Chapter 75: Embers of something Forgotten

Sanlang stood by the window, basking in his own personal brand of misery.

His sculpted frame was drenched in the golden morning light, his damp hair perfectly messy like he'd been dragged through a storm and then sent straight into a photoshoot. He looked like a fallen angel who'd been kicked out of heaven for being too dramatic and way too hot to be this miserable.

And yet, despite being a literal Greek god on the outside, inside, he was an absolute wreck.

Because of her.

Noor.

Noor, who had colonized his thoughts like a caffeinated brain parasite, refusing to acknowledge the absolute disaster she was causing. Noor, who had transformed his life into a beautiful, yet unrelenting tragic comedy.

Sanlang had planned for peace. Silence. Coffee.

But the universe looked at his plan and said, "No."

Because before he could even take his first sip—

DING-DONG.

Sanlang froze mid-sip. His left eye twitched.

No.

No one was allowed to ring his doorbell before noon. That was a law.

DING-DONG.

His left eye twitched like he was about to explode into a billion pieces.

DING-DONG.

His grip on his coffee cup tightened, as though it were his last lifeline in the universe.

DING-DONGDING-DONGDING-DONG.

Sanlang stared at the door, as if he could scorch it to ashes just by glaring at it.

DING-DONGDING-DONGDING-DONGDING-DONG.

He muttered under his breath.

"I am a man of peace. I will not commit crime before breakfast."

Finally, he stormed to the door like a man on a mission of extreme displeasure.

He flung it open—

Only to be greeted by Yilan.

His cousin.His personal living nightmare.

They locked eyes.

And then—without an ounce of hesitation, without even a hint of remorse—

Sanlang slammed the door in her face.

HARD.

Silence.

Then—

DING-DONG.

Sanlang's body sagged as if all hope was lost.

DING-DONGDING-DONGDING-DONG.

"God, if you're up there, feel free to smite her. I won't mind."

DING-DONG.

He cracked the door open just a sliver.

Yilan, grinning like she had been personally sent by Satan, waved like she was greeting a long-lost friend.

"Hi."

Sanlang exhaled. It was deep. It was dark. It was borderline homicidal.

"Come back in five to seven business days," he snarled.

And then—SLAM—he shut the door.

DING-DONG.

Sanlang walked away like a man who had already died inside. He sipped his coffee like it was his last meal.

DING-DONG.

He paused mid-sip. Looked up at the ceiling.

"God, if this is some cosmic test, I am failing... spectacularly."

DING-DONG.

Sanlang dragged himself back to the door like a prisoner going to their execution.

He ripped it open.

Yilan stepped in like she owned the place, with zero hesitation.

"Wow, you look... even worse than I imagined."

Sanlang stared at her. Unamused.

"And yet, here you are. Clearly enraptured by my suffering."

"Enraptured? Darling, no. I'm just a scientist studying a tragic experiment," she smirked, settling into his couch as if she were on a royal throne.

Sanlang shot her a glare. "I think you have a twisted sense of entertainment."

"And I think you have a twisted sense of existing," Yilan shot back, crossing her legs. "Sanlang, when was the last time you did something that wasn't self-destructive?"

Sanlang took another agonizingly slow sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you had a thought that wasn't about me?"

"I have plenty of thoughts," she fired back, clearly unfazed.

"Yeah, but none of them matter."

Yilan's grin widened. "So, where is your tormentor? The one responsible for your... tragic existence?"

Sanlang didn't budge. He just turned back to the window, staring out into the abyss of his soul.

Yilan burst into laughter. It was loud, obnoxious, and wholly unkind.

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE ACTUALLY DOING IT."

Sanlang, without a hint of emotion, took another sip of coffee. Slowly.

"No, I'm not."

"SANLANG, YOU'RE LITERALLY DOING IT RIGHT NOW."

"Prove it."

Yilan grabbed a pillow off the couch, hurled it at him with the force of a thousand sarcastic comments.

Sanlang dodged it without even blinking.

Yilan smirked. "Impressive. Too bad you can't dodge your feelings like that."

Sanlang sighed, his patience running on fumes. "You talk too much."

"And you think too much," she shot back.

"At least I do it silently."

"Oh really?" Yilan waved around the penthouse like it was a set for a horror film. "Because this place screams 'man in crisis,' honey."

Sanlang took another exaggerated sip. "I wouldn't call it a crisis."

"Oh really?" Yilan leaned forward, smirking like she had just caught him in a lie. "Then what would you call it?"

Sanlang tilted his head, smirked right back at her. "An unholy cocktail of existential pain and self-inflicted suffering."

Yilan clapped her hands. "YES! YOU GET IT. THAT'S LOVE, YOU IDIOT!"

Sanlang rubbed his forehead, tired. "God, I hate you."

"And yet, here I am."

"Unfortunately."

"Okay, fine. Who is she?"

Sanlang arched a brow.

"Who?"

"The woman who's ruining your life. Who's the mastermind behind this meltdown?"

Sanlang nodded solemnly. "Her name? Personal Growth. We're in a very complicated relationship."

Yilan rolled her eyes so hard she might've hurt herself. "Sanlang."

"Yilan."

"Don't lie to me."

"That's a strong accusation."

"Sanlang."

"Yilan."

"Who is she?"

Sanlang finally took another sip of coffee, clearly enjoying this way more than he should.

"You're awfully curious about my love life. Should I be concerned?"

"Oh, shut up," Yilan groaned. "I just want to know what kind of woman has you acting like—"

"Like what?"

"Like you have feelings."

"Did you—" he hissed, voice trembling with barely contained rage—"not understand the message?"

Yilan, completely unfazed, popped a piece of gum in her mouth. "I heard it. I just chose not to care."

Sanlang considered arson.

Or self-immolation. Either way, someone was burning today.

Sanlang, visibly malfunctioning, turned slowly. "You insufferable—"

"Tea." Yilan stretched her legs across his table. "No sugar. Extra ice."

Sanlang's soul left his body.

"You—" he took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose like a man reciting every curse word in existence—"You uninvited little goblin."

Yilan smirked. "You forgot 'charming.'"

"I was trying to."

Sanlang marched to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and threw it at her.

Yilan caught it one-handed. "Not exactly tea, but—"

"Drink it. Hydrate. Maybe it'll flush out the demon possessing you."

Yilan took a long sip. "Nope. Still evil."

Sanlang rubbed his temples. "God, why do you test me?"

Yilan sighed dramatically. "You're so mean to me."

"You woke me up."

"It's eleven-thirty."

Sanlang clutched his chest. "And I'm still alive. See how much suffering I endure?"

Yilan burst out laughing.

Yilan froze. It was a brief moment, but it was enough.

"Believe it or not, my life doesn't revolve around some hidden romance," he said, his voice steady but guarded. "I've been busy. Work. Projects."

Yilan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Right. Because running off to an orphanage and hanging around kids is exactly what I expected you to be doing with your free time," she teased, her smile softening into something more sincere. "But really, Sanlang... something's different about you. It's like you're chasing a ghost."

Sanlang's eyes darkened slightly at her words, the unspoken truth lingering in the air. She wasn't wrong.

"I'm not here for a therapy session, Yilan," he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. He picked up his coffee again, this time taking a larger gulp, hoping to steer the conversation away from the thoughts he had been trying to bury.

Yilan smiled, not taking offense to his deflection. She knew him too well to push too hard. "Fine," she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I won't pry. But there is another reason I came."

Sanlang's eyes narrowed slightly as he set his coffee down. "I figured."

Yilan sat up her smirk fading, becoming more serious as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's Father," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "He wants you back."

Silence.

Sanlang stared at her. His expression unreadable.

Then, after a long pause—

He leaned back, slow, lazy, and smirked.

"Father," he echoed, voice dripping with venom. "What a sentimental way to refer to a man who once tried to have me killed."

Sanlang let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Of course he does."

Yilan stepped closer, her gaze softening as she looked up at him. "He's getting older, Sanlang. The board is pressing him to bring in someone who can lead. And we both know the others aren't capable of handling it."

Sanlang leaned back against the marble counter, arms crossed, eyes cold. "Let someone else have it."

Yilan's lips curved, amusement flickering in her gaze. "You always were good at ignoring problems until they showed up at your doorstep." She tilted her head. "But some things don't knock, Sanlang. They break in."

He let out a quiet chuckle, humorless. "Spare me the dramatics, Yilan. I know how this goes. He's losing control, the board's circling, and now he's sending you to convince me to come back and save his empire." His voice dipped, sharp as glass. "Not interested."

Yilan took a step closer, her presence deceptively light, like silk over steel. "You say that as if walking away makes you free." She studied his face, eyes too knowing. "But does it? Or are you just running toward something else?"

Sanlang's jaw tensed. He didn't answer.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. "And tell me, Sanlang—what happens when you finally catch it?"

His grip tightened around his coffee cup, tension thrumming beneath his skin. "You came all this way for philosophy?"

"Call it concern," Yilan said smoothly. "You look like a man who hasn't slept in days. Like a man chasing ghosts." Her gaze flickered, taking in the set of his shoulders, the exhaustion barely concealed beneath his indifference. "Let me guess—this has nothing to do with business."

His eyes darkened, but his expression remained unreadable. "Careful, Yilan."

"Or what?" she mused, tilting her head. "You'll pretend I'm wrong?" A pause, calculated. "You used to be better at lying."

Sanlang's smirk was sharp, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And you used to be better at knowing when to stop talking."

Yilan laughed softly, unaffected. "You forget, I was raised in the same world you were. We don't stop talking. We just start saying things people don't want to hear."

Sanlang sat in the armchair, drumming his fingers against the glass in his hand. The ice had long melted, watering down whatever poison he had been drinking. He hadn't touched it in minutes.

He was staring at her.

Yilan swallowed, but she held her ground. "You always ask why it had to be you."

Sanlang didn't blink. "You always avoid answering."

Yilan exhaled, glancing at the door, considering an exit she would never take. "Because you wouldn't believe me."

Sanlang chuckled. "Try me."

Yilan clenched her fists. "It had to be you, because no one else could survive it."

Sanlang tilted his head, slow and deliberate, like a wolf considering the strength of its prey. "And what is it, exactly? The burden? The legacy?"

"The carnage," Yilan whispered.

He exhaled, pushing off the counter. "We're done here."

Yilan didn't move. "Are we? Because if I leave, you know what happens next. Father stops asking. The board stops waiting. And suddenly, you're not the lost heir anymore—you're just lost."

Sanlang met her gaze, something unreadable passing between them.

She smiled, slow and edged. "You think you have time, Sanlang." A pause, letting the weight settle. "But time has teeth."

Yilan exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she studied Sanlang's face. "You're playing a dangerous game," she warned. "You think you can just walk away? That it won't come back to haunt you?"

Sanlang let out a humorless laugh, his hands curling into fists. "Let it." His voice was low, edged with something dark. "I don't care anymore."

Yilan's jaw clenched. "You should care! Because once you're out, you're out for good. And when that happens—"

"Then let someone else take my place." His words cut through the air like a blade, cold and final.

Yilan stared at him, frustration warring with something softer in her eyes.And now? Now, he was burning every bridge left.

A long silence stretched between them before she shook her head. "Fine. Do whatever you want." She turned, heels clicking against the marble floor, but just as she reached the door, she stopped.

Looking over her shoulder, her expression softened. "Just remember, Sanlang… you're not as alone as you think."

Sanlang gave her a long, measured look, his fingers tapping once against his glass before setting it down with deliberate ease. "That's the thing, Yilan." His voice was quiet, but each word carried the weight of iron. "I stopped trying to outrun my past a long time ago."

Yilan tilted her head, studying him. "And yet, here you are, standing in its shadow."

Sanlang smirked, but it was the kind of smile that held no warmth. "Shadows don't scare me."

"No," Yilan murmured, stepping toward the door. "But one day, you might realize you've been living in one all along."

She reached for the handle but paused, turning back with a slow, knowing smile. "I'll see you soon, cousin."

Sanlang didn't respond. He simply picked up his coffee again, watching as she walked out, leaving the faint scent of her perfume and trouble in her wake.

The door clicked shut.

The moment the door shut, the silence was deafening.

Sanlang stood there, his body rigid, his mind a chaotic storm of thoughts. But none of it—none of it—mattered compared to the one thing clawing at his insides like a living, breathing hunger.

Noor.

He needed to see her. Now.

His movements were a blur—striding into his bedroom, tearing off his shirt, yanking a fresh one from his wardrobe.His pulse was wild, his chest tight. He adjusted his tie with sharp, impatient tugs, his emerald glowing eyes locking onto his reflection in the mirror.

Controlled. Powerful. But beneath that? A man unraveling.

His phone was in his hand before he even knew it, fingers flying across the screen.

Calling Noor…

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

His jaw clenched. Pick up, Noor.

Four rings. Five.

Then—voicemail.

Sanlang exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring, frustration clawing at his throat. He didn't even hesitate. He pressed the phone to his ear and spoke, his voice sharp, desperate, undeniable.

"Noor." A pause, as if he was forcing himself to breathe. "It's me." His grip tightened on the phone. "I need to see you. Tonight. Call me back."

His voice dipped lower, rough with something dangerous, something that bordered on a plea.

"Noor… don't make me come find you."

He ended the call, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

The penthouse, with all its luxury, felt like a prison. The city lights outside blurred as he stood there, hands clenched at his sides, mind spiraling into one relentless thought—

He have to see her find those answers,no matter what it takes him.