Unclothed and Unheard

The silence was thick—oppressive.

Noora blinked.

Her eyelashes fluttered open slowly, painfully, and her blurred vision began to take form. A shape loomed above, not the monster she’d feared—no.

It was him.

Luciano.

His face… twisted. Contorted in a way she’d never seen before. Wrath carved into every line, but beneath that…something else. Something she couldn’t name.

“Lu…ci…ano…”

The syllables cracked from her throat, barely audible, trembling like her bloodied fingers as she tried to gather the torn remains of her dress around her body.

For a moment, his eyes locked with hers.

And something broke~

That look!

It was pure, soul-gnawing guilt bled into pain so raw she thought she might have imagined it. Luciano never looked like that.

He DIDN’T FEEL!!

He COULDN’T FEEL!!!

This had to be her mind slipping into shock.

But then he turned around again with a world-flipping rage.

And she saw it.

Simon. On the floor, blood running down the side of his head, trying to drag in shallow breaths.

A single bone-crushing punch sent Simon’s skull crashing into the marble wall with a sickening crack.

He collapsed again—but Luciano wasn’t done. Not even close.

Luciano grabbed him by the collar like a predator sinking into prey. His knuckles flew, and his fists slammed into Simon’s face ruthlessly.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over.

Wet smacks echoed through the bathroom like a slow, grim drumbeat of vengeance.

Noora couldn’t breathe.

Blood splattered across white tiles, Simon’s nose shattered, cheekbone split. But Luciano was lost in it…completely unhinged. His eyes glazed, jaw clenched; feral, terrifying.

He was going to kill him.

Noora tried to speak; tried to push herself up; but her limbs trembled uselessly beneath her. Her voice cracked like broken glass.

“Lucian… o—”

He didn’t stop.

“Luci…ANO!”

Her scream tore from her soul, all pain and desperation. Her voice rang out like a siren, cutting through the madness.

Luciano froze mid-blow.

His blood-soaked fist hovered in the air, shaking. His breathing came in ragged bursts, sweat dripping down his temple, jaw locked with rage and something ‘unspoken’ before he landed more blows on Simon.

And then—

Footsteps thundered in.

The door burst open.

Gasps echoed.

Everything spiraled into chaos.

People poured in—guards, guests, assistants—all wide-eyed and confused.

Someone screamed.

Another yelled for security.

Phones snapped out like weapons.

Then—

Lucas.

He shoved past everyone, breathless, panic painted across his face.

The moment he entered the room, his gaze fell on her…on Noora, crumpled on the floor, torn dress, blood running down her side and … he stopped cold.

His face turned white.

His hands shook.

“...Noora…”

But before he could move, Cindy stumbled into him, grabbing his arm with a gasp.

“Oh my God…” Her voice trembled but her eyes didn’t.

They lit up, wide and glinting, as they locked onto Noora’s exposed state. Her mouth parted, shocked… no, hungry for what she saw. Then her gaze flicked toward the bloodied Simon sprawled on the floor, her face suddenly changing colors as the realization sunk in.

Luciano’s fists still rained down.

“Nooo… Mr. Clark! LUCIANO!!” Her expression twisted.

“Nooo—Luciano!!” Lucas bolted forward, grabbing his brother’s shoulder. “Stop—Stop!”

But Luciano didn’t even flinch. He struck again. And again. Pure violence in motion. Blood slicked his hands, Simon's face nearly unrecognizable.

“Luciano, STOP—HE’S GOING TO DIE!” Noora screamed for whatever her voice was yelp was worth.

Luciano’s arm finally froze—mid-swing, as if the words finally pierced the blind rage.

His breath heaved. Blood dripped from his knuckles. Slowly, like surfacing from drowning, he looked down.

Simon wasn’t moving.

His neck was bruised blue, his face a pulped ruin. He’d passed out long ago.

“No… no… what’s happening?!”

A shrill voice tore through the chaos.

“Simon!!!”

“NOOOO--- SIMONNNNN!!!!”

Mrs. Clark pushed through the crowd, dropping beside her son in a fit of hysteria, shaking him and wailing.

“God, what the hell happened?”

“Was that Simon Clark?”

“Who is she?”

“Wait— I remember her…”

“That’s… Mr. Richardson’s daughter, isn’t it?”

Voices piled on top of each other.

Confused murmurs turned to whispers. Whispers turned to disgust.

“She looks so cheap—”

“What the hell is she wearing—?”

“Is that blood?”

“Disgraceful…”

“NOOO—MY SONN!! WHAT HAPPENED??”

“LUCIANO!!! HOW COULD YOU??”

Then, Mrs. Clark turned, eyes flaring with hatred as she pointed a trembling finger. “It was her! This BITCH seduced my son!”

Noora’s lungs seized.

The moment hit like a blade to the chest.

“EWW!! She’s shameless.”

“Pathetic girl.”

“Just a lowlife—”

Dozens of eyes, cold, judgmental, burning, raked over her.

Noora curled tighter in the corner, clutching at her torn clothes, trying to shield her dignity. But it was useless. Nothing could cover the feeling of being stripped bare in front of them. Their hate pierced deeper than any wound.

She wanted to scream. To disappear.

“Noora—” Lucas took a step toward her, his voice raw.

But Cindy caught his arm.

“Lucas… maybe it’s not what it looks like. I mean…” Her voice was soft, careful. “They were drinking together. Noora seemed to be having a good time with Mr. Simon earlier. Maybe… maybe everyone misunderstood.”

Her ‘concern’ was like oil on fire.

Mrs. Clark snapped.

“You don’t have to defend her, Cindy! Everyone can SEE what kind of girl she is! Just a desperate little slut looking for a way up!”

Noora’s eyes blurred. Her ears rang. Her head spun from the effects of drug as well as the hatred pouring into her. Her heart screamed for someone—anyone—to stop this.

But no one did.

No one stepped in.

She’d never felt smaller. Never felt more alone.

Suddenly then—

Darkness fell over her.

A figure crouched in front of her, tall and broad. Shielding.

The voices quieted, as if the world itself held its breath.

Noora lifted her tear-filled eyes—slowly.

Luciano.

His stare was locked on hers.

Fierce. Silent. Steady.

And when he turned, his voice was low. Razor sharp. A venom-laced growl that silenced the room.

“One more word…” he said. The threat in his tone sliced through the air.

Then, without breaking his gaze, he scooped Noora into his arms, carefully, protectively.

Gasps erupted around the room.

But Luciano didn’t even glance at them.

“And I promise,” he said, voice cold as death, “not a single name in this room will be heard again.”

Everyone fell silent, flabbergasted by Luciano’s sudden protective demeanor towards Noora. No one had seen him holding such a serious murderous intent in a while!

He turned without another word, arms tightening protectively around Noora as he stood. Her body was flushed, face red and glistening with sweat, writhing faintly in discomfort; the aftershocks of whatever had been slipped into her drink still wreaking havoc through her.

Then—

A soft, pained whimper escaped her lips.

Luciano’s arms halted.

He glanced down only to see a steady trail of crimson trickling from her waist, soaking into the remnants of her dress.

His jaw locked.

“Luciano, I think we should take Mr. Simon to the hospital fir—” However, before she could complete her sentence, Luciano’s bloodthirsty eyes landed on Cindy.

“YOU’LL PAY,” he said, voice like cold steel slicing through silence as his eyes flickered to the Clarks, “for the humiliation and attack against the Richardson family.”

Then he turned.

“Prepare the car!” he roared as he stormed out, carrying Noora in his arms leaving behind a trail of blood from Noora’s waist that left the room with full of gasps, silence… and fear.