Chapter 71: Shattered Illusion

The horizon burned with the first light of dawn, bleeding gold into the sky. Noor stood alone on the balcony, her silhouette outlined against the waking world. The flute in her hands gleamed, catching the sun's fire, but her eyes—half-lidded, distant—were lost in a place beyond the present.

She lifted the flute to her lips. A single, haunting note drifted into the crisp morning air, slow and deep, carrying the weight of something unsaid. The melody wove through the silence, delicate yet unyielding, just like her.

Then, she closed her eyes.

And the past came rushing in.

"Why do you always run from me?" Sanlang's voice—low, rough, edged with something she refused to name.

"I do not run." Her own reply, measured, cool. A lie.

"Then look at me, Noor."

The music faltered—just slightly—but she continued playing, as if the melody itself could hold back the flood of memory.

"There's nothing to see." She had said it so easily.

"Liar."

A sharp breath. The wind picked up, pulling at her hair, carrying his voice into the dawn.

"Do you ever think of me when I'm not in front of you?" His tone had been dangerous that night, soft yet laced with something lethal.

She had not answered. Silence had been her only weapon. But now, standing here in the breaking light, she could not deny the truth.

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, vanishing before it could touch her lips.

The music swelled, raw, unfiltered. The morning sun kissed her face, but it could not warm the cold ache in her chest.

She could still hear his voice in the silence.

"You seem at peace here."

Noor closed her eyes. The memory played out so clearly, as if time had folded, pulling her back into that moment.

"The peace here is a respite from the chaos. It allows for reflection and quiet moments."

She had spoken those words without thought, yet they had meant so much more. She had looked at the horizon then, refusing to meet his gaze, because she had known what she would see in his eyes.

That flicker of recognition. That lingering, searching sorrow.

"This place... it reminds me of something. I don't know why, but I feel like I've sat in a garden like this before… with someone. I can't remember who."

Noor inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest even now.

"A memory without a face is a curious thing." she had told him.

She had wanted to hear it. She had needed to.

"I feel... warmth. A deep familiarity, like I knew that person more than I know myself. But their face is hidden, just beyond my reach."

Even now, those words felt like a blade, pressing against old wounds that had never truly healed. He had known. His heart had known.

But his mind had refused to remember.

Noor opened her eyes, staring at the fading stars above. She had felt it then—the tightening in her chest, the ache of wanting to reach out. But she had swallowed it, burying the pain beneath her usual calm.

"Memories have a way of lingering in the heart even when the mind forgets. Perhaps you're searching for something that has already been lost."

She remembered the way he had turned to her, the frustration in his eyes.

"Do you think I'm trying to replace someone?"

Her lips had curled, just barely. A ghost.

"The heart is a complex thing, Sanlang. It often fills voids with what it remembers, even if it's not an exact match."

And then, his voice—quieter this time, desperate in a way she had not expected.

"And What if what I feel now is real?"

Noor exhaled, pressing her fingers against her temples as if she could force the memory away. But it remained, lingering like an old wound that refused to fade.

Sanlang had been so close.

________

A distant melody seeped into Zeyla's sleep, curling around her like a ghost with unfinished business. She stirred, groggy and irritated, but then—aware. That sound again. That damn melody.

With a groan, she turned over, pressing a pillow over her head.

Zeyla: "Oh, for God's sake. Who wakes up before dawn just to play the soundtrack of the sorrow?"

The music didn't stop. Of course, it wouldn't.

Zeyla sat up with a sigh, rubbing her face before grabbing the half-empty glass of water on her nightstand. She swirled it lazily, watching the ripples from the faint vibrations of the tune.

Zeyla: "You know, normal people just stare at the ceiling in existential dread when they can't sleep. But no, you compose symphonies of suffering."

She got up, padding barefoot to the window. The sky was still half-asleep, the horizon bruised with the slow creep of dawn. Noor was out there somewhere, playing like she was carving something into the air—something no one else could see.

Zeyla leaned against the cool glass, her voice soft.

Zeyla: "What now? Another grand tragedy? Another chapter in your 'eternal suffering' saga?"

She smirked, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Because the thing was—something felt off. The notes weren't just sad. They were final.

Her fingers curled against the windowsill, and her breath hitched before she forced a scoff.

Zeyla: "Tch. You always were dramatic, but this…"

She trailed off. The wind carried the melody higher, stretching it thin, delicate—like something slipping away.

A strange tightness coiled in her chest.

Zeyla (barely whispering): "…Why does it feel like a goodbye?"

The song swayed in response .

The room was a battlefield. Papers stacked high, emails flooding in, and Maya pacing like she was ready to strangle someone. Noor sat at her desk, calm as ever, flipping through a document in one hand while holding a call in the other.

Maya let out a frustrated groan, throwing a file onto the table.

Maya: "I swear, if stupidity was a currency, these people would be Billionaires."

The door creaked open.

Zeyla (yawning): "Ugh, what is this racket? It's too early for your midlife crisis, Maya."

Maya shot her a glare.

Maya: "Excuse me? Some of us are actually working."

Zeyla (smirking): "Oh, is that what you call this? Because from here, it looks like an emotional breakdown."

She grabbed coffee and took a sip, sighing dramatically.

Noor (coolly): "You have thirty minutes. I suggest you use them wisely."

Call ended. Problem solved.

Maya blinked.

Maya: "Wait. That's it? You fixed it?"

Zeyla: "Obviously. While you were throwing a tantrum,Lady Noor was out here ending careers."

Maya (muttering): "I hate both of you."

Zeyla (grinning): "Hate is such a strong word. Let's call it admiration in denial."

Noor finally sighed, rubbing her temple.

Noor: "Both of you, get out."

Zeyla (mock gasp): "Kicked out before breakfast? Rude."

Maya (grinning for the first time): "Feels like a goodbye."

Zeyla's smirk faltered for just a second. Just a second.

Then she rolled her eyes, taking another sip of coffee.

Zeyla: "Please. You're stuck with me forever."

Maya exhaled, rubbing her temples. "God, I need a drink."

Zeyla stretched lazily. "Mm, you might want to hold off on that." She took another slow sip, her voice turning just a shade too casual. "You'll need a clear head for what's coming next."

Before Maya could ask, the door creaked open. Noor's advisor stepped in, face unreadable. A cold draft seemed to slip into the room with him.

"It's done." His voice was neutral, but something in the way he said it made the air feel heavier. "We confirmed everything."

Noor didn't react. She simply turned her gaze to Maya. A slow, deliberate shift. A gaze that pinned, dissected.

Maya's pulse stuttered. "Confirmed… what?"

Zeyla set down her cup, stretching her fingers like a cat before turning toward the advisor. "Go on, tell her. Tell her who's been whispering sweet nothings in her ear."

The advisor barely hesitated. "Lior."

The name slammed into Maya's chest like a physical blow. The room seemed to tilt. No.

"No," she said aloud, though her voice was barely above a whisper. "That's not possible."

Zeyla hummed. "Oh, but it is." Her voice was silk-wrapped steel. "He wasn't after your heart, sweetheart. Just Lady Noor's secrets."

The words twisted like a knife in her gut. Maya's mind reeled, grasping at memories, searching for anything to disprove it. But instead—she found the signs. The words he'd said. The moments she had dismissed.

"You trust too easily."

He had laughed when he said it, brushing his fingers against hers. But now, it sounded like a warning.

"You're always so loyal to Madam Noor. Do you ever question her?"

She had thought it was innocent curiosity. But was it?

"What would you do if she betrayed you first?"

She had laughed. Had told him that's impossible.

Noor tilted her head slightly, watching Maya with that unbearable, knowing calm. "How long did it take before you started to wonder?"

Maya flinched.

Zeyla chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "Don't tell me you suspected it all along. That would be too tragic."

Maya's throat was dry. "You knew." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

Maya's stomach lurched. "And you let it happen?"

Zeyla smirked, watching the way Maya's hands trembled. "You see, darling, humans are predictable creatures. Given the right incentive, they will deceive, betray, and destroy—even those they claim to love."

Maya's mind was screaming. No, no, no… But she couldn't deny it.

Noor had known before it even began.

She had seen the betrayal unfold before Maya even dared to suspect it. And she had watched. Silently. Waiting.

"Why?" Maya whispered, her voice barely her own. "Why would you let me go through this?"

Noor stood, stepping toward her.

Maya felt her breath falter.

Noor's voice dipped into something colder, something final. "Tell me, Maya… When you infiltrated the Drangheta, do you remember what I told you?"

Maya's blood ran cold.

"It's always good to say your final goodbyes."

At the time, she had brushed it off as Noor's usual cryptic warnings. But now—now it felt like a prophecy.

Zeyla let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. "Ah, the agony of realization. It's beautiful, really."

Noor tilted her head, considering Maya like one would a chess piece at the final move. "Now, Maya… what will you do?"

Maya swallowed, her nails digging into her palms. "…What choice do I have?"

Noor smiled. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It was simply inevitable.

"That depends. Will you shatter? Or will you finally learn?"