Chapter 50: Fragments of forgotten Oath

The grand hall shimmered under the brilliance of cascading chandeliers, their golden light bathing the room in an illusion of warmth. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter floated in the air like perfumed poison, and silk and velvet moved in elegant swirls across the marble floors.

Noor stood at the edge of it all, detached yet commanding, her presence an unspoken force that sent ripples through the crowd. Dressed in deep midnight silk, her gown whispered against the floor, every inch of her wrapped in elegance without embellishment, a contrast to the glimmering excess surrounding her.

She was here because she had to be.

The charity event was one she had funded, an annual gala to raise money for orphanages worldwide. It wasn't the cause she resented—it was the people, the shallow indulgence in generosity meant only to ease their conscience.

Beside her stood Maya and Zeyla, both alert despite the luxurious setting. Maya, ever observant, whispered near her ear, "Madam, Minister Liu has been eyeing you since we arrived. He's coming this way."

Noor exhaled softly, already tired.

As predicted, Minister Liu approached with a smooth, calculated smile. "Miss Noor, as impressive as ever. Your work never ceases to amaze."

Noor gave him the barest nod. "Minister Liu."

"Your contributions are unparalleled," he continued, his gaze lingering a second too long. "Tell me, what drives a woman of your stature to invest so much in these... causes?"

Noor's lips curved slightly, but there was no warmth. "A sense of responsibility, Minister. Unlike those who think wealth is its own virtue."

The subtle sting in her words was deliberate. The minister chuckled, masking his discomfort. "Sharp as always."

Before he could continue, another voice cut in.

"I don't recall Noor ever entertaining empty conversations."

Maya stiffened. Zeyla turned, her usual indifferent expression flickering with something unreadable.

Noor didn't have to turn to know who it was.

Sanlang.

His voice was rich, smooth as aged wine, yet carrying a sharp undercurrent. He stood just beyond her peripheral vision, allowing his presence to seep into the moment before stepping fully into the golden light.

Dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, his emerald eyes held the glint of someone who had grown too accustomed to getting what he wanted—except this. Except her.

Minister Liu hesitated, then forced a polite chuckle. "Ah, Sanlang. Didn't expect to see you here."

Sanlang smiled lazily, tucking a hand into his pocket. "Did you think I wouldn't care about orphans?"

The minister cleared his throat, mumbled something about greeting others, and excused himself.

Sanlang turned fully to Noor. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoyed scaring off men."

Noor finally met his gaze, eyes steady. "And yet, you're still here."

A slow smirk played on his lips. "Because I don't scare easily."

Ms. Li, Sanlang's secretary, had been standing nearby, watching the exchange with mild exasperation. She finally stepped forward, her voice crisp. "Mr. Sanlang, your presence is requested by Director Zhou and—"

"Not interested," Sanlang cut her off without looking away from Noor.

Ms. Li sighed. "I thought so." Then she exchanged a glance with Maya, who only raised a brow as if to say, You should be used to this by now.

Zeyla, who had been silent, finally spoke. "This isn't your kind of event." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "You don't attend galas unless you have something to gain."

Sanlang's smirk deepened. "I do have something to gain."

Noor's jaw tightened. She knew what he meant.

Zeyla tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Do you?"

A flicker of something dark crossed Sanlang's expression. But he masked it just as quickly.

Noor set down her untouched champagne flute. "We should be leaving."

Maya nodded, already anticipating the move. "The car is waiting."

Sanlang took a step closer. "Leave with me."

Noor inhaled slowly, as if measuring the weight of those words. She turned to face him fully, their distance closing into something dangerously intimate. "And where would we go?"

Sanlang studied her for a long moment. "Somewhere you don't have to pretend."

The air between them was taut, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name.

Ms. Li cleared her throat. "Mr. Sanlang, you have prior engagements."

Sanlang didn't even glance at her. His gaze stayed locked on Noor.

A choice.

One she had made long ago.

Noor turned away first. "Good night, Sanlang."

But she never made it to the exit.

Because Sanlang was suddenly beside her, his voice near her ear. "Noor."

Something in the way he said her name rooted her to the spot.

She didn't turn. She should have walked away.

She didn't.

And so, she let herself be led into the shadows, into a quieter place where the world couldn't watch.

--

The lounge was dimly lit, bathed in the golden flicker of candlelight, casting elongated shadows along the polished mahogany walls. The air was thick with a quiet tension, heavy yet unspoken, wrapping around them like an invisible thread.

Sanlang sat on the velvet couch, his frame draped in effortless elegance, yet his body was rigid with restraint. His blond hair fell over his forehead, strands catching the light as if spun from the sun itself. His emerald eyes, piercing and unreadable, fixated on the woman across from him—Noor.

She sat with an air of quiet detachment, her somber silk dress flowing like liquid night over her frame. Even in stillness, she exuded an untouchable grace, a beauty so devastating it made his chest tighten painfully.

Sanlang exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the crystal glass in his hand. "Do you still not drink?" His voice was low, smooth, yet there was an edge to it, something raw beneath the surface.

Noor met his gaze with a quiet steadiness. "I never have."

A humorless chuckle left his lips. "You should. It numbs things."

Her expression didn't change. "I have nothing to numb."

A sharp breath hitched in his throat. ''Lies". He knew it as well as she did. Noor carried sorrow in her eyes—an ocean of it—yet she never let it slip, never allowed it to consume her. He envied her for that.

Sanlang leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, studying her in the dim glow. The golden light caressed her features—the delicate curve of her cheek, the dark lashes that framed her unreadable eyes, the fullness of lips that had once whispered his name in a voice only he was meant to hear.

His fingers tightened around the glass. "Do you ever tire of pretending, Noor?" His voice was softer now, a whisper that held too much.

She didn't look away. "And do you ever tire of chasing ghosts?"

His jaw clenched. The answer sat on his tongue, bitter and undeniable. I never tire of chasing you. But he swallowed it down, just as he had swallowed down every impulse, every ache that she never allowed him to touch.

A slow smirk curved his lips, masking the wound beneath. "You think I'm chasing ghosts?"

Noor simply tilted her head. "Aren't you?"

The silence between them stretched, a fragile thread pulled taut. His emerald gaze burned into hers, willing her to break, to show something—anything—but she remained unshaken.

Sanlang leaned back against the couch, exhaling. His beauty was almost otherworldly in the candlelight—golden, haunting, tragically untouchable.

She stood up.

Behind her, Sanlang exhaled sharply. "You drive me insane, you know that?"

She closed her eyes. "Is that so?"

He took a step closer. "You stand there, acting like you don't feel this—" His voice broke slightly. "Like I'm the only one suffering."

Noor's fingers curled. "Sanlang—"

"No." His hand caught her wrist, gentle but unyielding. "Look at me."

She did.

And it was a mistake.

Because his eyes were raw, burning, filled with everything he couldn't say.

His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "Tell me this is enough," he murmured. "Tell me this moment is all we'll ever get."

Noor swallowed, the ache in her chest unbearable. "It's all there is."

Sanlang let out a bitter laugh. "Liar."

His fingers brushed against her jaw, tracing the line of her cheek. "Then why do you tremble when I touch you?"

Noor's breath hitched.

His lips ghosted over her skin, near her temple, near the place where memory and longing intertwined. "You do."

She clenched her fists. " Don't ,Sanlang."

A pause.

Then, so quietly it was almost a plea—

"Then make me ."

Noor's resolve splintered. For just a second.

And in that second, he kissed her.

It wasn't desperate, it wasn't rushed. It was slow, deliberate, like tracing the outline of something sacred.

Sanlang pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. His breath was ragged. "Tell me to stop."

Noor's lips parted—

But no words came.

Because this was it.

And there was nothing after.

The gala had begun to settle into its late hours, where the guests lingered more out of indulgence than necessity. Noor had already left, leaving behind only the faint presence of her absence—a void that, for some, was far more enticing than her actual presence.

At a secluded table near the grand balcony, Maya, Zeyla, and Ms. Li stood watching the remaining spectacle unfold. From their vantage point, they had the perfect view of two groups: the women still fawning over Sanlang and the men who had spent the entire evening trying—and failing—to gain Noor's attention.

Maya took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Look at them." She tilted her glass toward the group of high-profile socialites still lingering near Sanlang, adjusting their dresses, tossing their hair, pretending to laugh at jokes they didn't even hear. "You'd think they were auditioning for the role of 'The Woman Who Will Finally Tame Sanlang.'"

Ms. Li, ever composed, didn't even glance up from her phone. "They might have better luck applying for sainthood."

Zeyla let out a low chuckle. "I almost admire their perseverance. He hasn't looked at a single one of them all night."

Maya smirked. "He never does. Not when Noor is in the room."

Ms. Li finally looked up, her gaze shifting toward the cluster of well-dressed businessmen who had spent the entire night orbiting Noor, like moths to an unbothered flame. "And yet, they still try. Pathetic."

One of the men, a young heir from a powerful corporate dynasty, was still watching the entrance Noor had walked through nearly twenty minutes ago. His friend nudged him, muttering something about 'being more aggressive next time.'

Zeyla raised an eyebrow. "Next time?" She leaned against the railing. "What do they think will happen? That she'll wake up one day and suddenly crave their overpriced suits and empty compliments?"

Maya scoffed. "They don't get it.Madam Noor doesn't notice men. At least, not the way they want her to."

Ms. Li tapped her fingers against her phone. "The tragedy of men who believe persistence equals significance."

A soft chuckle escaped Zeyla. "Tragic indeed. Though, if they knew even half of what she's capable of, they wouldn't even try."

Maya's lips curled. "They'd be too busy running for their lives."

From the other side of the room, a familiar voice—one of the more determined socialites—rose above the soft hum of conversation.

"Sanlang is just... difficult. He needs the right kind of woman."

Maya turned her head slightly. "Did she just say 'the right kind of woman'?"

Ms. Li sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let me guess—she thinks she's the exception?"

Zeyla smirked. "They always do."

Maya leaned in conspiratorially. "Should we tell them?"

Zeyla tilted her head. "Tell them what?"

Maya grinned. "That Sanlang already belongs to someone?"

Ms. Li folded her arms, watching as Sanlang—who had spent the last several minutes looking absolutely done with the entire event—finally turned and made his way toward the exit, ignoring the fluttering hands and expectant gazes around him.

"No need," Ms. Li said. "They'll figure it out. Eventually."

Maya watched as Sanlang disappeared through the same doors Noor had left through earlier. "And when they do?"

Zeyla chuckled. "It'll be their tragedy. Not ours."

Sanlang sat on the couch, sprawled in frustration, his head tilted back against the cushions. The dim glow of the lamp cast long shadows across the room, but his mind was far from the present. His fingers clenched against the fabric of his trousers as his thoughts betrayed him.

Noor.

He could feel her.

Not in memory, not in fleeting glances—but on him.

His hands traced the ghost of her touch, the way her silk-clad body had hovered just close enough to ruin him. His mind painted the illusion too vividly: Noor straddling him, her midnight gown slipping off one shoulder, her breath hot against his throat. The press of her hands against his chest, her weight sinking into his lap, her long, ink-black hair tumbling over him like the night itself.

Sanlang exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

He could almost taste her.

His hands curled into fists. If she had stayed just a second longer, if she had *let him*—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the illusion. He exhaled a curse under his breath.

The door pushed open without invitation, and Li strode in, looking like she had crawled out of sin itself. Her usually sharp, put-together demeanor was in ruins—lips slightly swollen, hair tousled, and a faint red mark blooming on the side of her neck.

Sanlang arched a brow, amused.

"Well, well. Looks like someone had a productive night."

Li ignored him, heading straight to the minibar. She poured herself a drink, downing it in one go before finally speaking.

"We need to leave. Now."

Sanlang smirked, sitting up.

"And here I thought you were just doing the walk of shame."

Li shot him a glare, tossing the empty glass onto the counter.

"Your shoot got moved up. Midnight call time."

Sanlang stretched, rolling his neck.

"Perfect timing. I was just about to lose my mind."

Li scoffed.

"Oh, I know."

---

They left within minutes, the city lights flickering as Li took the wheel. Sanlang lounged in the passenger seat, watching her grip the steering wheel like she wanted to break it.

He let the silence stretch, then smirked.

"So… was he any good?"

Li didn't bother looking at him.

"I'm not discussing my sex life with you."

Sanlang sighed dramatically.

"Selfish."

Li rolled her eyes.

"You're just jealous ."

Sanlang chuckled darkly, glancing out the window.

"At least one of us is getting laid"

---

Sanlang arrived at the set just past midnight, stepping out of the car with the ghost of Noor still haunting his thoughts. The chill of the night did nothing to cool the fire raging inside him, the remnants of his illusion still clinging to his skin like a cruel taunt.

Li parked the car and shot him a look, but for once, she didn't say anything. She knew.

The director greeted him, half-excited, half-exhausted. "We're going straight into the love confession scene," he informed. "The script's on set."

Sanlang nodded absently. He barely glanced at the script. What were words when his soul was already bleeding?

The cameras rolled.

The actress stood before him, beautiful, expectant, waiting for him to deliver his lines. But as Sanlang opened his mouth, something inside him cracked.

The script dissolved from his mind.

The set faded.

All that remained was the unbearable ache in his chest, the weight of a something he could never reach, a devotion that burned him from the inside out.

He took a shuddering breath, his fingers trembling as they reached for her, only to stop just short of touching her skin.

His voice, thick with emotion, wavered between agony and longing.

"I had a dream," he whispered, "a nightmare, really. You were gone. I was standing in a world that still looked the same, still breathed and moved, but it was empty. Dead. And I realized then, with a kind of pain I didn't know was possible, that you—" he swallowed hard, "—you are the only thing that gives this life meaning. Without you, I don't exist. Without you, I don't even know what I am anymore."

A hush fell over the set.

The crew, the director, even the lead actress—everyone froze, their eyes locked on him.

His hands clenched into fists, as if trying to hold himself together, but the despair in his eyes betrayed him.

"Do you know what it's like to love someone so much that they become the very air you breathe?" His voice cracked, raw with unspoken grief. "That every step you take, every thought you have, every single beat of your heart belongs to them? That's what you are to me. Not just someone I love—not just a part of my life—but my whole existence."

The silence in the room was suffocating.

His gaze burned, distant, seeing someone else entirely almost as she was the one standing on front of him.

"If you asked me to walk away, I swear I'd try, but I wouldn't get far. Because I would always, always come back to you."

A single tear slipped down the actress's cheek—because whatever Sanlang was channeling was too devastatingly real.

"You could run to the ends of the earth, and I would follow," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would walk through fire, through storms, through the wreckage of everything I've ever known, just to be where you are. Because if you are not there, then nothing else matters. I don't want a life where you are just a memory. I don't want a future where you're just someone I once loved. I need you, now, tomorrow, always."

Li sat at the edge of the set, watching. Her fingers dug into her arms, her expression unreadable.

Because she knew.

This wasn't acting.

This was Noor.

"If the world was ending," Sanlang whispered, "I would want to spend my last moments with you because you are the only thing I have ever truly lived for. If everything was crumbling, I wouldn't pray for survival—I would pray for one last touch, one last look, one last second where I could hold you and know that I was yours. And if I had that, if I had even a sliver of you before the world collapsed, I would die with a smile. Because loving you… even for just a moment… is worth more than a lifetime without you."

The camera crew had forgotten to breathe.

His hands trembled. His heart pounded so loudly it felt like it might break through his chest.

"But it's not just about the end of the world. It's about right now. It's about every day that I get to wake up and know that you exist, that you are breathing, that you are here. And I will love you like it's our last night, every single night, because I never want to take a single second of you for granted. You are my devotion, my faith, my reason. If you leave, if you ever turn away, you won't just be walking away from me—you'll be taking everything I am with you. Because without you, there is no me. There never was."

The actress parted her lips, stunned. The room was charged, thick with something too sacred to break.

Sanlang let out a broken laugh, shaking his head as his eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

"So tell me, tell me what you want me to do. Because I am already yours, in every way that matters. My heart, my soul, my very breath—it all belongs to you. If you asked for my life, I would give it. If you asked for my love, I would drown you in it. There is no part of me that isn't already lost in you."

A soft gasp came from someone in the crew.

He finally reached out, his fingers brushing against the actress's wrist—but he wasn't touching her.

He was reaching for someone else. Someone who wasn't there.

"So if you tell me to stay, I will stay. If you tell me to leave, I will go—but I will never stop loving you. Even if you break me. Even if you destroy me. I will still love you, until my last breath, and beyond."

The moment shattered.

The director snapped out of his trance. The crew exchanged stunned glances. The actress blinked rapidly, shaking off whatever had pulled her in so deep.

Then—silence.

No one spoke. No one even dared to.

Li exhaled softly, shaking her head.

Because in the end, only she knew the truth.

Sanlang had just bared his soul to the entire world.

And it had never been for the woman standing in front of him.

Sanlang's breathing was shallow, his pulse heavy in his ears. The illusion of Noor still clung to him—her warmth, the press of her body, the ghost of her scent lingering in the air. His fingers twitched against the armrest, aching to hold something that wasn't there.

Then—

A burst of applause shattered the moment.

It was loud, sharp, pulling him violently back to reality. Sanlang's head snapped up, eyes unfocused for a split second before the present came rushing in. The crew, the flashing lights, the entire set stood before him, watching as the director clapped his hands together.

"Perfect take, Sanlang! Absolutely breathtaking!"

He blinked, disoriented.

The camera was still rolling. The lead actress beside him looked at him with something between admiration and curiosity, her lips parted as if she had felt something in the air, something raw. But it hadn't been for her.

None of it had been for her.

Sanlang exhaled sharply, forcing himself to loosen his grip on the chair. His skin felt hot, his body wired with an energy that had nothing to do with the role he had just played.

A crew member rushed forward, patting his shoulder. "Man, that was intense. You really felt that scene, huh?"

Sanlang forced a smirk, wiping a hand over his face. "Yeah," he muttered. "Something like that."

But as the cameras powered down and the crew moved on, he sat there for a moment longer, jaw clenched.

Because the truth was—he hadn't been acting.

Sanlang had barely risen from his seat when Li approached, hands tucked in his pockets, watching him with that knowing smirk. Before he could say anything, the lead actress—Mei—walked toward them, her steps hesitant yet determined.

"Sanlang," she said softly, her voice carrying a lingering emotion.

He turned, his expression unreadable, but his silence only made her more resolute. "That was… incredible. The way you looked at me—it felt real."

Sanlang said nothing. His gaze, though polite, was distant, as if he had already forgotten the moment.

Mei took a step closer. "I just—" She hesitated, gathering courage. "I know I shouldn't say this, but… I think I've fallen for you."

Li, who had been leaning against a nearby prop, let out a quiet sigh. He had seen this happen too many times.

Sanlang's expression remained impassive. "Don't." His voice was low, indifferent.

Mei blinked. "Don't what?"

"Don't mistake acting for reality," he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air. "That scene—it was just a performance."

Mei's face fell. "But I—"

Sanlang didn't wait for her to finish. He simply turned and walked away, his strides unhurried but deliberate, as if she no longer existed in his world.

Li sighed, pushing off the prop and walking past Mei. But before he followed Sanlang, he glanced back at her with an amused, almost pitying look.

"You think he's some tragic, romantic hero, don't you?" Li chuckled. "He's not. He's just really good at pretending."

Mei's lips parted slightly, her fingers curling into fists.

Li's smirk faded slightly as he added, "In reality, he's a horrible person. You should be glad he walked away first."

With that, Li turned and followed Sanlang, leaving Mei standing in the fading echoes of her own foolish hope.