Three months later. The scene had shifted from that dark, mysterious restaurant to the sun-drenched, bustling streets of an American city—either Manhattan, New York, or somewhere in Los Angeles.
Laboni had become an entirely new person. There was no trace left of the broken, humiliated, and battered woman she had once been. As she walked along the American streets, it felt as though she alone commanded the beauty and rhythm of the avenues.
Laboni's new look:
Outfit: A crisp white formal shirt with the top two buttons undone, paired with a deep navy-blue mini skirt—a modern and bold statement of her confidence.
Hair: Her long black hair was free, flowing down her back without ribbons or belts, swaying with the wind.
Glasses: Dark-framed spectacles made her look both intelligent and mysterious.
As she walked in her heels, the clicks on the pavement drew the attention of passersby—Americans and tourists alike. Her stride radiated unshakable self-confidence and poise. To a casual observer, she might have seemed like a high-profile intelligence officer or the CEO of a multinational corporation.
Yet beneath this transformation lay a deep secret. Three months ago, Henry had left her in emptiness and humiliation—but from that wreckage, Laboni had rebuilt herself. She had come to America to ensure her daughters lived safely and to pursue a secret mission. She knew people like Henry were not confined to one place.
Suddenly, her eyes caught a massive digital billboard across the street. Henry's face appeared, accompanied by bold letters:
"International Security Summit: Keynote Speaker Henry."
A sly, curved smile appeared at the corner of Laboni's lips. She adjusted her glasses with a calm, deliberate motion.
Laboni (thinking): "You thought, Henry, that night, you had defeated me? I've returned—and now the game is on your turf, on my terms."
The shadow of pain had vanished from her face, replaced by a cool, mysterious smile. Standing in the blazing New York sunlight, she celebrated a new chapter of her life. No one knew how silently she had reconciled all the scores in the past three months.
She was no longer helpless. Her daughters in Bangladesh were grown, independent, and safe. Rehan, her beloved younger brother, was at peace. Her older brother had safeguarded the rest. With her family secured, Laboni finally had the courage to reclaim herself. Her white shirt and skirt were more than fashion—they were symbols of her freedom.
At a street corner, Laboni hailed a taxi. Before getting in, she looked up at the sky, recalling that night—the ribbons around her neck, Henry's ruthless control. But today, she smiled as a victor.
She realized Henry had tried to destroy her—but in doing so, he had forged her into a stronger version of herself. While Henry gave a speech at the summit, Laboni now stood on a level he could never reach.
Pulling out her phone, she drafted a message but didn't send it. She left it as a draft:
"The rose you tried to pluck, Henry, has now blossomed freely in another garden. You will never hold it in your hands again."
The taxi drove on. Laboni slid her sunglasses over her eyes, leaning back as the remnants of her old life—the shame, the fear, that crimson night—fell behind her. Ahead lay only a new world, where she lived on her terms.
At the towering conference center in America, preparations for a glamorous international summit were underway. Today, the keynote speaker was none other than IG Henry. Laboni paused in front of the hotel mirror, making her final adjustments. She had switched into a stylish criss-cross backless white top with denim pants, letting the chain and ribbon at her waist add both allure and authority. Her hair shimmered under the bright lights, and the dark glasses completed the effect. Inside, a fire of vengeance burned.
At the gate, hefty bodyguards blocked her path.
Bodyguard: "Sorry, ma'am. No entry without an invitation card. This is a high-security zone."
Laboni didn't speak. Her lips curved into a mysterious smile as she calmly produced a golden privilege card from her purse. The guards immediately recognized its authority and stepped aside, bowing in respect.
Bodyguard: "I am extremely sorry, ma'am. Please, go ahead."
With supreme confidence, Laboni entered the hall. Thousands of attendees and media representatives crowded the space. She walked directly to the VIP seats, right in front of the dais where Henry was speaking.
Henry: "…Security is not just about laws; it is about mental strength. In my career, I've seen how criminals must be subdued—"
His eyes suddenly locked on the woman in the dark glasses seated in the front row. Recognition struck instantly, and his voice faltered. For a moment, he seemed frozen in place.
Laboni slowly removed her glasses, offering a look of disdain at Henry. He realized that the woman he had humiliated three months ago now sat before him like a queen. The golden card in her hand felt like a slap across his face.
Perspiration dotted Henry's forehead. His old arrogance returned briefly but was now shaken. He understood that Laboni had not come to kill or shame him physically—she had arrived to crush him psychologically, publicly.
As he struggled to continue his speech, Laboni leaned back, sliding her stylish glasses back over her eyes, calm and untouchable. She was no longer a victim. She was the author of Henry's narrative now.
Later, at the glamorous post-summit party, Laboni sipped her drink quietly in a corner. Henry approached, eyes filled with desperate intensity. Attempting to mask his fear, he reached for her from behind. His hand traced over the chain and ribbon on her exposed back.
At that moment, an overseas friend and business partner arrived, witnessing the scene.
Henry (forcing a laugh): "Meet, John. This is Laboni… my wife."
John looked at Laboni, stunned. Three months ago, Henry had introduced her as a simple housewife. Now, in her modern attire, she was unrecognizable.
Laboni felt his touch but shivered only slightly. Calmly, she placed her hand over his and turned to give him a cold smile.
Laboni (to John, quietly but firmly): "Thank you, John. But Henry forgot one detail. I am not just his wife—I am the mirror he has never been able to shatter."
Henry froze mid-motion. He realized that even calling her "wife" no longer gave him ownership. Laboni was entirely her own.In the glamorous atmosphere of the party, Henry's friends and the other women present were utterly captivated by Laboni's appearance and presence. They began commenting openly, praising her fashion sense and confident aura.
One woman said, "Henry, your wife is just dazzling! We've never seen anyone so stylish and glamorous. Laboni, what's the secret to your confidence?"
Laboni smiled, a quiet, mysterious satisfaction in her expression. She cast a sidelong glance at Henry, who, while smiling proudly at the compliments, was inwardly shrinking. He knew this praise was not for him—it was for Laboni, the woman he had once tried to crush, who now outshone him completely.
As everyone showered Laboni with admiration, Henry tried desperately to regain a sense of authority, placing his hand around her waist in front of the crowd.
Henry, with a slightly drunken voice and a hint of arrogance: "Everyone is admiring my wife. So, let's show how deep our love is. Darling, give me a kiss here in front of everyone!"
A hush fell over the entire party. Everyone watched, curious. Henry expected Laboni to blush or shrink, giving him a chance to assert control again.
But Laboni was no longer that woman. She looked into Henry's eyes, smiled—her smile sharp and predatory—and confidently leaned in to kiss him deeply.
The onlookers erupted in excited gasps: "Owwwww! So romantic!"
The room thundered with applause. Everyone thought it was a passionate display of love, but Henry alone felt the chill. Laboni's lips were icy, and as they parted, she whispered into his ear in a low voice:
Laboni: "This kiss isn't for your love, Henry. It's your last farewell. From now on, you'll dance at my command, in front of everyone, and I'll be the one guiding your steps."
Henry, staring into her eyes, realized he was not facing a person but a flame. Outwardly, they looked like a couple in love, but inwardly, the truth was a toxic blue of vengeance.
Amid the party's music and cheer, Henry held Laboni tighter, a twisted smile on his lips. He whispered into her ear, low and dark:
Henry: "See how everyone is looking at us, Laboni? Tonight's desire will be even more intense than last night. I'm not letting you go."
Laboni remained perfectly composed, staring into Henry's eyes. Fear was gone from her gaze; only deep mystery and disdain remained. She leaned close to his ear, her voice calm and deliberate:
Laboni: "I know the secret behind your endless power, Henry. Perhaps you made a secret pact with that dark sorcerer. He must have reduced your age and granted you that monstrous strength. But remember, Henry—the life and youth given by a demon are never permanent."
Henry paled at her words, stunned. How could Laboni know about the sorcerer? Had she been tracking his darkest secrets all this time?
Laboni stepped back, her white backless top and chain sparkling under the lights. She gave a mesmerizing smile to the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Laboni: "Even if youth is regained, conscience cannot be restored, Henry. Tonight, you speak of desire, but we'll see who truly wins in the end."
Henry felt an unfamiliar tremor within him. The woman he thought weak had now uncovered the greatest secret of his life.
Laboni slipped through the crowd toward the restroom to escape the party's chaos. Henry pursued her like a predator. As soon as she entered, he followed, quickly closing the door behind them.
Inside the marble-white restroom, under neon lights, Laboni stood before the mirror. Henry suddenly grabbed her from behind, his desire evident in the reflection.
Henry: "There's no escape tonight, Laboni. This youth, this power… I'll unleash it all on you."
Before she could respond, Henry ruthlessly tore the white ribbon from Laboni's back, loosening her top. She shivered but didn't panic. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her with a violent intensity, driven by the unnatural strength granted by the sorcerer. The silver chain on her back jingled with each movement. The ribbon fell to the floor—just like the red ribbon three months ago.
But Laboni's eyes held no tears. Even amid the kiss, she dug her nails into his shoulder. She understood the power Henry wielded was like a fragile house of cards.
Laboni, pausing the kiss, gasped: "This power will be your doom, Henry. The deeper you sink into it, the closer you edge toward your destruction."
Henry leaned against the wall, panting, sweat dripping down his face. He tried to speak, but only a strange, hollow sound emerged from his throat. He realized Laboni was right—the artificial power inside him was now threatening his life.
Laboni adjusted her lipstick, standing victoriously before the mirror, calm and composed.
Laboni: "Go outside, Henry. Everyone is waiting for you. Tonight, if your desire is revealed to all, not even the sorcerer can save you."
Henry staggered toward the door. Laboni watched as the man who had roared moments ago now trembled like a frail elder. She knew tonight's game marked the end of Henry's dominance.
Outside the restroom, Laboni smoothed her disheveled hair and outfit as best she could. But the red mark on her neck, a fresh reminder of Henry's reckless assault, glowed under the lights.
A young woman entered and recoiled at the sight, her curiosity rising:
Woman: "Oh my God! What happened to your neck? It's so red! Did someone hurt you?"
Laboni saw Henry standing behind her reflection like a guilty perpetrator. The young woman's question made him flinch. He realized the intensity of his desire had physically harmed her, and now everyone could see it.
Henry quickly tried to regain composure, placing a hand on Laboni's shoulder and pretending calm:
Henry: "Oh no, it's nothing. That spot is just sensitive. Maybe a dust allergy or an insect bite. She's quite delicate; even a little irritation shows. Let me help with some cream, Laboni."
Though he spoke casually, fear lingered in his eyes. He feared Laboni might reveal the truth. But she only looked at him in the mirror, the mysterious smile returning to her lips.
Laboni, to the young woman: "He's right. Some touches feel like a venomous insect bite. But don't worry, I know how to neutralize it."
Henry led her out, uncertain if Laboni had saved him or guided him toward an even greater danger.
In the VIP suite of the hotel, Laboni was alone amidst luxury. She gently touched the red marks on her neck, reflecting on the strange twists of life. At that moment, Henry entered without knocking, his eyes no longer filled with lust but deep guilt and fear. He walked slowly toward her. The room was silent.
Henry understood: the power granted by the sorcerer was now consuming him bit by bit.
Henry, in a low, broken voice: "Laboni, forgive me. I realize I've been caught in a terrible trap. The youth and strength given by the sorcerer have taken my conscience and peace. I… I want to end this dark influence."
Laboni, surprised, studied him. She hadn't expected him to realize his mistake so quickly. Henry took her hands in his.
Henry: "It forced me to do things I never wanted. What I did to you that night, and in the restroom tonight—everything was under its unnatural power. Laboni, only you can help me destroy that demon."
Laboni was silent for a long moment. She looked into Henry's eyes, weighing if this was another act or a true plea for freedom. His tears and trembling hands awakened her sense of compassion.
Laboni: "You truly want to end it, Henry? Remember, if you do, all the youth and power you've regained will vanish. You'll return to being the frail, old Henry. Are you ready for that?"
Henry: "I'm ready to die, Laboni. But I don't want to remain a slave to that demon. I want to be the old Henry again, even if it kills me."
Laboni exhaled deeply and placed her hand on his forehead. She realized the battle was no longer just between them—now the fight was against the dark force itself.