Chapter 68: In the name of You

The estate was alive with the scent of spring, where vibrant flowers spilled over marble pathways, and the air hummed with the lazy buzzing of bees. The gardens had fully bloomed, filling the vast courtyards with soft pastels and bursts of rich crimson, as though nature itself had decided to dress in luxury. Birds chattered endlessly, gossiping in high-pitched whistles, as though competing with the humans strolling below.

And speaking of gossip—

"I never thought I'd see the day when our cold, indifferent Maya would blush over a man," Zeyla drawled, her voice dripping with mock astonishment. She leaned against a white stone pillar, arms crossed, lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. "Truly, spring brings miracles."

Maya, who had been admiring the blooming peonies (and definitely not thinking about Lior), stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied coolly, plucking a stray petal from her sleeve.

"Oh, please." Zeyla rolled her eyes. "Don't insult my intelligence, darling. We all saw how you turned into a lovestruck maiden the moment he entered the room. If you'd sighed any harder, I would've mistaken it for a windstorm."

Maya shot her a glare. "You mean you all saw whatever your delusional minds wanted to see."

"Right, right." Zeyla nodded, pretending to agree. "Of course. I must've imagined the way you stared at him like he was a rare artifact from a forgotten empire." She placed a hand over her chest dramatically. "And the way you—oh, I don't know—smiled at him like he personally pulled you out of the depths of despair? No? Just me?"

Maya clenched her jaw. "One more word and you'll be admiring the flowers from the bottom of the fountain."

Zeyla smirked, unbothered. "Worth it."

A soft chuckle interrupted them. Noor, dressed in a silk gown of deep emerald, walked past, her presence effortlessly commanding yet serene. She didn't stop to join their antics, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes.

Maya exhaled sharply. "Why do I even talk to you?"

"Because I'm fun."

"You're a menace."

"Same thing."

As they bickered, the evening sun cast golden hues over the estate, setting the spring blossoms aflame in the fading light. Laughter and conversation drifted through the courtyard, blending with the soft rustling of petals in the breeze.

Not too far away, Sanlang leaned against a carved stone railing, watching the scene with an unreadable expression. Noor stood a few feet ahead, gazing at the flowers, her hands lightly trailing over the petals. There was something almost tender in the way she touched them, as if reading an unspoken language hidden in their folds.

For a moment, Sanlang forgot himself, forgot the noise of the world. He only saw Noor—standing among the blooms, her dark hair rippling like silk against the soft explosion of color. He had never believed in poetry before, but perhaps, if it had a form, it would look like this.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted when Maya's voice rang out:

"And what are you staring at?"

Sanlang blinked. Zeyla turned toward him with a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. "Don't tell me you have a springtime confession too, dear actor?"

Sanlang scoffed, tilting his head. "If I do, I'd rather not share it with you."

Zeyla gasped theatrically. "Rude. Maya, control your colleague."

"I have better things to do," Maya deadpanned.

Noor, as always, remained outside of the absurdity unfolding behind her, though there was the faintest curve at the edge of her lips—a ghost of amusement.

Sanlang watched her for a moment longer before turning back to the endless teasing behind him, exhaling with a quiet chuckle. Perhaps spring did bring miracles.

Or at the very least, chaos.

A year had passed since the storm of blood and shadows faded, leaving the estate bathed in a peace that felt almost surreal. The laughter of children echoed through the halls again, flowers bloomed in wild defiance, and the empire Noor built had only grown stronger.

And yet, some things never changed.

"Unbelievable," Zeyla drawled, arms crossed as she leaned against a stone pillar, eyes locked on Maya with pure amusement. "A whole year of peace, and now—now—you decide to fall for someone?"

Maya, standing among the lush garden paths, let out a slow breath. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please." Zeyla rolled her eyes. "Lior walks in, and suddenly you're not the terrifying, no-nonsense assistant we all know? You, Maya, hesitated when speaking to him. I thought I was hallucinating."

Maya ignored her, plucking a petal from a nearby peony.

Zeyla smirked. "You sighed."

Maya stiffened. "I did not."

"You did."

Maya turned, expression sharp. "Zeyla, I swear—"

"Oh, relax." Zeyla waved her off. "I'm just celebrating the fact that after an entire year of you being an ice statue, you finally feel something."

Maya clenched her jaw. "One more word and I'll drown you in the fountain."

"Worth it."

A quiet chuckle made both of them pause. Noor, dressed in deep emerald silk, walked past them with effortless grace, her presence as commanding as ever.

Sanlang, standing a few steps away, barely registered their conversation. His eyes had already found Noor.

A year had passed, and yet she was still the one thing he could never stop looking at.

She moved through the courtyard like she belonged to a different world—unshaken by time, untouchable despite everything they had shared. The golden light of spring wove through her dark hair, casting soft shadows along the delicate line of her jaw. She was elegance and restraint, untouched by the noise of the world around her.

And for the thousandth time, Sanlang felt that crushing weight in his chest.

"She's walking away," Zeyla noted, tilting her head. "A shame. You could've used this golden opportunity to throw yourself at her feet."

Sanlang exhaled. "You are deeply annoying."

Maya, arms crossed, glanced at him. "And you are deeply pathetic."

Sanlang groaned. "Why do I even talk to you two?"

"Because we tell you the truth," Zeyla said, feigning sympathy. "And the truth is, you've been staring at Noor for an entire year, and she still acts like you're background scenery."

Maya hummed. "Maybe she'll notice you in another five years."

Sanlang scowled. "You two are actual demons."

"Oh, we know." Zeyla grinned.

Noor had settled beneath the shade of a flowering tree, a book in her hands, utterly unbothered by the world.

His feet carried him forward.

Noor didn't look up when he reached her. He stood there for a beat too long before clearing his throat. "What are you reading?"

She turned a page. "Something you wouldn't understand."

Sanlang huffed a quiet laugh. "Ouch."

Finally, she glanced up, her expression unreadable. "Did you need something?"

Yes. You. Always. But that seemed a bit much.

"Just… some company."

Noor studied him for a long moment, then sighed and gestured to the stone bench beside her. "Sit."

Sanlang lowered himself beside her, careful to keep his distance. The scent of spring flowers mixed with the faintest trace of her perfume, and it was driving him insane.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The garden was peaceful—bees humming, petals shifting in the breeze, laughter echoing somewhere in the distance. And yet, Sanlang's chest felt tight, his pulse uneven.

Then, out of nowhere, Noor murmured, "You stare too much."

Sanlang's breath caught. "I—"

"You always have," she continued, tilting her head slightly, as if inspecting him. "Even before you realized why."

He swallowed, gripping the edge of the bench. "And why do you think that is?"

Noor's lips curved—just slightly.

Sanlang exhaled, the ache in his chest tightening.

A year. A year of being near her, watching her, wanting her—and yet she still held him at arm's length, always just beyond reach.

________

Noor stood alone, her figure lost in the vast silence of the night. The world around her was still, but within her, a storm raged—an agony that no voice had ever named. She let her thoughts spill into the darkness, not as a whisper, but as a quiet reckoning.

"Are you... listening?"

A pause.

"If you are… tell me—where do the forsaken go when the battle is over? Do they wander like ghosts, carrying their silence like a shroud? Or do they dissolve into nothing, forgotten even by time?"

The air remained empty, heavy with the weight of the unspoken. Noor's breath was steady, but inside, she was unraveling.

"I was not made for_____Not for hands that heal, not for arms that hold. They shaped me in war, carved me out of ruin. And yet…" Her voice faltered, caught between confession and denial.

"And yet… I ache."

A bitter exhale. A quiet surrender.

"This wretched hope that gnaws at my bones? I have buried it a thousand times, crushed it beneath duty, drowned it in silence. And still, it lingers."

She closed her eyes. Memories pressed against her ribs, fighting to resurface—fragments of a past she could not touch without bleeding.

"If I was meant to be untouched, why does my soul still reach?"

Silence.

And yet, for all its indifference, she still spoke.

Sanlang stood at the threshold of Noor's chambers, unseen, yet unable to turn away. He had heard her voice—soft, broken, speaking into the nothingness. And something inside him twisted, like a string pulled too tight, threatening to snap.

Footsteps.

Maya.

She approached with quiet certainty, her presence always measured, always knowing more than she ever said. She came to stand beside him, her gaze flicking past him toward the dim-lit chamber where Noor stood alone, lost in a world neither of them could reach.

Maya spoke first.

"She doesn't expect an answer."

Sanlang's jaw tensed. "I know."

"Then why do you wait, hoping she'll hear you?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead as if to push something away. "Because… I feel like I should be the one to answer her. But I don't know what to say."

Maya studied him, her expression unreadable.

" Sanlang. What good would your answer do?"

His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I don't know," he admitted. "But when she ..I … I feel like I know her. Like I've known her far longer than I should."

Maya's eyes darkened, something unspoken flickering behind them.

"Perhaps you have."

Sanlang turned to her, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated.

"Memories aren't always lost, Sanlang. Sometimes they are buried."

His breath caught. "Buried?"

Maya's gaze dropped to the floor, her silence deliberate.

Sanlang stepped closer, his voice edged with something between desperation and fear. "Tell me what I'm not seeing, Maya."

She finally met his eyes, and for the first time, there was something like pity in her expression. "Not everything that's been taken from you should be found."

His chest tightened. "But Noor—"

Maya cut him off, her voice sharp. "Madam Noor is the last person you should ask for answers."

A silence stretched between them.

Sanlang turned back toward the open doorway, watching Noor's silhouette as she stood unmoving in the dim glow of the night.

"Then why does it feel like ____she's the only answer I'll ever need?"

Maya exhaled, the faintest ghost of sadness in her expression. "Because some things are meant to haunt us."

Sanlang's hands clenched at his sides. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his own breathing. A riddle he had spent years unknowingly trying to solve. And now, here was Maya, speaking in half-truths, standing between him and the one thing he couldn't name but couldn't let go of.

He turned to her, his voice lower now, restrained. "You're hiding something from me."

Maya didn't flinch. "It's not my place to give you what you've already lost."

"Then whose place is it?"

She exhaled slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. But then silence bitting her lip.

Sanlang let out a bitter laugh. " I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something, Maya. And every time I take a step forward, something pulls me back."

Maya's expression remained unreadable, but her voice softened just a little. "Then maybe you should ask yourself why."

Sanlang's jaw tensed. "I don't need riddles, Maya. I need answers."

For the first time, something in her eyes flickered—an old memory, a hesitation. But she quickly buried it. "You think answers will set you free? What if they only bind you tighter?"

Sanlang stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Then let them."

A silence stretched between them, thick with things unsaid.

Maya sighed, shaking her head. "You think love is enough, don't you?"

His breath hitched. He hadn't said it. Hadn't dared to. But the word hung between them now, fragile and undeniable.

Maya continued, her voice quiet but firm. "She is not someone you can _____Sanlang. She is not someone you can hold onto."

His heart clenched. "Then why does it feel like I already have?"

Maya turned away slightly, her eyes drifting back toward Noor's figure.

Maya didn't answer right away. She simply looked at him, searching for something in his expression, before she finally spoke. "Let it go, Sanlang."

His stomach twisted, but before he could respond, Maya stepped back, giving him one last unreadable look before turning on her heel and disappearing into the corridors.

Sanlang remained standing there, staring at the place where she had been, his heart pounding in his chest.

The moment Sanlang left, the silence thickened, clinging to her like a burial shroud.

The night stretched endlessly, darker than ink, deeper than time itself. Noor stood at the heart of her estate, yet the air around her no longer felt earthly. The walls whispered, the chandeliers flickered, and somewhere in the distance, something unseen trembled awake.

Then came the silence—vast, merciless, watching.

A weightless force coiled around her throat, not strangling, but claiming.

She stiffened. Her breath turned to mist, though there was no cold.

Something was here.

Something far older.

And then, a voice.

"You were never meant to interfere."

The words did not echo. They did not pass through the air.

They descended—like law.

Noor did not move. Did not answer.

The voice continued, slow, deliberate, unchallenged.

"You shattered the balance. You rewrote what was written in blood."

The weight in her chest grew unbearable.

"And now, the decree must be fulfilled."

A searing pain tore through her body. Noor's knees buckled, her vision cracking like fractured glass. The room blurred, twisted, shifted.

And before her stood something that should not be seen.

Neither man nor beast, neither shadow nor light.

It had no face. No form. And yet, she knew.

"You were warned."

Noor could feel the words crawl into her bones.

Her breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs.

This was not death.

It was something worse.

A price beyond mortal suffering.

Her lips parted, but she did not beg. Did not plead.

The thing loomed closer, silent, unyielding.

Then—pain.

Not of the body. Not of the mind.

But of the soul.

It wrenched something from her, something unseen, something that had always been hers. A piece of herself—ripped away, unmade.

Noor's hands trembled. Blood dripped from her fingertips.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her vision blurred.

The decree had been passed.

And she was forsaken.

The world had faded. Time had shattered. Noor lay still upon the cold marble floor of her chamber, her body an abandoned vessel, yet her soul—unbroken.

Her silver eyes, glazed with something beyond pain, stared into the abyss above. Blood traced the contours of her cheeks, cascading like shattered rubies, yet she made no effort to move.

Somewhere, in the unseen void that only she could perceive, a presence lingered.

A whisper—not from her lips, but from the depths of her being—rose into the silence.

She blinked slowly, blood-stained lashes quivering. A faint smile—too knowing, too tragic—touched her lips.

"No chains could hold me. No decree could erase me. No gods—no devils—no twisted fates could ever claim what is mine."

Her fingers curled weakly, grasping at the empty air, as if searching for something long lost.

" I have already died a thousand deaths. And yet, I still remain."

A low murmur, neither voice nor breath, drifted through the chamber. The presence shuddered, uncertain now.

She exhaled, slow, deliberate.

"If this is punishment, then let it be so."

A crimson tear slipped down her cheek.

"But you are mistaken if you think suffering is new to me. If you think loss is foreign to my soul."

Her voice was soft, but it echoed everywhere.

The air grew heavy.

And then—a whisper like a love letter to the void.

"He will return. Just as I have. Just as I always will."

Silence.

A pause.

A lingering tremor in the unseen.

Noor closed her eyes.

And in the suffocating darkness, with blood on her lips and sorrow in her bones—

She smiled because she knew it was her fate to bear.

________________

Sanlang strolled into his penthouse, feeling oddly… lighter. It had been a long, suffocating night, but after seeing Noor—even for a brief moment—he felt as if he could breathe again.

Ms. Li, his ever-faithful (and ever-annoying) secretary, was waiting for him, arms crossed, expression one of sheer disappointment.

"Oh, look who finally decided to return. And in one piece, too! I was starting to think some rich heiress had finally kidnapped you for a private collection."

Sanlang sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Not tonight, Li."

"Not tonight? So I should book an appointment for your dramatic sulking session tomorrow?" She grabbed a tablet from the counter. "Oh wait, scratch that. You have a shoot at 6 A.M. sharp. Six. As in before-God-himself-wakes-up o'clock. Try not to look like you just escaped a funeral, hmm?"

Sanlang groaned, sinking into the couch. "Cancel it."

"Oh, sure. I'll just tell the multi-billion-dollar advertising team, the twenty actors, and the director that our beloved Mr. Sanlang prefers his beauty sleep over his actual job." She scoffed. "Or should I inform Noor instead? I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear how committed you are."

His jaw clenched at the mention of Noor. Ms. Li smirked.

"Ah, there it is. The tension. The brooding. The longing stares into the abyss." She waved dramatically. "Maybe we should just rename the ad 'The Tragic Tale of a Man Who Can't Get Over His Ex'. It'd sell like crazy."

Sanlang shot her a glare, but before he could retort, his breath caught.

A deep, piercing ring shot through his ears.

The room blurred, Ms. Li's voice fading into static. Something cracked inside his head—something buried, something that didn't want to be found.

"Sanlang."

A whisper—soft, familiar, agonizing.

His vision swam.

Then the touch came—gentle, yet searing. His skin burned as if someone was tracing over old wounds, waking memories he wasn't ready to remember.

"Sanlang?" Ms. Li's voice was sharp now, the sarcasm gone.

He gritted his teeth, gripping the couch as the pain worsened. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath shallow. The whisper returned, clearer this time.

"Don't forget me."

A sharp gasp left his lips. His body trembled.

Ms. Li reached for him, but as his eyes snapped to hers, she froze.

They weren't his eyes anymore.

Something dark—something lost—reflected back at her.

Her stomach twisted. "Okay, you're seriously scaring me right now."

He barely heard her. His chest clenched. His body burned. Then—

Nothing.

Sanlang slumped forward, his head falling into her lap.

Ms. Li sat there, completely still, staring down at the unconscious man sprawled across her legs.

She blinked. Then sighed. "Oh, great. He is dying. And of course, it's happening on my watch."

She poked his cheek. Nothing.

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "Noor, whatever curse you put on this man… 10/10, seriously."

She hesitated, glancing at his face. His expression was twisted in pain, a single tear trailing down his temple.

Her teasing faltered.

For the first time, she felt something rare—fear.