"You can run, Noor. But I will always find you."
Her eyes fluttered open. The moon was high, silver light casting shadows over the forest. But the voice——was nowhere. And yet, she felt it. Like fingers trailing down her spine. Like lips ghosting over the raw ache in her heart.
"You think you can bleed yourself empty? That if you give enough of yourself, the past won't crawl back?"
A slow inhale. A tremor in her fingers.
"You carry me inside you. I am the hunger in your silence, the ache in your restraint."
Her lashes quivered. The water around her rippled.
"You can push me away, but you will never escape me."
The whisper coiled around her ribs, sinking deep.
And then, silence.
Noor closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. The pain in her chest was unbearable.
A dark laugh echoed in her mind—his laugh, low, taunting, dripping with devotion and madness.
"Because love, Noor, is just another name for ruin."
And with that—darkness took her.