Then he was gone.
And all Noora could do was sit there, trembling.
Stunned. Bruised. Breaking.
She felt the ghost of his grip still burning into her scalp, his threats echoing like a ticking bomb in her chest.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Let him touch her? Let him mark her? Let him ruin her?
Or disappear? Leave everything behind. Her mother. Her identity. Her last thread of dignity.
She couldn’t do either.
Just the thought of vanishing…of erasing her name… of never seeing her mother again, was like being shoved off a cliff blindfolded.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
But she had to pull herself together before her mom came back. Sophie had suffered enough. Noora wouldn’t let her see the wreckage of what Luciano had turned her into. Not again.
The door clicked open.
Noora flinched.
But it wasn’t him. It was Sophie, carrying a plate of fruits. Her steps slowed the moment she saw the broken vase on the floor. Her eyes scanned the mess, then lifted to her daughter.
For a moment, she didn’t say a word, just stared with a silent ache. But instead of asking, she knelt and started picking up the shattered pieces.
“No, Mom—don’t,” Noora croaked, trying to get up. “I’ll clean that—”
Sophie shook her head gently. “It’s okay, honey. I got this. You rest.”
She swept up the fragments as if they weren’t glass but something far more delicate—like they were pieces of Noora herself.
Then she came to sit beside her on the bed, brushing a strand of hair off Noora’s forehead with trembling fingers.
“Noora…” her voice was soft, hesitant, but heavy with knowing. “Did something happen with Luciano?”
Noora’s lips quivered. She tried to smile. She tried to lie.
“No, Mom,” she whispered. “I… I just got upset. He scolded me for being careless, and I—I threw the vase.”
Sophie didn’t argue. She just nodded slowly, eyes cast down, but her silence screamed louder than any accusation.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie whispered, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this life. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve given you more than this. A home that didn’t hurt you. I failed you, didn’t I—”
Noora’s chest caved in. “Mom…” her voice cracked, tears spilling freely. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t—”
She lunged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother, burying her face in her shoulder like a child again.
“You’re the best mother in the world,” she sobbed, clutching her tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t say those things. Don’t ever say that. You didn’t fail me. You never did. If you say that, it feels like you’re going away—and I… I can’t lose you, too…”
Sophie froze in her arms, as if Noora’s words had knocked the breath out of her.
Then she held her back; strong, sure, motherly.
“I’m not going anywhere, silly girl,” she murmured sadly, “I’ll never leave. Never.”
And for a while, the world just stopped.
And in that fragile moment, Noora realized that;
She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t give up.
She would never let Luciano—or anyone—erase the life built on her mother’s sacrifice.
9 P.M…
Even if it destroyed her.
……
Luciano sat sprawled on the edge of his bed, his white shirt hugging his broad frame, sleeves rolled, the top buttons undone to reveal just a hint of chest.
One hand braced behind him, the other languidly held a glass of blood-red wine, swirling as he watched the moonlight bleed through his window.
His gaze shifted between the clock and the stars. 8:59.
Tick…
Tick..
Tick.
The glass trembled slightly in his grip. She would come. Of course, she would.
The clock struck 9:00 sharp.
Knock~
He didn’t turn. His voice was low, sharp. “Come in.”
He heard the click of heels—measured, deliberate, deadly. Still, he kept his eyes locked ahead; not acknowledging her presence as if she didn’t matter.
“So, what did you decide?”
Silence. Only the sound of her heels stopping right in front of him.
That silence pierced him deeper than any answer; this time—demanding to acknowledge her presence. His patience snapped. His head lifted to meet her eyes.
And there she was.
Noora stood like a firestorm in flesh, her chin raised, her eyes blazing defiance hotter than hell.
There was something feral about her this time; beautiful, dangerous, untouchable. It sucker-punched the breath from his lungs.
“Yes,” she said, her voice like a sword sheathed in velvet. “I’ve decided.”
She took a slow step forward.
Then another.
And another—
Until—
She was so close he could smell the faint perfume on her skin.
Something wild and soft.
Something that shouldn’t have belonged to a girl like her.
“I’ve decided I won’t let you take anything else from me,” she whispered, venom coiling behind every word. “Not my dignity. Not my mother. Not my existence. I won’t let you erase what I’ve bled to build, Luciano. I won’t run anymore.”
Her voice trembled—but not from fear. From power. From hatred. From resentment.
For him!
Luciano’s jaw clenched, every muscle tight. He should’ve hated this. He should’ve laughed in her face and told her to get the hell out.
But instead…
His blood roared with something dangerous that he tried long to suppress.
His control snapped like glass under pressure.
Noora reached for her shirt—and with one swift jerk, ripped it open, buttons flying like shrapnel as fabric fluttered to the floor.
Her bare skin shimmered in the moonlight, but it wasn’t her body that undid him. It was her eyes…those damned, defiant eyes staring straight into his soul as she said, steady and lethal:
“Do whatever you want, Luciano Richardson.”
A beat of silence.
Then another.
He didn’t look at her body. He couldn’t.
Because he knew—if he let his gaze drop an inch, he’d lose every ounce of the restraint he still clung to.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he growled, voice ragged, deeper than it should’ve been.
“Yes,” she whispered challengingly.
“This is your last chance, Noora Veneitte,” he whispered dangerously. “Leave now. Because once I move—once I touch you—there’s no going back.”
He prayed—prayed—she would bolt. Turn her back and run like hell—away from his life—as far as she could so he could erase her everything.
He was so sure she’d do that but—he never imagined her to still stand in front of him, like a prey offering itself to the devil.
She took one final step forward and hissed, “I’m not running anymore.”
And that was it.
Whatever self-control he had left—crumbled.
With a guttural sound that wasn’t quite human, Luciano surged forward. His arm looped around her waist and yanked her into his lap, her body crashing into his with violent heat.
She gasped as her legs straddled him, her bare chest pressed against the fabric of his shirt, the friction electrifying.
Her fingers curled in his collar.
His breath hitched at her throat…
