Dawn crept into the chamber like a thief, pale and merciless. Noor sat upright, Sanlang's head heavy on her lap. Her hand drifted through his hair, each stroke slower than the last.
Her obsidian eyes gleamed golden.
Her voice bled into the quiet, low and unsteady:
"The grave is greedy, but memory is worse. It devours without end."
She brushed his lashes with her fingertips, her touch steady while her throat trembled.
"Kang… how many times must I hold you this way? Still, you rise in fire. Still, you fall in ash. And I—"
Her breath broke. She pressed her lips to his temple, lingering there as if to brand him.
"—I always remain."
She slipped carefully from the bed, robe trailing across the stone.
But his lashes stirred. His eyes cracked open and silver poured through them, like two full moons.
Then he saw it: a crimson spider lily against the white sheet where she had been.
Fury lit his gaze. Veins darkened at his temple, his hand flexed, almost clawed. For an instant, it seemed he would crush the flower.
Then his eyes shut, silver drowned. His chest rose steady again, sleep reclaiming him.
The room smelled of steam and skin. Noor stood at the counter, robe loose at her collar, pouring tea into chipped cups. To Sanlang, waking in her bed, she looked like the whole world folded into one body.
He rose, crossed to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His lips grazed her throat.
"Morning," he rasped, voice thick with need.
"You should have slept longer," she murmured, steady though her hand trembled faintly on the cup.
"You weren't there."
She turned in his hold, obsidian eyes catching the light, gold burning faint at their rim. Her lips curved, soft and sorrowful.
"And if I vanish again?"
His voice cracked. "Then I'll vanish too."
Their mouths met. The kiss deepened, burned. Her fingers tangled in his hair; For a moment, the estate vanished.
Sanlang's arms wrapped around her waist, lips grazing her throat. For a heartbeat, hunger drowned everything else.
Then—
The phone shrilled.
Sanlang groaned, snatched it up. "What."
"Mr. Sanlang!" Ms. Li's voice cracked like a whip.
"The press is swarming your father's building, sponsors are losing their minds, and I've got thirty unanswered calls from Yilan. Do you want me to burn alive out here?"
Sanlang smirked, drawled, "Try not to look so flammable," and cut the call.
Noor's hand lingered on the counter, knuckles white.
The phone rang again, harsher.
He answered.
"Sanlang!" Ms. Li's voice spat, all pretense gone.
"Don't you dare hang up again. I don't know what you've done, but Yilan's voice..she sounded frantic. There's a wall of reporters at the gate, screaming questions about your father, about Kalpa, about you. If you don't show your face, this explodes in hours."
Sanlang's jaw tightened. He snarled, "Then let it explode," and killed the line.
He pressed Noor harder against him, mouth seeking hers, desperate to reclaim the moment.
The phone rang a third time.
He wrenched it up, laughter jagged in his throat.
"You brat!" Ms. Li hissed, fury raw.
"You think this is a joke? Cameras are rolling, headlines are already live, and Yilan told me—she can't hold it alone. Whatever storm she's in, it's tied to your name. If you don't come, you're finished. And maybe she is too."
This time, Sanlang didn't hang up. His eyes flickered. His breath stilled.
He ended the call slowly, the weight of it hanging heavier than rage.
The kettle hissed. The phone blinked.
Noor stood still.
Her voice came quiet, cutting through the silence:
"Every time I have you close, the world claws you back. Every time."
Sanlang turned,confusion flickering beneath his hunger. "Noor—"
She did not move toward him. Her gaze lowered.
"Go. I told her it would not hold much longer."
Sanlang froze, thrown off balance. "You… what?"
Her lips curved faintly, not in a smile, but in the shadow of one. "You'll understand soon enough."
She stepped aside, tying her robe with calm hands, opening the space between them.
Sanlang hesitated torn between her warmth and the weight of the call but in the end, he obeyed.
The door closed on his shadow.
Noor turned back toward the bed. The spider lily lay red against the white sheets, bright as a wound that would never close.
Outside, the gardens glimmered green .
Inside, Noor sat draped in white, her damp hair dark as ink against her shoulders. A cup of tea steamed between her hands, porcelain glowing faintly.
Maya entered with a tablet pressed to her chest, fingers trembling. She laid it before Noor.
Maya: "Madam… you need to see this."
On the screen, bold letters screamed:
ACTRESS CONFESSES — SANLANG DRUGGED, FRAMED.
Video rolled — Sanlang limp, staged, the actress sobbing her confession.
Maya's voice was small, reverent.
Maya: "It's everywhere. Every outlet. Overnight. We searched for weeks, hired the best investigators, spent millions… and they found nothing. But now—"
Noor lowered her cup. Porcelain touched saucer with a sound thin as a bell as she spoke. "Because they searched. And I bought."
Maya blinked. "Bought… what?"
Noor's obsidian eyes lifted, their rim faintly veined with gold.
"Every channel that spat his ruin. Every pen that signed his fall. Every newsroom, every feed, every hand that repeated the lie. Two hundred billion. A cheap trade."
The words fell with calm finality, heavy as scripture.
Maya staggered. "Two hundred… billion?"
Noor sipped, serene.
"Truth is never found. Truth is bought. Lies are vermin cheap, endless, crawling into every ear. But truth… truth devours empires. And once I pay for it, it belongs to me alone."
Her lips curved faintly, not in smile but in certainty.
"I own truth now."
---
Zeyla's gaze slid lower, to the crawl beneath the headline. Another line glared:
KALPA ERASES ITSELF — RECORDS DISSOLVED, STRUCTURE VANISHED.
Her chest tightened.
Memory yanked her back into the night before the study, the flute's last note dying. Janir at the window, blood crusted at his cuffs, reflection fractured in the glass.
Her voice had cracked into the silence:
"Do you ever wonder why we exist? You, me, her. Do we matter — or are we only shadows in her story?"
Janir hadn't turned. His voice was low.
"Meaning is a toy for children. Hold it too long, and it crumbles. There is no answer. Only the chain you drag."
Her throat burned as she almost whispered What chain does she drag?"
At that, he turned, fever-bright eyes pinning her, smile sharp enough to cut.
"She does not drag chains. She forges them. The rest of us only decide whether to wear them… or be dragged by them."
---
Now, in the morning's glow, Zeyla stared at Noor. Her lips parted, a word slipping out before she could stop it:
"Sadness…"
Noor turned her gaze. She set her cup aside, her voice drifting out.
"There was once a city where the people sang every night to keep the darkness away. They sang until their throats bled, until their children were born hoarse, until the silence itself smelled of iron. The priests told them: Sing louder, or you will be devoured. And so they sang. Louder. Always louder.
"One night, the darkness swallowed the city anyway. And when the last survivor begged the void, Why did you take us when we sang so faithfully? the void answered: Because you kept singing. And because you never stopped."
She lifted her cup once more.
"That is what devotion buys. Not mercy. Not reprieve. Only the hunger it pretends to delay."
The silence pressed down, suffocating.
Zeyla's breath stilled. Her knees weakened. She wanted to look away, but Noor's eyes pinned her.
Maya muttered, brittle sarcasm cracking the silence:
"Well. Good to know. Next time I'll just skywrite my loyalty. Might be cheaper than two hundred billion."
Her words fell sharp, but Noor did not answer.
And Zeyla thought, heart pounding, Janir was right.
Maya's tablet shrilled again. She muttered a curse and hurried out, her voice rising into the hall as she snapped into the call. Then silence reclaimed the chamber.
Zeyla stayed.
The words slipped from her lips before she could call them back.
"Do you ever wonder what it costs… to move the world as you do?"
Noor lifted her eyes. Her voice fell softly, a whisper carved in stone.
"There was once a king who hung his crown above his bed, so he would wake each dawn beneath its weight. One night the nail bent. The crown fell. It split his skull open. His courtiers wept ...not for him, but for the crown, bent and bloodied. They hammered it straight again. He was buried crooked."
She sipped her tea. Then she added, almost idly:
"Men always mourn the metal. Never the flesh."
The silence thickened.
Zeyla's chest tightened, her voice breaking free rougher than she intended.
"Whatever crown you forge, my loyalty is to you, not to its weight."
The words sounded feeble even to her own ears. Noor did not move, but her gaze pinned Zeyla in place eyes fathomless. For a heartbeat, Zeyla swore she heard something else in the room: whispers, the faint drag of chains across stone, the echo of weeping that was not her own.
And then Noor spoke.
"Crowns bend. Graves fill. Names are carved, then forgotten."
Zeyla's breath caught. Her knees trembled. She turned sharply and fled, her footsteps clattering too loudly down the corridor.
Behind her, Noor rose, drifting toward the window.
Her reflection stared back at her, obsidian eyes rimmed with cold fire.
"Loyalty is only the perfume the chained wear to sweeten their rot."