"Oh… it's already so late? No one even woke me up?"
Amraha had fallen asleep last night while waiting for her aunt to return. She doesn't know whether Isabella managed to sleep or not. As soon as Amraha gets up, she freshens herself in the washroom and steps out of the room.
What are these sounds?
The noise is unmistakable—laughter, the hum of voices, as if many people have gathered together. Curious, she walks downstairs.
In the living room, her eyes instantly fall on the sofa. There, sitting gracefully, is her aunt, and beside her is her grandmother. From the angle of her aunt's front, Amraha notices Isabella as well.
"Aunty…"
The single word leaves her lips heavy with longing. She rushes forward, throws her arms around her aunt, and buries herself in that embrace. For Amraha, it is a moment of pure solace—like resting in the arms of her own mother. Tears sting her eyes, and for a fleeting instant, the twenty-one-year-old girl feels like a child again, remembering her mother with aching clarity.
"How are you?"
Her voice trembles with emotion, the words simple yet laden with feeling.
When she looks up, she finds her aunt's eyes glistening too.
"I'm fine, my child…" the woman whispers back, her voice soft and breaking.
After answering, her aunt sits down, and Amraha settles beside her. Silence lingers for a brief heartbeat before her aunt begins asking about her studies, her life, her past days. And Amraha speaks—she tells everything as though countless thoughts had been locked inside her, waiting for this very moment to be shared.
All the while, her grandmother and Isabella sit quietly, listening, their presence a silent comfort in the room.
......
"They've caught two of our men. They'll collect information, everything out of them… Do you think this is a joke? If Haruto Isagi find out from someone else—if we keep hiding this—then we're all as good as dead!"
Hilton's voice cuts through the night, sharp with anger.
"And even if we confess that things are slipping out of our hands," Marqy replies grimly, "we might still be killed for failing."
The two men stand on the rooftop of a deserted house, the wide ocean stretching before them. Yet all they can see is the shadow of death looming closer. Fear clings to their faces, their minds faltering as though their reign, their power, their terror—all of it is crumbling into dust.
Hilton rests a hand on Marqy's shoulder, his tone heavy but determined. "We need to speak to Haruto. He won't turn on us. And if something happens—then so be it. At least he's within reach."
Marqy hesitates, then pulls a phone from his pocket, his eyes flicking toward Hilton. When every path seems closed, even a fool's advice starts sounding reasonable. With that thought, he dials and lifts the phone to his ear.
After the brief exchange of greetings, Marqy begins recounting everything. His words flow faster, his expression darkening as though every sentence drags him deeper into despair. Finally, he thanks the man on the other end, then ends the call with a trembling hand.
"What did he say? What did Haruto decide?" Hilton demands.
Marqy swallows hard. "He said… it's just one girl. Kill her. Once she's gone, there will be no one left to reach the court."
Hilton's jaw tightens. "So now?"
"Now," Marqy answers coldly, "we watch her every move… and then we make sure she doesn't live to see another days."
......
Amraha's home is less a house and more a fortress—a vast villa built like an old palace. Guards patrol every corner, cameras remain fixed at all hours, and the reinforced glass windows are proof against bullets. To harm her, to take her out, even to attempt a gunshot here is impossible.
"Where are you heading so early?" a voice calls out. "my mother said you'd be making the guest list today—and you'll need to invite some of your friends as well."
Amraha stands before the mirror, brushing her long hair. Her dark locks fall heavy and silky all the way to her waist, spilling in waves of effortless beauty.
"I know, I remember," she replies. "But I have to go to the university today. The process for the next term has started—results are out, I've passed, and I need to move forward. That's why I'm going. I'll be back in two hours."
With those hurried words, she dashes out of the room, then out through the grand doors of the villa. The driver steps forward, opening the car door for her. Guards surround her discreetly as she slips into the car. A moment later, the engine hums, and she's on her way to the university.
From a distance, Hilton and Marqy watch. Fortune has finally favored them—Amraha has stepped out of her fortress.
"Now?" Hilton mutters.
"Now we follow," Marqy answers coldly.
"We'll keep after her until the moment is right—and when it comes, she won't take another breath."
He lifts a black box from the ground, the gun inside gleaming with menace. With a swift motion, he places it in their jeep. They trail Amraha's car across the road, keeping just far enough to remain unseen.
....
The university looms ahead, sprawling and massive. The gates swallow Amraha's car into the busy campus. Hilton grips the steering wheel tighter.
"We can't do it here," he growls. "The place is too crowded. We can't smuggle in guns either."
Marqy's eyes narrow, fixed on the campus gates. "Then we find another way. Something has to be done before she returns to that house."
........
The moment Amraha enters the room, a chorus of cheers erupts.
"Oooooo!"
"Aaaaaa!"
"Hahahaha!"
Laughter and excitement fill the air. Several girls rush forward, wrapping their arms around her in tight embraces, while others shower her with congratulations. Friends press gifts into her hands, their voices overlapping with joy.
"You really did it! You scored so well—topped the campus!"
Amraha, her face glowing with happiness, accepts the presents one by one. "Thank you," she says warmly. "But I'm also proud of all of you. Your results are good too. I know you'll all succeed in life."
The group bursts into chatter, a celebration quickly taking the shape of a lively party.
After some time, Amraha slips out into the corridor, gifts balanced in her arms and her phone in her hand. The hall is quieter here, almost empty. She tries to scroll through her messages as she makes her way toward the dean's office.
Moments later, she's inside. After a brief meeting, the dean himself walks her back out, speaking with gentle pride.
"It makes us so happy when a student doesn't depend on wealth, but moves forward with their own hard work. That is an honor for us."
He pats her shoulder before turning back into his office.
Still smiling, Amraha notices someone leaning against a pillar ahead. The sunlight spills across her face, while the shade of the pillar falls to her left. And there—standing tall, arms crossed over his chest—is a boy.
His hair falls long across his forehead, heavy and unkempt, yet effortlessly handsome. A band wraps around his wrist. His checkered shirt hangs loose, the top button undone. He is lean but broad-shouldered, one leg bent against the pillar, the other casually supporting him as he stares directly at her.
For a second, his eyes widen—then he moves.In a sudden motion, he grabs Amraha by the arm and yanks her toward him. The gifts fly from her hands, scattering into the air like torn paper. The next instant, he slams her back against the pillar with him, and her head strikes his shoulder.
Shredded ribbons, notes, and wrapping papers burst apart in the air, fragments tumbling like snow. Her phone crashes to the floor.In front of her and she is, In that frozen moment, the world slows. Amraha's heart pounds, her eyes wide with shock.
Then—gunfire. Bullets slam into the pillar, sharp cracks echoing, fragments of stone splintering onto the floor. She stands paralyzed, pressed against him, his arm still locked firmly around her.
Her cheek rests against his shoulder; his grip around her left arm is unyielding. Her right hand clutches his upper arm for balance, though she hardly realizes it.
"Stay here,"
his voice commands, low but firm.
He eases her back a step and leans past the pillar to glance toward the rooftops across the courtyard. His gaze narrows. No gunman in sight.
Out of bullets… he counts the holes in the wall, lips tightening.
"Yes. They've emptied their rounds".
His grip tightens around Amraha's arm again. Without another word, he drags her into a run down the corridor. Her breath stumbles in her throat, her mind spinning.
Who is this boy? Where is he taking me? What just happened? Were those gifts… bombs?
She can't find answers. She can only run with him.They dart into a side hall, then slip behind the campus apartments, finally stopping in a secluded corner.
He turns to her, scanning her face.
"Are you okay?"
Amraha stares at him, half dazed, her lips parting but no words coming out.
"How did you know?" she whispers at last. "That the gifts had… bombs?"
"Bombs?" "tuss" He lets out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"No, madam. Not bombs." His tone is edged with sarcasm. "Someone tried to shoot you. I saw the red laser dot right on your forehead. If I hadn't pulled you away at that moment, you'd already be dead."
He lifts a finger, tapping it lightly against the spot on her brow.
"You should go home now. And be more careful. I'll walk you to your car."
Her steps falter as they begin to move.
"How do you even know I have a car?"
"Your dean," he replies smoothly. "Dean said you're the kind of student who doesn't rely on her father's wealth. Which means you do have wealth—you just don't flaunt it. I only connected the dots."
Amraha raises an eyebrow.
"So you read people this quickly?"
"Not all people." He slips both hands into his pockets, striding casually at her side.
Her voice hardens with sudden suspicion. "And what if you, die with me right know?"