The hotel suite smelled of wine and deceit. Yilan lay against Victor's chest.His fingers trailed down her spine, as if mapping her like territory.
"I came for you," he murmured against her hair. "The moment I heard about Sanlang. I couldn't bear to be away."
Yilan exhaled, tracing the lines of his collarbone. Victor had always been good at weaving words into something beautiful.
"And yet, I was unreachable," she mused.
Victor's hand paused—just for a second. "That's not important, love." He tilted her chin up, eyes searching hers. "What matters is that I'm here now."
She studied his face.
"You're too good to me," she whispered.
Victor's lips brushed against hers. "That's what love is, isn't it?"
A kiss.
"I took the first flight back for you."
"Nothing mattered more."
The words swam in her mind.
------------
Noor sat like she had been carved from something ancient—untouched by time. The scent of jasmine lingered ,she poured herself tea, uninterested in the presence of the man across from her.
Victor.
His posture was relaxed—the kind of ease men wore when they believed they were in control.
"You're more stunning in person," he said smoothly, his gaze lingering where it shouldn't. "Pictures don't do you justice, Miss Noor."
Maya raised a brow. Zeyla's fingers twitched near her blade.
Noor didn't blink. "And yet, I've never seen a picture of you."
Victor chuckled. "I suppose I'm more private than you."
"Mm." Noor set her teacup down. "And yet, here you are."
Victor leaned in slightly, smile sharpened. "Can't a man admire beauty?"
There it was. The moment a fool decided to reach for something untouchable.
Zeyla moved, a flash of motion—her blade at his throat.
The room went still.
Victor swallowed, his smirk faltering. "Now, now. No need for dramatics."
Noor sighed, waving Zeyla back with a lazy flick of her wrist. "Don't stain the floor."
Zeyla's grip tightened before she withdrew. Barely.
Victor exhaled, adjusting his collar. "That's quite the guard dog you have."
Noor's gaze flickered. "And yet, you're the one barking."
Maya stifled a laugh.
Victor straightened, "I meant no offense, Miss Noor. It's just—meeting you, I finally understand." His voice dipped, low and smooth. "You have a presence that lingers."
Noor tilted her head. "A presence?"
Victor leaned in slightly. "Like something a man might crave."
Silence.
Then Noor smiled.
She picked up her tea, eyes never leaving his. "I understand now too, Mr. Victor."
Victor smirked. "Oh? And what is that?"
She took a sip. Paused. Then—
"You are very good at embarrassing yourself."
Victor stilled. The room swallowed his silence.
Noor set her cup down. "And yet, I suspect it comes naturally to you."
Maya exhaled sharply through her nose. Zeyla smirked.
Victor's jaw tightened. "I assure you, Miss Noor—"
"I assure you," Noor interrupted, her voice silk and steel. "You will not address me again."
Victor clenched his fists. For the first time, he looked small.
Noor turned to Yilan, dismissing him like a passing shadow. "Shall I assume your business here is finished?"
Yilan hesitated.
Something gnawed at her.
The way Noor had said it. The tone.
She glanced at Victor—his pride wounded, his hands trembling just slightly.
And suddenly—Yilan needed to know.
Victor stormed out. Yilan stayed.
Noor didn't acknowledge her immediately, simply pouring another cup of tea. The silence stretched, delicate and dangerous.
"You knew," Yilan finally said.
Noor took a sip, unfazed. "I always do."
Yilan's hands clenched. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Noor finally looked at her. Cold. Detached. "Would it have mattered?"
Yilan exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You think you know everything. But you don't know it all."
A pause.
Then Noor spoke.
"I took the first flight back for you."
Yilan's breath caught.
"Nothing mattered more."
Her stomach twisted.
Noor studied her, eyes unreadable. "Hasn't he?"
The floor tilted beneath her.
Victor's voice, warm against her ear. You've been distant, love. I couldn't bear to be away.
Noor's voice, calm as death. You've been quiet. Lost in thought?
Every touch, every whisper—not devotion. Not love. A script.
Yilan swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "How did you—"
"Because," Noor murmured, "men like him only have one trick. They just change the stage."
Silence.
Then, softly—
"You weren't special, Yilan."
Maya chuckled under her breath. Zeyla smirked.
Yilan felt her throat tighten. "You think you're better than me?"
Maya leaned in slightly, smiling. "No. We know we are."
Heat crawled up Yilan's neck.
Noor exhaled, setting down her cup. "Run along, Yilan."
A pause.
Then Noor's lips curved. "Your master must be waiting."
Laughter.
Burning humiliation clawed up Yilan's throat, but she forced herself to turn, walking out without another word.
______
The door clicked shut. The scent of Yilan's perfume still lingered, mixing with the fading traces of Victor's arrogance.
Maya exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face. "She's never coming back from that."
Zeyla scoffed, arms crossed. "She will. But she won't come back whole."
Noor remained silent.
She sat there, fingers lightly curled against the porcelain of her cup, Unbothered.
Maya turned to her, frowning. "Why did you do that?"
She took a sip of tea, slow and deliberate, before setting the cup down. Then, without looking up—
"Why does fire burn?"
Silence.
Zeyla's brows furrowed. "What?"
Noor finally lifted her gaze. Cold. Detached. "Why does fire burn?"
Maya frowned, irritation flickering in her eyes. "Because that's what it does."
Noor's lips barely curled. "Exactly."
The silence stretched, pressing into the walls, sinking into the floorboards.
Then, Noor spoke again.
"I did not humiliate her."A pause. Then—"I merely let her see what she had always been."
Maya's throat tightened. "And what was that?"
Noor tilted her head slightly. "A woman who mistook her cage for a palace."
The words hit the air like the crack of a gunshot.
Zeyla let out a low breath. "And you just let it happen?"
Noor's fingers traced the rim of her cup. "It was already happening. She just hadn't seen the bars yet."
Maya exhaled sharply, her voice edged with something raw. "You knew Victor was using her. You knew Chen was using her."
Noor finally looked up, eyes dark as the ocean before a storm. "Maya," she said softly.
Maya swallowed.
"Would you have believed me?"
The room went deathly still.
Maya's lips parted—but she had no answer.
Noor leaned back slightly, the weight of inevitability settling into her posture. "Some truths cannot be given. They must be survived."
Zeyla exhaled, shaking her head. "You didn't just let her see the bars. You locked her inside and threw away the key."
Noor's voice was steady. Absolute. "No, Zeyla."
A pause.
Then—
"I let her realize she had been locked inside her entire life."
Maya flinched.
Because that was the real cruelty. Not that Yilan had been deceived—but that she had built her life upon the deception.
That everything she believed—about love, about power, about herself—had never been real.
Zeyla's fingers curled slightly. "And now?"
Noor exhaled softly. "Now, she will break."
A pause.
Then—Noor's eyes flickered with something unreadable.
"And a woman who has nothing left to break?"
The corner of her lips curled.
"Now that… is dangerous."
Maya leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now. "…You think she'll come back?"
Noor's gaze didn't waver. "I think she has nowhere else to go."
A heavy silence settled.
Then, Zeyla smirked, shaking her head. "And Victor?"
Noor let out a quiet, almost amused breath.
"He'll return." She tilted her head. "Men always do. But they never return whole."
Maya narrowed her eyes. "So what happens when she sees him again?"
Noor's expression was unreadable. "That depends."
"On what?"
Noor lifted her cup again, taking a slow sip.
Then, as if it was the simplest thing in the world—
"On whether she wants to destroy him, or become him."
The words hung in the air, thick, suffocating.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged glances.
Neither of them spoke.
Because some things did not need to be said.
The game was already in motion.
And Yilan, whether she knew it or not—
Would return.
__________
The door had closed.
Noor sat alone. The candle burned low, the shadows stretching longer—watching.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her lips. Warm. Wet. Sticky
Blood.
Noor spat it onto the marble floor, watching the deep red spread. The taste of iron still clung to her tongue.
She exhaled, slow. Steady.
Her fingers traced the stain on her sleeve.
"So this is what she feels," she murmured. A breath. A bitter chuckle. "And yet, she still weeps for it."
She wiped her lips, smearing red against pale skin.
"She thinks I do not understand."
Her voice was soft. Empty.
"As if I have not been here before."
A pause.
Her gaze flickered to the mirror. Her own reflection stared back. Hollow-eyed. Smiling.
"I should pity her." A slow blink. "And yet—"
A quiet chuckle. "I envy her."
Another drop of blood.
She tilted her head, studying the red on her fingers.
"She still believes in it." A whisper. "Fool."
Silence.
"And yet—"
Her throat tightened.
"Still, I long for it."
A slow inhale.
"Even now."
The candle flickered. The shadows stretched.
_______
Outside the door,Zeyla leaned against the door, forehead pressed to the wood.
She should leave. Should pretend she hadn't heard a damn thing.
But Noor's voice, low and breaking, held her there.
"She thinks I do not understand."
Zeyla exhaled sharply, eyes burning. "You understand everything. That's the damn problem."
"As if I have not been here before."
Her fingers curled into fists.
Then why are you still here? Why do you still wait?
She clenched her jaw. This was wrong.
And yet—tonight, she was both shattered and silent.
Zeyla let out a hollow laugh. "Look at me. Standing outside like some lost fool. What do I do, huh? Knock? Say 'Hey, sorry your soul is rotting, need a hug?'"
Her throat tightened. "You'd kill me for pitying you."
She let her head thud against the door. "And I'd let you."
Silence.
Then—Noor's voice, quiet, wrecked.
"I have waited like a fool standing in the rain, convinced the storm would spare me."
Zeyla squeezed her eyes shut.
Her voice dropped, shaking. "Then why the hell didn't you run?"
She bit her lip, hard. "You—" She inhaled sharply. "You're supposed to be above this. Above them. Above… this ."
She let out a short, bitter laugh.
"And yet here I am, standing outside your door, listening to you bleed for something you knew would kill you."
Her breath hitched.
"You knew, My Lady."
A pause.
And then, softer—"And still waited."
"I cannot change this."
She pressed her palm to the wood. "I cannot stop it."
A breath.
"But I can follow you into ruin if I must."
She turned, wiping the tears from her face, voice barely above a whisper.
"And we both know—I will."