The moment Noor stepped out of the car, silence fell. The staff straightened, guests in the lobby stiffened, and even the chandeliers seemed to dim in deference. Her presence wasn't just commanding—it was absolute.
Maya and Zeyla flanked her, trying to keep up, but mostly bracing for impact.
"Are we really doing this?" Maya muttered. "Walking her into Sanlang's penthouse like two clueless couriers delivering a live grenade?"
"Oh, it's worse," Zeyla murmured. "We're delivering it to a fool who thinks he's fireproof."
Noor stepping toward the private elevator.
"Madam Noor," Maya hesitated. "Are we sure about this?"
"We?" Noor's voice was calm. "I don't recall needing counsel."
Zeyla smirked. "Translation: shut up and walk."
The elevator doors slid open. Noor stepped inside without pause, exuding the kind of effortless authority that made entire empires question their foundations.
As the doors began to close, Zeyla sighed. "Sanlang wanted her attention. He's about to get it."
"And Yilan?" Maya asked.
"She'll learn tonight that hosting a storm doesn't mean you control the weather."
The elevator shut with a quiet click.
Maya exhaled. "So, we're just letting this happen?"
Zeyla shrugged. "Would you stop her?"
They turned on their heels, leaving behind a lobby still reeling from Noor's presence.
As the elevator doors clicked shut, Maya turned to Zeyla, eyes wide. "Did you see that?"
Zeyla frowned. "See what?"
"She was smiling."
Zeyla blinked. "Lady Noor? Smiling?" Then her face twisted into mock horror. "Maya, are you ill? Is the pressure finally getting to you? Do you need to lie down?"
"I swear she was!" Maya insisted. "Just for a second—right before she stepped in!"
Zeyla scoffed. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, love. Next, you'll tell me she giggled and twirled her hair."
Maya groaned. "You're impossible."
Zeyla grinned. "And you're delusional. But let's humor your madness. If Noor did smile, it only means one thing."
"What?"
Zeyla's smirk deepened. "Sanlang's about to have the worst night of his life."
As the elevator ascended, Noor reached up, fingers brushing the pin in her hair. A simple pull, and the dark silk tumbled down, strands slipping over her shoulders, veiling the faint crimson warmth on her ears.
She exhaled, slow and measured, tilting her head back against the cool metal wall. For a fleeting second, something unreadable flickered in her eyes—gone just as quickly.
Then, with a quiet inhale, she straightened.
The elevator doors slid open. Noor stepped out, her presence like a quiet storm—undeniable, consuming. The moment her eyes met Sanlang's, the world tilted.
Sanlang felt it like a pulse through his bones. His breath hitched, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. She didn't move, didn't speak, but something about the way she looked at him—steady, unreadable, absolute—made it impossible to breathe. He was drowning in the abyss of her gaze, his hands curling into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out.
His ears burned, his throat tightened. His body ached with restraint.
Then—
"Noor, I must say, you certainly know how to make an entrance," Yilan's voice cut through the charged silence, dragging Sanlang back from the edge.
Noor's gaze flicked to Yilan, unimpressed, before returning to Sanlang for the briefest second. Then, as if nothing had happened, she walked forward.
Sanlang exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
The elevator doors glided open and in stepped Maya and Zeyla, each holding a bouquet as if they were gracing a funeral instead of a penthouse. Their expressions were solemn—too solemn.
Maya tilted her head at Sanlang, lips curving ever so slightly. "Such a tragic sight. A man so lovesick he might faint at any moment."
Zeyla sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "We had to bring these, you know. If he collapses, at least he can land in a bed of flowers."
Yilan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Really? You two rehearsed this on the way up?"
Maya placed a hand over her heart. "No, no. This is all raw, genuine concern."
Zeyla extended the bouquet toward Sanlang, expression unreadable. "Here. An offering from Madam Noor."
Sanlang stared at the flowers, throat tight. Deep red camellias , white gardenias and blue forget-me-nots. But before he could dwell on it, Zeyla leaned in slightly, her voice low and conspiratorial.
"You should frame them," she murmured. "Might be the closest thing to a love letter you'll ever get."
Sanlang's jaw clenched. Yilan, smirking, clapped him on the back. "Careful, cousin. You're turning red again."
_______________
The night was an absolute disaster. A beautiful, chaotic, drunken disaster.
Maya, bless her lightweight soul, had her face half-buried in her arms, blinking up at the ceiling as if it had just whispered a government conspiracy to her. "Guys… guys, listen… I think the floor is moving."
Zeyla, who had been casually sipping her drink without the slightest hint of intoxication, didn't even look up. "That's because you're swaying, dumbass."
Maya squinted suspiciously. "You don't know that for sure."
Yilan, slightly tipsy but still carrying herself with that dangerous, poised elegance, leaned toward Noor, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You know, I always imagined you drinking something sinful… something dark, strong, and meant to ruin a person."
Noor, as untouched by the chaos as ever, gave her a slow, calculated look. "Interesting. And I always imagined you making better choices."
Yilan burst into laughter, absolutely delighted. "Ahh, Noor, you wound me." She pressed a hand to her heart theatrically. "But really, not even one drink? I find that hard to believe."
Maya lifted her head just enough to mumble, "She doesn't drink. If she did_____."
Zeyla nodded sagely. "A single sip and the stock market would crash."
Yilan narrowed her eyes. "No, but really—"
"No," Noor cut in, smooth, final.
Yilan whistled, taking a slow sip of her own glass. "That's either the most impressive self-control I've ever seen or a crime against the very spirit of nights like these."
Sanlang, who had been silent this whole time, let out a low chuckle. His fingers tapped idly against his untouched glass, dark eyes never straying far from Noor.
Then, amid the drunken spectacle, the growing laughter, and Maya's ongoing existential battle with gravity—Sanlang made his move.
One moment, Noor was still seated. The next, Sanlang had closed the distance between them, his fingers wrapping around her wrist in a grip neither rough nor gentle. It was just there—undeniable, unwavering.
"Come." His voice was quiet, yet it cut through the noise like a blade.
She merely looked at him, a slow, expression forming in her dark gaze. "And if I don't?"
Sanlang tilted his head slightly, his smirk both knowing and infuriating. "Then you're lying to yourself."
Noor let him lead her, the two of them slipping away in the middle of the chaos like shadows dissolving into the night.
Maya, still trying to keep reality from tilting on its axis, suddenly blinked. "…Wait. Where's our Lady Noor?"
Zeyla barely glanced up. "Kidnapped."
Yilan, savoring the last of her drink, exhaled a slow laugh. "How tragic. I guess even the untouchable has her weaknesses."
—
Somewhere in the quiet of the dimly lit halls, Sanlang finally stopped, turning to face Noor fully. His fingers still held her wrist, but now it felt less like possession and more like an unspoken question.
Noor arched a delicate brow. "Is this supposed to be some kind of victory?"
Sanlang's gaze burned into hers, dark, unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you'd let me."
A slow, almost imperceptible smirk played at Noor's lips. "Bold of you to assume I wasn't letting you for my own reasons."
Sanlang's fingers tightened ever so slightly. "Then let's call it what it is—mutual sabotage."
She stepped closer, just enough to shatter whatever was left of the distance between them. "Tell me, Sanlang… does the thought of winning against me excite you?"
He chuckled, low and deep, his free hand coming up to brush against the silk of her sleeve. "Only as much as the thought of losing to you does."
A silence stretched between them.
Somewhere in the distance, Maya's drunken voice echoed through the halls. "IF YOU FIND MADAM NOOR, TELL HER I LOVE HER."
Zeyla's deadpan followed. "She already knows. Get off the floor."
Sanlang's lips twitched. Noor simply sighed. "We should go back before they burn the place down."
Sanlang, ever the provocateur, leaned in just enough for his breath to brush against her cheek. "Or we could stay and see which one of us breaks first."
Noor merely tilted her chin, voice calm, almost amused. "You were already breaking the moment you touched me."
Sanlang laughed, low and knowing. "Oh, darling… I shattered long before that."
The night was loud—chaotic. Laughter mixed with drunken banter as Maya, Yilan, and Zeyla fell deeper into their cups.
Maya, already a terrible drinker, was slumped against Yilan, babbling nonsense. "You know... hic Noor once took down, like, ten men in an alley. Just—bam, bam!" She swung a sloppy fist before blinking in confusion. "Or was it twenty?"
Zeyla, still sharp despite the alcohol, snorted. "Maya, you couldn't even take down a fly right now."
Maya frowned. "That fly had it out for me!"
Yilan, a little tipsy herself, leaned toward Noor with intrigue. "You don't drink at all?"
Before Noor could answer, Zeyla cut in smoothly. "Not once. Not ever."
Yilan looked genuinely astonished. "Not even a sip?"
Maya dramatically threw an arm around Noor's shoulder, missing slightly and nearly falling off her chair. "Our Noor is... divine. She doesn't need mortal vices like us fools."
Noor simply tilted her head. "Drunkenness is merely an illusion of freedom. I prefer clarity."
Sanlang smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His voice was smooth, low. "And yet, clarity can be its own kind of prison."
Her gaze flickered to him, unreadable. "Only for those who fear what they might see."
The table erupted into a mess of drunken retorts and laughter, but Sanlang was no longer listening. His world had narrowed to Noor—the way the dim lights traced the sharp angles of her face, the way she sat still amid chaos, untouched by it.
And just like that, he decided.
Leaning in, his breath ghosted against her ear. "Come with me."
Noor didn't turn, but her lashes lowered slightly. "In the middle of this madness?"
His lips barely curved. "Exactly."
Before anyone could notice, he reached for her wrist under the table—gentle, firm—and in one fluid motion, they slipped away.
The night air was crisp against their skin as he led her to his car, opening the door for her like it was second nature.
As he slid into the driver's seat, she gave him a sidelong glance. "You're drunk."
Sanlang chuckled, starting the car. "I hold my liquor just fine."
Noor didn't argue, but her fingers traced idle patterns against the window, lost in thought as the city lights blurred past.
When they arrived—at the highest point overlooking the city, away from the noise, the people, the world—Sanlang parked, stepping out before walking around to her side.
"Come," he murmured, offering his hand.
She hesitated, then placed hers in his. He led her forward, into the darkness.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
Noor gave him a long look. "You're not going to push me off a cliff, are you?"
Sanlang smirked. "Not yet. Now close them."
A sigh, then—finally—she obeyed.
And then—
Boom.
The sky shattered into color.
Her eyes fluttered open just as fireworks exploded above, reds and golds raining brilliance upon the city below. She didn't move, didn't speak. The colors reflected in her gaze, making her seem almost otherworldly.
Sanlang stepped closer, watching her, only her. "For once, stop thinking. Just feel."
And for the first time, Noor was intoxicatedby beauty. By this moment. Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's beautiful."
Sanlang's gaze never wavered from her. His fingers twitched, aching to trace the outline of her jaw, to memorize the way the firelight kissed her skin.
His voice, when it came, was softer than the night itself.
"Yes. Very beautiful."
The night stretched endlessly above them, a canvas of ink and stardust. The distant murmurs of the crowd had faded, leaving only the soft lapping of the river and the rhythmic pounding of Noor's heart. Fireworks bloomed in the sky, casting fleeting golden light over Sanlang's face—the sharp cut of his jaw, the smoldering intensity in his eyes as they remained fixed solely on her.
He hadn't looked away. Not once.
"You never did tell me why you brought me here," she murmured, voice softer than she intended, betraying something fragile beneath her usual poise.
Sanlang's fingers tightened around hers, his thumb tracing lazy, deliberate circles over her skin. "Because I wanted to steal a moment," he said, his voice low, intimate, as if he were whispering a secret meant only for her. "A moment where you are only mine."
Her breath hitched.
A warm breeze carried the scent of the river, mingling with the subtle notes of his cologne—dark, rich, intoxicating.
"You speak as if I am not my own," she said, tilting her chin slightly, challenging, but there was no real defiance in her tone.
Sanlang smiled, slow and knowing, his free hand lifting to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "That's the thing, Noor. You are yours. And yet…" His fingers lingered, tracing the line of her jaw, down to the delicate pulse at her throat. "You have ruined me for anyone else."
Her heart stumbled.
The fireworks above burst in a brilliant cascade of silver and gold. Yet She was drowning in the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath so close to hers.
Sanlang stepped forward, closing the space between them. His forehead brushed against hers, his voice a whisper against her lips.
"And now that I have you here, what should I do, Noor?"
She could feel the unspoken words hanging between them, the unyielding hunger in his touch, the restraint in his trembling fingers.
Noor exhaled, that felt too heavy, too full of things she could not say.
Sanlang did not wait any longer.
His lips found hers—not tentative, not hesitant, but full of a desperate, aching reverence, as if he had waited lifetimes for this single moment. The world around them faded into nothingness, swallowed by the fire igniting between them. Noor tasted warmth, tasted longing, tasted him—an intoxicating blend of desire and something that made her knees weaken beneath her.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, holding on as the fireworks above exploded in a symphony of light, a mere whisper compared to the storm raging between them.
When he pulled away, it was only far enough to let his lips graze hers again, teasing, unwilling to part completely. His breath was warm against her skin, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.
"Even decades-old wine," he said, his thumb tracing the swell of her lower lip, "cannot match the taste of you."
The final fireworks lit up the night, but Noor's world had already been set ablaze.