Chapter 52 : Chasing Shadows

Sanlang's heart thundered as he arrived—uninvited—at Noor's estate, a reckless impulse that had overpowered his self-control the moment he thought of her. Which, lately, was always. He barely remembered the drive here, only the suffocating need clawing at his ribs, the same torment that had haunted him since that damned piano melody last night.

Now, standing in the grand entrance hall, he was met with an infuriatingly polite smile from one of Noor's attendants.

"Lady Noor is in prayer. It will be some time before she can see you."

Sanlang exhaled through his nose. Of course. He was battling insanity, and she was serenely conversing with God.

Fine. He could wait.

And that was when he noticed them.

The men.

At first, he thought he had accidentally walked onto the set of some mythological fantasy drama where the gods themselves played mortals. They weren't just attractive. They were absurdly, unfairly, obnoxiously beautiful—the kind of beauty that made poets weep and ordinary men contemplate a career in hermitage.

One of them, passing by with effortless grace, had midnight-black hair and eyes like polished obsidian. His skin? Flawless. Like porcelain with a whisper of warmth. His lips? Soft, perfectly sculpted, probably handcrafted by angels in their spare time.

Sanlang's eye twitched.

Another stood near the window, golden hair cascading in loose waves, catching the light of setting sun in a way that made him glow. His emerald-green eyes twinkled with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he had never once been ignored in his life.

Sanlang clenched his jaw.

And then there was the one by the fountain. With deep chestnut curls and piercing blue eyes, his delicate yet masculine features were so damn ethereal that Sanlang actually had to look away. The knowing smile the man shot him only made it worse.

Was this a sanctuary for celestial beings, or was Noor just collecting beautiful men like limited edition artifacts?

Sanlang had never doubted his own appeal. He was an internationally desired actor, for God's sake. Women worshipped him. Men wanted to be him.

Yet standing here, surrounded by Noor's personal gallery of perfection, he felt an unfamiliar and deeply unsettling sensation.

Insecurity.

And then came the women.

As if fate hadn't humiliated him enough, his gaze landed on Noor's other attendants—all equally breathtaking. They floated through the halls in modest yet elegant attire, carrying an air of serenity and unattainable beauty that somehow only made them more alluring.

One woman, golden-haired and softly glowing like a literal sunrise, touched a flower as if blessing it with her existence. Another, with raven-black hair and a voice like a whispered melody, knelt beside a child, speaking with a kindness so captivating that even Sanlang—who was actively spiraling into jealous madness—paused to watch.

He dragged a hand down his face.

This was Noor's world. A perfectly curated realm of otherworldly creatures, where mere mortals like him probably required an invitation just to exist.

And Noor? She was above them all.

The moment she entered, the entire room shifted.

Sanlang sucked in a breath.

She was taller than most men, more regal than queens, more untouchable than a star. The soft pink of her dress did nothing to diminish her power—if anything, it mocked the idea that something as delicate as color could make her gentle.

Her gaze swept the room, cold and detached. And when she finally looked at him—right at him—Sanlang felt it in his bones.

"Sanlang," she greeted, her voice as steady and deep as the ocean.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

He had rehearsed a dozen lines, all meticulously crafted to impress her. But standing here, drowning in her presence, the only thing that escaped his lips was—

"There is no match to you."

It wasn't a compliment. It was a confession.

And Noor? She barely blinked.

Sanlang felt a sharp sting in his pride. Did nothing faze this woman? He had just handed her his soul on a silver platter, and she looked at him like he was a particularly persistent storm cloud.

Then she turned to the ridiculously beautiful men beside her.

"Report."

One of them—the golden-haired Adonis—spoke first. "The shipments have arrived. Maya has the reports."

Noor barely nodded, her focus on pouring tea.

Sanlang squinted. Tea.

The sheer indifference in her every movement was maddening. These men, who looked like Renaissance paintings brought to life, were bowing before her, and she didn't even spare them a glance.

For a split second, Sanlang felt victorious.

She didn't care for them.

But then another thought followed—if Noor didn't even glance at these men… how the hell was he supposed to stand a chance?

Panic crept into his gut.

And then—Noor met his eyes again.

The world stilled.

For a breathless moment, he saw something there—a flicker, a crack in her mask, a recognition that made his pulse riot.

And then she shattered it with a single sentence.

"I hope you have been well. I was on a confidential business venture. But here we meet again."

Calm. Cool. Like she was addressing a business partner.

Sanlang almost laughed. **

-------------------------

The grand hall was drowning in an air of unbothered superiority.

Noor had already turned her back, her silk dress flowing behind her like a queen walking past insignificant mortals.

Sanlang was pretty sure if an earthquake hit right now, she wouldn't even blink.

And then, just as she reached the towering double doors—

She paused.

Without looking back, without a single ounce of hesitation, she tossed a single, casual, soul-crushingly arrogant offer.

"Wanna ride?"

Sanlang stared.

Was that a genuine invitation? A taunt? Or was she simply asking if he needed to be put down like a rabid dog?

Noor didn't wait for an answer. She just left.

Sanlang let out a slow breath. "I swear to God, this woman is going to be the reason I get institutionalized."

"Oh, she's already ruined you," Zeyla chimed in, lounging dramatically against a column. "It's like watching a slow-motion car crash, but sexier."

Maya sighed, rubbing her temples. "Sanlang, please try to keep your dignity intact."

Sanlang scoffed. "What dignity? Noor set it on fire and roasted marshmallows over the flames."

Before Maya could respond, a ridiculously well-dressed man in a custom-tailored suit worth more than an entire apartment materialized beside him.

"Sir, if you'd follow me."

Sanlang turned, raising an eyebrow. "And if I don't?"

The man gave him a perfectly polite, completely murderous smile.

"Then you won't see her again tonight."

Sanlang let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I love threats wrapped in customer service politeness. Really warms the heart."

"Not a threat, sir," the man replied smoothly. "Just a reality check."

Maya winced. "Damn, even the staff have her energy. How do you survive here?"

"Barely," Sanlang muttered. "Lead the way, human embodiment of luxury tax."

The man, annoyingly unbothered, turned and walked off.

Sanlang sighed, already regretting his life choices.

---

The elevator doors slid open—

And Sanlang was personally offended.

This wasn't just a garage.

This was what happened when a billionaire decided 'Screw subtlety, let's flex.'

The floors? Black marble.

The walls? Glass and titanium, radiating the energy of 'You can't afford to breathe near this.'

The cars?

An army of hypercars, classic muscle, and concept vehicles so rare they looked illegal.

"Holy shit," Sanlang breathed. "Noor's entire garage is worth more than a small country."

"Oh, this is just the basement," Zeyla added casually. "The good stuff is at the private airstrip."

Sanlang turned slowly. "The what."

Maya sighed. "Don't ask. It'll hurt less."

Sanlang dragged a hand down his face. "You know what? Not even surprised anymore."

And then—his brain shut down.

Because standing in the middle of it all, next to a matte-black motorcycle that looked like pure sin, was Noor.

And she was in leather.

---

Sanlang had seen dangerous things before.

Gunfire. Explosions. The time his co-star tried to deep-fry a steak with a blowtorch.

But nothing—**nothing—**was as dangerous as Noor in that goddamn biker suit.

Tiny waist. Sinful hips. Thighs strong enough to destroy a man's entire bloodline.

Sanlang wanted to die.

"Oh dear God," Maya muttered, looking between Noor and Sanlang. "He's not going to survive this."

"Survive? Please," Zeyla grinned. "He's one deep breath away from catastrophic failure."

Sanlang finally forced air into his lungs, gripping the nearest vehicle for support.

"You realize this is cruel and unusual punishment, right?" he muttered, voice strained.

Noor, annoyingly unbothered, adjusted her gloves. "At least I won't have to hear you complain anymore."

Sanlang let out a sharp laugh. "Wow. Most women at least pretend to have a soul."

Noor tilted her head slightly. "Then perhaps you should be with 'most women'."

"And yet," Zeyla mused, "he keeps coming back. Like a stray cat that refuses to leave."

Maya sighed. "Sanlang, please, for the sake of your remaining brain cells, just get on a bike."

Sanlang groaned, rubbing his temples. "I hate you all."

---

"Pick one." Noor's voice was casual, like she wasn't currently dressed as a leather-clad executioner of men's sanity.

Sanlang was about to make a sarcastic remark when—

Something flew toward him.

He caught the keys midair.

And everything stopped.

Zeyla let out a low whistle. "Damn. Madam never lets anyone touch that one."

Maya looked genuinely confused. "Are we in an alternate timeline? Is the world ending?"

Sanlang twirled the keys between his fingers. "So. This bike's special, huh?"

Noor barely looked at him. "If you don't want it, leave it."

Sanlang exhaled slowly.

Sanlang smirked, stepping closer. "Careful, Noor. Someone might think you actually like me."

Noor's lips curled—not a smile, but something far more dangerous.

"Or maybe," she murmured, fastening her helmet, "I just want to see if you can handle it."

Sanlang inhaled sharply.

"I feel like we should leave," Maya muttered.

"No way," Zeyla grinned. "This is premium entertainment."

---

Noor kicked off first, roaring into the night—black leather and midnight steel vanishing down the road.

Sanlang exhaled sharply.

Then he swung onto the bike, flicked the ignition—

And chased after her.

The others followed—Zeyla, Maya—but Sanlang had one target.

Noor.

"You're fast, princess."

Noor barely spared him a glance. "You're slow."

Sanlang laughed, gripping the handles tighter.

"That's cute coming from someone I'm about to pass."

Noor glanced at him for half a second.

Then she twisted the throttle.

Sanlang barely saw her move—one moment she was beside him, the next she was disappearing ahead.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Goddamn it.

The others had fallen behind.

First Zeyla.

Then Maya.

Until it was just Noor and Sanlang, racing against the night.

Sanlang gritted his teeth.

He had never chased women before.

Not like this.

Because the thing about chasing Noor?

She never let herself get caught.

And that was exactly why Sanlang wasn't going to stop.

---

The engines had gone silent, but the tension between them pulsed like a living thing. The river shimmered under the moonlight, casting silver over Noor's sleek black suit, making her look untouchable but so dangerously close. Sanlang pulled off his helmet, shaking out his hair, but it wasn't the cool night air that had his skin burning. It was her.

"Why did you intentionally lose to me, Sanlang?"

Her voice was as smooth as ever, calm, sharp. That was the worst part. She had no idea what she was doing to him. No idea how that damn suit of hers clung to every curve, how her scent wrapped around him like a drug.

Sanlang scoffed, tilting his head as he gave her a lazy smirk. "Lose on purpose? That's an interesting accusation." He let his gaze drag over her, slow and unapologetic. "Maybe I was just… distracted."

Noor arched a brow, unimpressed. "Distracted?"

"Yes, Noor, distracted," he thought, biting down the urge to groan. Distracted by the way her hair was slightly messy from the ride, by the sweat glistening on her throat, by the way her body molded against the leather seat before she dismounted.

But of course, he couldn't say that.

Instead, he shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Maybe I was just admiring the view."

Noor gave him a flat look, but he caught the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly at her sides. "A cheap excuse," she murmured, stepping toward the river's edge.

Sanlang watched her, his gaze shamelessly following the way her hips moved. GOD, this woman. It was getting harder to think straight, harder to keep his mind from wandering to places it shouldn't.

He wanted to touch her. To press her up against that sleek black bike and feel every inch of her against him. To slip his hands under that ridiculous suit and—

"Stop."

Sanlang clenched his jaw. This was Noor. Noor, who barely acknowledged him. Noor, who could kill a man in a fraction of a second and go back to sipping her tea like nothing happened. Noor, who—

"Who let me ride her bike."

His eyes flickered to the machine behind them, realization dawning. "Wait a second…" He stepped forward, studying her carefully. "You never let anyone touch that bike, do you?"

Noor went rigid.

"Oh."

Oh, this was interesting.

Noor was silent for a moment, then sighed, looking away. "What Maya meant earlier… that bike—I've never allowed anyone to ride it."

Sanlang's smirk widened. "Not even your beloved Zeyla? Or the rest of your little entourage?"

Noor's lips pressed into a thin line.

Sanlang chuckled, stepping closer. "So, I'm the first?" His voice dropped slightly, teasing, playing with the weight of that truth.

Noor didn't respond immediately. And for the first time that night, she hesitated.

Sanlang exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. One moment she was ruthless, cold, unreadable. The next, she was standing under the moonlight, looking just a little too breathtaking, making it harder and harder for him to keep his damn hands to himself.

"I didn't know you could be this cute," he said, his voice low, eyes locked onto hers. "But I suppose you're only like this for me, aren't you?"

The words were a dangerous gamble, and he knew it. Noor didn't tolerate games. But he wanted to push her, just to see if she'd crack. Just to see if maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended to be.

Noor didn't flinch. Didn't waver. But something flickered in her gaze, something that made his pulse spike.

And GOD, he wanted to ruin her composure.

The thought alone made his blood run hotter, made it impossible to ignore how painfully hard he was just standing this close to her. If she knew what kind of thoughts were running through my head right now, she'd probably kill me.

Or maybe she wouldn't.

And that was even more dangerous.

The moonlight wove through each strand of her hair ,making her seem almost unreal—something ethereal, untouchable. But she was here, inches away.

His fingers brushed against her skin as he tilted her chin up. He should have let go. He should have stepped back. But how could he? How could any man taste a moment like this and not crave more?

"You do this on purpose, don't you?" His voice was rough, but there was something almost reverent in the way he spoke. "You move like a storm, wrecking everything in your path, and then—" His eyes searched hers. "Then you stand here like this. As if you don't know the ruins you leave behind."

Noor didn't move away. Didn't chastise him. Instead, a quiet sigh left her lips. "And what if I don't?"

His chest tightened. "Then I'll tell you." His fingers lingered, tracing the shape of her jaw. "You make men go mad. You make me go mad."

She exhaled softly, her gaze steady, but something in her eyes shifted—just a little.

"You speak as if I hold all the power," she murmured. "But look at you, Sanlang."

His hand stilled.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him the way one might observe a wild animal—curious, knowing, patient. "You blame me for the storm when you are the one standing in the rain."

Sanlang let out a low, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "I'd rather drown in it."

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

She let him hold her gaze, let him see something other than cold indifference. It wasn't surrender. It wasn't weakness. It was something quieter, something that left his very soul unguarded.

"Don't look at me like that," he whispered, voice almost hoarse. "Like you could love me, and I'd have to pretend I don't already belong to you."

Noor blinked slowly, her lips curving ever so slightly at the edges. "And if I do?"

His breath hitched.

Then, softer—softer than he had ever imagined—she reached up, her fingers barely grazing his wrist.

Sanlang closed his eyes for half a second, willing himself to breathe, to steady the war inside him.

He put his hands into his pockets, feigning indifference. "Or maybe I just like watching you win."

Noor's gaze didn't waver. "Flattery doesn't work on me, Sanlang."

He smirked, stepping closer. "Oh, I know. If it did, I wouldn't have to work this hard just to get a reaction out of you."

She exhaled, a hint of something flickering in her eyes.But before he could grasp it, she looked away, walking toward the riverbank.

Sanlang followed. Of course, he did. Because despite all her coldness, all her indifference, he was addicted to her presence, to the challenge she posed, to the way she remained just out of reach, like a dream he couldn't wake from.

They stood in silence for a moment, the night wrapping around them, the only sounds their quiet breaths and the gentle lapping of the water.

Then Noor spoke, her voice softer than before. "You shouldn't have come tonight."

Sanlang tilted his head. "Why not?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned to face him,. "Because every time you step into my world, you sink deeper."

Sanlang let out a slow breath. "Maybe I want to drown."

Noor stared at him, something unreadable passing through her expression. And then, as if breaking whatever spell had settled between them, she turned away.

"It's late," she said simply. "We should head back."

Sanlang could only watch as she walked away, his hands clenching at his sides.

Because he knew the truth.

She could push him away a thousand times.

And he would still come back.