Chapter 51: The night that wouldn't End

The penthouse was drenched in silence, broken only by the sound of ice clinking in a half-empty glass. The air was thick—too thick—with the remnants of perfume, liquor, and something far more suffocating.

Sanlang sat before the grand piano, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands rested over the keys, motionless. The veins on the back of his hands stood out, his fingers trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. Something primal.

He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. His body burned, a cruel reminder of her touch of that kiss. His pulse thundered beneath his skin, his muscles coiled tight with a hunger that refused to be ignored. He could have stayed. Could have taken one of those women pressing against him, whispering promises of relief into his ear.

But none of them were Noor.

His teeth clenched as he struck the first note, the deep resonance vibrating through his chest. Slowly, he moved through the melody, each chord sinking into the air like a confession.

"Noor…" Her name left his lips like a curse, hushed, reverent, tortured.

The melody darkened, his fingers pressing harder, faster. Desire coiled hot in his gut, rage simmering just beneath it. He saw her—like a fever dream—her silhouette in silk, moving past him with that same cold indifference, her scent trailing behind, her lips untouched, untouchable.

His jaw tightened. "You don't even look at me, do you?" His voice was low, rough. The keys shuddered beneath his touch as the music turned into something raw, something violent.

He shut his eyes, but it didn't help. He could still see her, still hear the rustle of her dress, still feel the phantom brush of her hair against his skin from that night—that damned night. She had stood under the moon, playing the flute, lost in her own world. And he had watched, spellbound, burning.

His breathing turned ragged. He leaned forward, hands gripping the edges of the piano as if he could anchor himself, as if that would keep him from sinking into the depths of his own torment.

"I should have ....," he murmured, voice thick with need. "Should've reached out and—" He exhaled sharply, his fists clenching.

It was madness. This fever, this hunger. Noor had ruined him without even trying. And tonight, with the alcohol still pulsing through his veins, she was all he could think about. Her lips. Her skin. The way her eyes never wavered, never softened, never gave him anything to hold onto.

He slammed the piano shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty room.

And yet, despite the torment—

He still wanted her.

More than anything.

More than his own sanity.

---

Sanlang leaned back against the couch, his breath steady but his body betraying him—burning, restless, aching with need that refused to be ignored. It was a slow poison, twisting through his veins, heightening everything, sharpening every thought, every desire. But it wasn't some drug that did this to him. No. This was her. Noor.

He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion slow, deliberate, but his jaw tightened. "You do this to me, Noor." His voice was barely above a murmur, thick with something dark, something insatiable.

His fingers trailed over his throat, down to his collarbone, tracing the heat rising beneath his skin. "Do you even know what you've done to me?" He exhaled sharply, chuckling low, bitter. "Of course you do."

She had to know.

She had to feel it too—the pull, the hunger, the way every glance between them was a silent war of restraint. The way he burned at the mere thought of her, the way she pretended it meant nothing.

Sanlang tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded, his lips curving slightly, though there was no amusement in it. "You hide behind your silence. Behind that cold, untouchable act of yours." His fingers clenched against the couch. "But do you ever wonder what it would be like if you let yourself fall?"

The thought made his chest tighten.

If Noor ever let go… if she ever gave in…

Sanlang let out a slow breath, his head rolling to the side. "I would ruin you." His voice was soft, dangerous, edged with something both reverent and possessive. His fingers trailed down his own chest, the ghost of a touch—hers, in his mind. "I would worship you… and I would break you. You wouldn't escape me, Noor. Not once I've had you."

His breath hitched slightly, his control slipping, but he forced himself to stay calm. His heart pounded violently, his entire body coiled tight, but he didn't move, didn't give in. Not yet.

His eyes flickered to the grand piano across the room again, his sanctuary, his torment. He pushed himself up slowly, his movements fluid, unhurried, as if he weren't unraveling from the inside.

He sat at the bench, fingers brushing over the keys, a slow, deliberate stroke, as if touching something sacred.

Something forbidden.

A single note rang out—low, deep, vibrating through the stillness.

His lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you were here right now, Noor… I wonder." Another note. A shift in melody, dark. "Would you still look at me with those cold eyes?"

Another key.

The sound trembled, like a breath caught between desire and restraint.

"Would you flinch if I touched you?"

He played slowly, the melody unfolding like a secret. His voice remained calm, measured, but each word was thick with need, with something raw.

"If I pressed my lips to your throat… would you still pretend you don't feel this?"

The music swelled.

"If I traced every inch of you, if I whispered all the things I want to do to you… would you push me away?"

His fingers moved faster, his body tightening with every word, every note.

"If I —if I didn't let you run this time… would you still deny me?"

The music shattered into a sharp, discordant note as he abruptly lifted his hands from the keys, his breath ragged.

A smirk curved his lips, though his eyes remained dark, lost in shadows. "Liar," he murmured.

Noor could lie to him, to the world, to herself.

-----------

The tea was bitter tonight.

Noor sat by the window, the porcelain cup poised between her delicate fingers, but the warmth did nothing to soothe her. Outside, the estate lay in perfect stillness, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Yet, within her, a wildfire raged.

She pressed the cup to her lips, but instead of tea, she tasted something else—him.

"Noor…"

The whisper wasn't real. It couldn't be. And yet, her fingers trembled against the porcelain, her breath catching as if he had spoken right beside her, as if his lips had brushed against the shell of her ear, his voice heavy with longing.

She shut her eyes, but that was a mistake.

Because then she saw him.

The waterfall. The night he had held her against the cold rocks, his breath fevered, his hands gripping her hips as though he was losing himself in her.

"You drive me insane," he had murmured, his voice raw, edged with desperation. "Do you even know what you do to me?"

Noor's fingers curled into her lap. She shouldn't think of this. She had spent years mastering control, silencing this ache, this unbearable pull toward him. Yet, tonight… tonight, it refused to be ignored.

She placed the cup down with a quiet clink, standing with effortless grace. The silk of her robe clung to her skin as she moved through the halls, her bare feet soundless against the cold marble.

The night air was crisp, sharp against her heated skin as she stepped outside, making her way toward the cold spring. The water gleamed like liquid obsidian, waiting, beckoning.

A soft breath escaped her lips as she loosened the knot of her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like a whisper.

The night wind kissed her bare skin, carrying with it the echoes of a voice she couldn't forget.

"Tell me to stop," Sanlang had once murmured against her lips, his grip on her tightening. "Tell me, and I swear I will."

She never had.

Noor stepped into the water, the cold biting into her flesh, sharp and unforgiving. Yet, it wasn't enough.

She moved deeper, letting the icy embrace swallow her inch by inch, but the fire inside her refused to die. If anything, it burned hotter, fiercer.

Then, she heard him again.

"You're running from me, Noor."

Her breath hitched, her fingers brushing against her bare collarbone, tracing the spot where he had once pressed his lips.

"Tell me you don't think of me. Tell me I don't haunt you like you haunt me."

A shudder ran through her. Her body trembled, but not from the cold.

She knew it was madness—this torment, this sacred pain. But wasn't love always a form of suffering?

Her head tilted back, her long black hair floating around her like a dark river, the water caressing her skin like phantom hands, like a lover's embrace.

She bit down on her lip, hard.

"Sanlang…" The whisper was unbidden, fragile. A prayer. A curse.

And in the silence of the night, the water rippled as if answering her.

She could almost feel him, his body against hers, his breath hot against her ear, his hands tracing every scar, every untold story carved into her skin.

A strangled moan slipped past her lips, swallowed by the night.

The water was cold. But she was burning.

___________

The cold spring shimmered under the moonlight, a thing of unnatural beauty. Mist coiled over the surface like the breath of something not of this world. The air around it was heavy, thick with something that felt old, something that felt… wrong.

And in the middle of it, Noor.

She sat still, her head tilted back, dark lashes resting against porcelain skin. Her lips were slightly parted, as if caught between a sigh and a whisper of something forbidden. Her long black hair drifted through the water, spreading like shadows dissolving into the night.

The assassin swallowed, his throat dry. He had seen Noor command battlefields, had watched her tear through men without hesitation.

But this…

This was something else.

"Speak."

The single word sent a chill down his spine. It was soft, almost gentle, but laced with something that made his pulse quicken.

He forced his voice steady. "It has begun."

She did not move.

"He has made his move."

Still, she remained still, as if the words did not concern her. As if she had already expected them.

Then, finally, her eyes opened.

Dark. Endless.

The assassin lowered his gaze, unable to meet them for long. He had seen monsters wear the faces of men. He had seen death come dressed as a whisper.

But Noor?

She was something far worse.

Slowly, she rose from the water.

Moonlight kissed her skin, tracing the pale scars that laced her body like shattered constellations. Her beauty was ruinous. The kind of beauty that did not entice—it destroyed.

The assassin turned his back—not from decency, but from fear.

She stepped out of the water with the grace of something that had never belonged to this world. The robe she pulled around herself was black silk, absorbing the light, swallowing it whole.

"You are right," she murmured.

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

"I won't give him time this time."

She stepped past him, each movement calculated, slow.

"He thinks pain is his weapon."

Her lips curled, but it wasn't a smile.

"I will show him what pain really is."

Her words slithered through the air, curling like smoke around his throat.

"He will scream, and I will listen."

The assassin clenched his fists, something inside him twisting.

"I will take everything from him. Strip him bare. Make him beg for something—anything—to stop it."

The ground felt unsteady beneath him.

"But I won't stop."

She paused, just beside him.

"I will break his mind first."

A shudder ran through his spine.

"Then his body."

His pulse roared in his ears.

"And when he is nothing but a hollow shell, I will fill him with something far worse than death."

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

She tilted her head slightly, those dark eyes gleaming under the moon.

"Tell me," she whispered, voice like velvet and knives. "Do you think he will survive it?"

He could not answer.

He did not know.

And then she was gone, slipping into the shadows as if she had never been there at all.

A Beautiful Curse

The assassin exhaled sharply, heart still hammering against his ribs.

For years, he had served her. For years, he had carried out her will, obeyed her orders without question.

But tonight…

Tonight, he had seen something else.

Something darker.

Something unforgivable.

His gaze flickered to the spring, now eerily still. The moonlight danced over its surface, making it look like liquid silver, untouched by the world.

But he knew better.

She had been in it.

His breath was uneven as he took a step forward.

Another.

Something about the water called to him.

And before he could stop himself, he reached out.

The moment his fingers touched the surface—

Agony.

It clawed into his bones, an unbearable, searing pain that ripped through him like molten steel.

A scream tore from his throat.

He staggered back, cradling his hand, his body shaking as if something had tried to crawl inside him.

His vision blurred.

And then, the realization struck him like a blade to the chest.

She had been in this water.

She had bathed in it. Sat in it, embraced it— as if the pain was nothing.

No—as if the pain was familiar.

His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat.

What kind of suffering must she endure, that something this monstrous feels like home to her?

His breathing was uneven. His body trembled.

For years, he had called her his master. Had followed her orders without hesitation.

But now?

Now, for the first time…

He feared her.

______

Noor walked through the halls of her estate, her mind still lingering on the assassin's words. She was used to threats, betrayals, and the constant pull of war. What she wasn't used to?

This ridiculous energy humming through her estate.

The moment she stepped into the grand hall, she felt it. A shift. A strange… lightness.

That was the first warning.

The second?

Zeyla.

She was lounging on one of the velvet chairs like a queen of chaos, arms draped over the armrests, a smirk already forming on her lips. Beside her, Maya stood stiffly, looking like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Noor raised an eyebrow.

"What's going on?" she asked, her tone cool but sharp.

Zeyla sat up, grinning. "Oh, nothing much. Just enjoying the sight of our dear Maya experiencing the wonders of romance."

Maya choked. "Excuse me?!"

Noor narrowed her eyes slightly, turning to Maya. "Interesting."

Zeyla leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh, you didn't hear? Maya has a suitor now."

Noor blinked. A suitor?

Maya crossed her arms, her face an interesting shade of red. "I do not have a suitor."

Zeyla gasped dramatically. "Then what do you call Lior standing dangerously close to you last night, staring into your eyes like you were the last sunrise he'd ever see?"

Noor's head tilted. "Lior?"

Maya groaned, covering her face. "It wasn't like that."

Zeyla turned to Noor, ignoring Maya's misery. "Oh, it was exactly like that. It was all very… forbidden lovers meet under the stars while the world burns around them."

Noor's lips twitched more like teasing tone she spoke. "Maya. Are you having moonlit rendezvous?"

Maya dropped her hands, exasperated. "It was not a rendezvous! He was just—"

"Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky?" Zeyla offered.

Maya glared.

Noor crossed her arms, finally amused. "So let me get this straight. you were…" She waved a hand vaguely. "Flirting."

Maya scowled. "I was not flirting."

Zeyla gasped again. "Oh, Lady Noor. She's in denial."

Noor sighed dramatically. "Tragic."

Maya pointed a finger at them both. "I hate you."

Zeyla grinned. "That's just the love talking."

Noor smirked, enjoying Maya's rare moment of helplessness. "So, what did happen with Lior?"

Maya crossed her arms tighter, looking away. "Nothing. He just—he was making sure I was alright. That's it."

Zeyla snorted. "Please. The man looked like he was debating whether to kneel at your feet or confess his eternal devotion."

Noor tapped a finger against her chin. "Lior is an interesting choice. Strong. Loyal. Not bad-looking."

Maya gasped. "You too?!"

Zeyla leaned back. "Oh, Madam. I never thought I'd see the day."

Noor arched a brow. "What day?"

"The day you were the last one to notice something."

Noor paused. That… was true.

She had been so consumed with war, betrayals, the shadows creeping ever closer—she had forgotten to see the people around her.

Maya had changed. And Noor hadn't even noticed.

That realization settled somewhere deep.

Zeyla, watching Noor's rare moment of quiet reflection, smirked. "I'd say it's time to focus on Maya's love life, but…" She tilted her head. "Should we also discuss yours?"

Noor's gaze flickered. "No."

Maya, still embarrassed, perked up immediately. "Oh, now that is a topic I'd love to explore."

Zeyla nodded solemnly. "I agree. Madam Noor, do you ever feel lonely at night?"

Noor stared at them both. "I can make both of you disappear."

Maya smirked. "Ah. Deflection. The first stage of—"

Noor cut her off with a single look.

Maya sighed dramatically, waving a hand. "Fine, fine. But we will revisit this conversation."

Noor picked up her tea, taking a slow sip. "We won't."

Maya met Zeyla's gaze. "We absolutely will."

Noor set her cup down, sighing.

She had survived assassins. Wars. Empires collapsing around her.

But this?

She wasn't sure even she could win.

---

Sanlang stepped into the club like a storm wrapped in silk—his presence alone turning heads, his sculpted face glowing under the dim neon lights. The air was thick with bass-heavy music, swirling perfumes, and the laughter of women who had already set their sights on him. Clad in an obsidian-black suit, his hair casually tousled, and his sharp eyes carrying an allure that could make even the most composed woman forget herself, he was the very definition of temptation.

"Sanlang, finally!" One of his friends, Kai, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've been hiding. Thought you turned into a monk or something."

"Something like that," Sanlang muttered, rolling up his sleeves as he made his way to the bar.

The moment he leaned against it, a swarm of women descended like moths to his flame. One pressed herself against his arm, her nails tracing circles on his wrist. Another tilted her head, purring, "It's been forever, Sanlang. Miss me?"

"No," he replied smoothly, downing his whiskey in one go, the burn in his throat nothing compared to the inferno in his veins.

The women giggled, mistaking his indifference for teasing. One of them whispered against his ear, "We could change that…"

Sanlang turned his head slightly, his gaze dropping to her delicate fingers gripping his sleeve. He sighed, prying them off with the gentleness one might use when handling a particularly annoying mosquito. "Sweetheart, I promise you, even if I lost my memory, my past life, and my soul, I still wouldn't miss you."

Kai choked on his drink, nearly spilling it. The woman gasped, utterly scandalized, before storming off in a huff. But before she could disappear, another took her place, pressing closer, her lips painted in the boldest red.

"You're playing hard to get, aren't you?" she cooed.

Sanlang swirled his glass lazily. "I'm not playing at all."

Another friend, Zed, smirked. "You're such a heartbreaker, Sanlang."

Sanlang exhaled, rubbing his temples. "If I were, I'd at least feel something, wouldn't I?" His voice was low, frustrated.

Because, at the end of the day, none of this mattered.

The music, the flashing lights, the endless parade of women throwing themselves at him—it was all empty. Every touch felt wrong, every voice grated on his nerves, because none of them were her.

The mere thought of her sent a searing pulse of heat through him. He loosened his collar, reaching for another drink, but it did nothing to dull the ache, the unbearable desire coiling in his gut.

He could have anyone in this club. Hell, he could have all of them, if he so wished. But what use was a feast when all he craved was one forbidden taste?

With a humorless chuckle, he downed another shot, leaning back against the bar.

"Sanlang," Kai nudged him. "What are you thinking about?"

He smirked, his eyes dark with an unspoken hunger. "A woman who could kill me in a second."

Kai laughed. "Sounds like your type."

Sanlang tilted his head, watching the amber liquid in his glass. My only type.

And so, he drank—not to forget, but to burn in her absence.

Kai raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Sanlang's tone. "A woman who could kill you in a second? Must be a real charmer."

Sanlang's lips curled into a dark smile, the humor in his voice sharp. "You have no idea, Kai. She doesn't just break hearts; she breaks everything." His eyes glazed for a moment, distant, as if caught in a memory only he could see.

Zed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that was a little too smug, interjected, "You know, most men would be begging for a woman like that. You, though? You're acting like it's a curse." He shrugged, clearly amused. "What's the matter? Can't handle a little challenge?"

Sanlang's smile faded, and he straightened up, his eyes flicking to Zed. "You think it's a challenge?" His voice dropped low, a dangerous edge creeping in. "She's not a challenge, Zed. She's a sentence." His eyes darkened, his grip tightening around his glass. "One you never escape."

Zed, sensing the shift, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to get all intense on us. I was just saying, man. You could have anyone you wanted in here—hell, they'd practically throw themselves at your feet. But you're out here moping over someone who doesn't even know your name."

Sanlang laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "You think I care about any of these women?" He gestured around the club with a sweeping motion. "They're all just a distraction, Zed. They come, they go, they smile, they flirt, and in the end... they're nothing." He leaned in closer, his voice darkening. "I could take any one of them, but it'd be like eating a five-star meal and still starving. No matter how much I fill myself up, it doesn't satisfy the hunger."

Kai snorted. "Man, that's deep. You really sound like a tortured artist right now. You want me to get you a canvas to paint your feelings on?"

Sanlang shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. "If I could paint what's going on inside, Kai, I'd burn the damn canvas. It's not about what I want or need from anyone in this place." He took another swig from his glass, his eyes narrowing. "It's about what she does to me. Every thought, every damn second of my life, it's her. And it's tearing me apart."

Zed shook his head, laughing again, though there was an uncomfortable edge to it. "You really need to get over it, man. You're acting like she's some sort of goddamn savior."

Sanlang's gaze snapped to Zed, his expression hardening, every ounce of self-control hanging by a thread. "Don't you dare." His voice was a low, threatening growl. "You don't get it. You can't get it. You think it's just some infatuation, some... thing I can walk away from?" He slammed his empty glass onto the counter, eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "She's not a game. She's the reason I wake up every day. The reason I survive this endless shitstorm. But she doesn't need me, and that's what makes it so goddamn hard."

The others fell silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung in the air like a suffocating fog.

Kai, after a beat, let out a slow whistle. "Man, you've really lost it. Like, full-on lost it."

Sanlang's lips twisted into a humorless grin, though it barely masked the pain in his eyes. "I'm not the one who's lost, Kai." He looked out over the dance floor, his gaze distant, like he was searching for something that wasn't there. "I'm the one who's stuck. Trapped in this... endless longing."

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a harsh scrape. "I need some air."

The club, the noise, the people—all of it felt suffocating. His body was on fire, the alcohol making it worse, amplifying the ache in his chest. He needed to escape.

As he walked toward the exit, he could feel their eyes on him, the weight of their unspoken words hanging in the air. But none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the image of her—Noor—engraved in his mind, the burning desire for her consuming every inch of his soul.