Something was rotting in the silence.
Yilan felt it before she understood it— a sickness pressing against her lungs.
Sanlang sat across from her. Motionless.
His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled—.
Like he was waiting for something to claw its way out of his skin.
Yilan exhaled slowly. "Sanlang…"
No flicker of recognition.
Then—his fingers twitched.
And yet, the moment it happened.
Something crawled up Yilan's spine. Her own body knew before her mind could.
Sanlang breathed in.
Like a man about to step onto a battlefield.
"All those years ago," he murmured, voice scraping against something unhealed, "when I disappeared… this is what happened."
Yilan's pulse staggered.
His voice—it was cold suffocating.
"I didn't just have nightmares."
Like each word had to be placed exactly where it belonged.
"I was taken."
She knew this instinctively, the way prey knows when not to run.
But she did anyway.
"…Taken?"
Sanlang tilted his head slightly.
"I was sold."
Yilan froze.
Her body responded first—before her mind could catch up.
The words felt wrong in his mouth. Like they weren't meant to be spoken aloud.
A pause.
Then—his fingers pressed against his knee, testing something invisible.
"Noor was the one who bought me."
Yilan's skin prickled.
Something that whispered—this moment is irreversible.
Sanlang didn't move. Didn't blink.
But the weight of him shifted.
"Have you told her?" Yilan's voice barely made it past her lips.
Sanlang exhaled.
Then—he laughed.
"Told her?" He tilted his head slightly.
Finally, finally, his eyes lifted to meet hers.
And Yilan's blood turned cold.
It wasn't sadness.
It was waiting.
"I won't."
A verdict.
"I trust her."
Yilan almost recoiled. The words didn't sound right.
Like a man stepping into a cell with his arms open.
"I want to hear it from her own lips," he said, too soft, too slow. "I want to see the moment she decides to tell me. I want to know how she'll say it, what words she'll choose."
A pause.
Then—
Sanlang smiled.
And Yilan understood.
This wasn't a man asking for the truth.
This was a man waiting for his executioner to look him in the eye.
---
Midnight.
Sanlang sat in the dark, city lights stretching below him in shattered reflections.
He lifted his phone.
Sanlang:
Miss me yet?
Minutes passed.
Then—
Noor:
I'm sure you're doing just fine, Sanlang. Focus on your recovery.
His lips curled. "Avoiding again."
"Good."
" It means you were thinking about me."
Sanlang:
The bed is cold without you. My body doesn't know how to rest without you near. I close my eyes, and I feel you, but when I reach out… you're not there.
A pause.
Then—
Noor:
Sanlang, I'm in the middle of a meeting.
His tongue swiped over his lower lip. Dramatic?
No.
He was burning.
Sanlang:
I bet you're blushing right now.
No reply.
Sanlang leaned back, fingers drumming against his thigh.
Somewhere across the city, Noor sat untouched.
His phone vibrated.
Noor:
You think too highly of me, Sanlang.
He exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded.
Sanlang:
Maybe. Or maybe I just know you too well.
A long pause.
Then—
Noor:
If I'm irresistible, what does that make you?
Sanlang's throat tightened.
Sanlang:
The most patient man in the world.
He let the words settle before sending the last message.
Sanlang:
But don't worry. I'll wait. It'll be worth it when I see you again.
The reply took longer this time.
Noor:
Stay out of trouble. I'll be home soon.
Home.
A word that once meant safety.
A word that now meant Noor.
A word that meant ruin.
------
The boardroom was cold.
A suffocating silence pressed against the walls, heavy, waiting.
Noor sat at the head of the table, fingers lightly steepled, gaze unreadable.
The executives had been talking for hours—complaining, excusing, stammering through their failures.
Now, she was done.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the noise like a scalpel.
The room froze.
Noor leaned back slightly, eyes sweeping across the table withcalculated inevitability.
"We are not here to discuss the symptoms," she said, voice calm—too calm. "We are here to cut out the disease."
One of them cleared his throat.
"Ms. Noor, the supply chain—"
"No."
The man shut his mouth.
Noor's gaze flicked to him—. A statement of fact.
"The next person who presents me with a problem instead of a solution," she said lightly, "will not be sitting at this table next month."
A long, chilling silence.
Then—scrambling pens. Rushed notes. Straightened backs.
Noor exhaled slowly, gaze half-lidded.
Predictable.
Her phone buzzed once.
Sanlang:
You're incredible. I bet you just saved that whole company while blushing from my texts. Admit it.
A quiet exhale.
Her expression never wavered.
But beneath the ice—something stirred.
"Ms. Noor, we've been bleeding money for months now," Arlen's voice was tight, his fingers clenching the table. "The supply chain is collapsing. Negotiations have stalled. If we don't resolve this—"
"We'll lose everything," another executive finished, voice thinner, paler. "Investors are pulling out. Confidence is shattered."
The table was lined with men who had spent weeks panicking, circling problems without solutions. Noor sat at the head, her presence an unmovable force. She did not fidget. She did not blink too much.
She simply listened.
And then—her phone vibrated.
A faint buzz against the polished wood.
She didn't need to check it to know who it was.
A slow exhale.
Then she leaned forward, her gaze sweeping over the table—a blade before it cuts.
Noor tapped her nails against the table.
But to the men before her, it sounded like the first knock of a gavel.
"We are not here to grieve," she said, voice as smooth as still water. "We are here to rebuild."
"First," she said, turning to the financial director. "We restructure immediately. No more reliance on a single supply route. Diversify now. Regional teams will establish new partnerships within forty-eight hours."
A shift in her focus. "Cut unnecessary projects. Allocate emergency funds to production. I don't care how. Just do it."
Arlen swallowed. "Ms. Noor, the suppliers—"
Noor's gaze flicked to him.
"Then we offer them something they can't refuse." Her voice was soft. Soft enough to terrify. "Extended contracts. Performance-based incentives. If negotiations stall, I will handle them personally."
Arlen opened his mouth. Closed it. "Understood."
Another vibration.
Her phone.
Her eyes shifted to the head of public relations. "Investor confidence will be stabilized. A statement will be released within forty-eight hours. Transparent, but controlled."
A pause.
"Frame it as expansion. Not damage control."
A murmur of agreement.
One of the junior executives, eyes wide, finally exhaled. "She just… solved everything."
Another, older one murmured, "She just acts."
Noor ignored them.
Instead, she picked up her phone.
Unread message.
Sanlang:
You're incredible. I bet you just saved that whole company while blushing from my texts. Admit it.
Her lips almost twitched.
She typed under the table.
Noor:
Focus on your health.
Then she set her phone aside.
To the rest of the world, she was flawless. Untouchable.
To him—
She was something else entirely.
----------
Midnight.
Sanlang lay back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep would not come.
Not when his mind was full of her.
He picked up his phone, fingers brushing over the last message.
Then, he typed.
Sanlang:
I bet you're thinking of me right now.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Noor:
I was in a meeting, Sanlang.
He smirked.
Sanlang:
And yet, you replied.
A pause. Then—
Noor:
Go to sleep.
Sanlang chuckled softly, head tilting against the pillow.
Sanlang:
Tell me something first.
No reply.
Then—
Noor:
What?
He exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Sanlang:
Did you miss me?
Silence.
A long one.
Then—
Noor:
Sanlang.
Sanlang:
That wasn't an answer.
Another pause.
Then—
Noor:
You're impossible.
Sanlang grinned, rolling onto his side.
Sanlang:
And yet, here you are. Answering me. Even though it's late. Even though you could have ignored me.
A long, slow beat.
Then—
Noor:
Go to sleep, Sanlang.
His chest ached.
Sanlang:
You didn't say no.
-------
The next morning, Noor sat at another table—this time, with fewer words.
Noor exhaled, slow and deliberate.
"I have one question," she said, voice poised. "Do you think I don't see everything that happens in this company?"
No one answered.
Noor's fingers tapped against the polished wood. Once. Twice.
"Threatening employees." Tap. "Covering your mistakes." Tap. "Stealing from the company's own people."
The silence stretched.
Then—the knife.
"You're fired."
Hassan, the operations head, stiffened. "Ms. Noor, wait, I can—"
She tilted her head.
The air thinned.
Security entered.
"Effective immediately." Noor's voice remained light, almost gentle. That was what made it worse.
Hassan paled.
One by one, the others fell into line. Pleas. Bargains. Offers.
Noor listened to none of them.
"This is your last day," she said simply. "You may leave now."
-------
That night, she sat in her office, a city of lights glowing beneath her.
Her phone buzzed.
Sanlang:
Did you destroy them?
No hesitation.
Noor:
Yes.
A pause.
Then—
Sanlang:
You're beautiful when you do.
Her breath hitched.
For the first time that day, Noor closed her eyes.
And let herself feel it.
A stillness that comes before something shatters.
The boardroom was empty now. She sat there, the cool marble beneath her hands grounding her.
Then, the first drop fell.
Dark red, staining the pristine white of her sleeve.
"Ah…" She exhaled, slow. The taste of iron flooded her mouth.
The scent of iron clung to the air. A single drop slid down her wrist, staining the cuff of her sleeve.
She watched it spread, the red threading through fabric like veins. "A body is a fragile thing," she murmured. "And yet, it holds everything."
Thousands of miles away, Sanlang exhaled slowly. His fingers rested on the wooden armrest of his chair.The night outside stretched endlessly, stars flickering like dying embers.
His pulse stuttered. "Why now?"
" why does it feel like I am being torn apart?"
Noor tilted her head, her gaze distant. Her pulse thrummed.She smiled.
"So this is what you chose this time."
Sanlang's chest tightened. A sharp ache clawed up his spine, unseen fingers had curled around him.
"Remembering what?"
Noor let out a soft breath. Another wave of pain wracked her body.
"Everything you weren't supposed to."
His grip on the chair's armrest faltered. The waves beyond the balcony were shifting. The wind whispered something he could not hear.
His emerald gaze flickered. The emerald turned in silver.
"And you… you knew all along."
Noor leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table, fingers pressing against her temple. The lights above her buzzed faintly.
"It was never meant to forget."
Sanlang closed his eyes. A pressure pressed against his chest.Something in him knew this weight. Knew it intimately.
"Then why does it feel like I lost something I never had?"
A quiet chuckle. Noor tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded, the ache in her bones almost familiar now.
"I did."
A crack splintered across the glass window before Sanlang, thin and jagged. His breath came shallow.
"What did you do to me?"
Noor's fingers traced the condensation on the cold glass before her. Her reflection stared back, but it was not hers alone.
"I kept you safe."
Sanlang's fingers twitched. A memory—faint, blurred—brushed against the edges of his mind. His own voice, calling a name he could not remember.
The silver in his eyes deepened.
"At what cost?"
A slow sorrowful smile ghosted Noor's lips.
"Everything."
The storm over the sea raged on.