The hospital hummed with its usual, efficient chaos. In Ward 103 a nurse fussed over Alexa's bed while another adjusted the drip. Suddenly one of them gave a sharp cry—"Look!"—and the other, startled, turned. A small smile flashed across her cheek. "Call the doctor," the first nurse ordered, then hurried away to fetch him.
Maera had come home today for the first time since that day. The moment she stepped over the threshold a rusty, metallic odor greeted her like an unwelcome memory. Behind her walked Georgia and two boys carrying cleaning supplies; they were the hired help. Maera moved slowly. The cleaners had already begun. She and Georgia stood side by side for a moment; Maera turned her head and let her eyes sweep the entire house. She exhaled, a long, quiet breath, and forced a sad smile.
"This house used to echo with his laughter," she said.
Georgia's face hardened with grief. "I'll tear them apart if I have to. I'll get them to feel what I do," she cluched her fist she said, fierce and low.
"What will you do now?" Georgia asked.
Maera took a step forward. "What's the point of staying here when Sim isn't?" she replied. "Better I live in a hotel—this loneliness will kill me otherwise."
They entered the bedroom. Maera took out a bag and began gathering her suits, folding them and laying them carefully on the bed. Georgia packed the suits while Maera collected other essentials—her laptop, documents, and a framed photo of her and Sim. She removed the picture from its frame, folded it small, and tucked it into her wallet. The room had been Maera's doing once; everything returned to its place under her hands. Two hours later the house smelled of fresh cleaning, every piece covered with white sheets. It looked neat, locked and boxed up, as if the household still lived somewhere within its walls.
Before leaving, Maera paused at the doorway and looked back at the house—clean, orderly, emptied. She locked the door and moved toward the car. She handed duplicate keys to Georgia and slipped the original set onto the dashboard. As she started the engine, Georgia called after her, "Just to the café."
Maera nodded, started the car, and drove away.
Time does its work, and it passes. Only traces are left behind. Scars, too, eventually mend.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The clothes lay in careless heaps across the wooden floor; the room carried a strange, lingering perfume that made the disorder feel almost intimate. On the bed, they slept—two bodies tangled in the aftermath of the night. A boy rested his head against Zero's bare chest, one hand splayed across the hollow at Zero's side, sleeping with the comfort of someone who trusts the world will not hurt him. Zero lay half-removed from the world, his arm curled around the boy's waist as if anchoring himself to the only solid thing left.
Pale morning light filtered through the thin fabric of the curtains, softening the ruin into something almost beautiful. But beauty here was only surface; true feeling lived in people, not in rooms. People could be cruel, and their emotions were messy and dangerous. Zero's hand had fallen numb where it had rested; when he tried to shift he felt, not the freedom of movement, but the presence of another's grip on his arm. He opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above was unfamiliar—this was not his room. The realization hit like cold water and images from the night rushed back, sharp and unbidden. He lay there for a moment longer, staring up, letting the fragments settle. Then he turned his head and watched the boy sleeping against him. He looked no older than nineteen, maybe twenty; despite that, the lines of worry and an odd, soft innocence traced his face. Zero thought, bitter and private, that life was ruthless—people did things for pennies that ruined others' lives.
Careful not to wake him, Zero tried to withdraw his hand. The boy's sleep was thin and he stirred, blinking himself awake. Zero sat up against the headboard, disoriented. He reached for his phone—dark. A few faint creases appeared between his brows as he read his watch: ten o'clock. The boy smiled, moved closer, and with slow tenderness began to trail his fingers over Zero's chest. It was the first time, since Zero had returned, that the boy had slept so late.
Zero smiled back, running his fingers through the boy's hair until the other shifted and turned his face up. "What's your name?" Zero asked softly.
"Noah," came the answer, dreamy and half in another world. Zero brushed Noah's hair away from his forehead and, impulsively, pressed a quick kiss there. "I have to go," he said, standing. Noah straightened, rubbing sleep from his eyes as Zero pulled on trousers and a shirt, gathering his watch, wallet, and the lifeless phone.
Outside, the sky was a wash of cloud. Zero looked up—gray and low. "It's January first," he told himself, a small, bitter amusement in his voice. He unlocked his car and drove; in little more than a breath he was standing in front of his house. He threw the phone on the charger and went to freshen up. Twenty minutes later he returned, expecting the screen to greet him.
He had forgotten to press the power button.
Zero wanted, for a moment, to laugh and then to hit his forehead. "Very lucky beginning of the new year," he muttered, sliding the unresponsive phone into his pocket and walking out into the pale morning, the house falling silent behind him.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
The room hummed with easy noise—the clink of cups, low laughter, the soft scrape of chess pieces. Sara's triumph had lit the table like a small flare.
"This is mine—never, ever will you beat me!" she crowed, eyes bright as she swept Max's queen from the board.
Max put on a wounded expression, half-complaint, half-playful. "Sister, you're cruel. Just once—undo it? Please, please—"
"Never," Sara said with the calm cruelty she wore like a badge. "Do you think I'm mad? In chess you never undo. Mercy always loses. Chess is like war; mercy dies first."
From behind, Li Cheng chuckled. "Ms. Sara speaks the truth." He slid into the room with the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed. "Mr. Li, this is the third time she's beaten me," Max protested, eyes pleading toward Li Cheng. "Isn't there something you can say?"
Li Cheng smiled, indulgent. The arrival of Max and Hazel had brought a new warmth to the Citadel—laughter, mess, life. Even the guards and servants had begun to hide their grins when the three of them were together. Sara's face softened, too; there was a different light in her now.
Li Cheng turned to Max, expression shifting into something almost ceremonial. "The matriarch orders training for you."
Max went still. "G—Mr. Li?" His voice snagged in surprise.
"You will train properly from now on," Li Cheng said, matter-of-fact. The words landed on Max like a winter draft. His eyes widened; you could read the sudden, rueful realization across his face.
Sara lowered her head, trying to mask her smile. "Yes, Mr. Max. You must train as well."
"Oh—please, Mr. Li, don't use honorifics with me," Max laughed, standing up with his usual careless grin. In his easy, friendly way, he clapped a hand onto Li Cheng's shoulder.
The gesture barely lasted a second. Li Cheng's sharp eyes snapped toward him, a cold, cutting glare that could silence a room. His perfect posture remained unshaken, but the quiet weight of that stare was enough to make Max's grin falter.
Max froze, the awkwardness hitting him all at once. He pulled his hand back quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as if to hide the slip. "R-right… I understand," he stammered, lowering his gaze.
Without another word, he retreated toward the door, his usual swagger subdued. The room seemed to grow quieter in his absence, the faint echo of his footsteps lingering after he'd gone.
The instant Max was gone, Sara's laugh spilled free. She covered her mouth with one hand, unable to keep the grin from her face. Li Cheng watched her and returned the smile, then took the seat Max had vacated.
"Ms. Sara," he said quietly, "you've changed since Max and Hazel arrived."
Sara tilted her head, hair rifled back behind her ear, and her smile widened—not the triumph of the chessboard but something softer, more honest. "They waited for me," she said simply. "Only my siblings stayed, only they welcomed me back. They love me in a way that I can feel—pure, uncomplicated. We have the world together; whether there is a heaven or not, I don't know. As long as I can stay with them here, I will."
She lifted a pawn or two and set them down with careful fingers, as if arranging the pieces of something larger than the game. "The bond between siblings is the strongest—pure and bloody and without fracture. There must be no cracks."
Li Cheng listened with an attention that made her words feel like counsel. He inclined his head. "You are right. I— I came to tell you something."
"What is it?" Sara asked.
He drew a breath. "Alexa—Irlyn—she has regained consciousness."
Sara's hand froze over the pawns. Her chest tightened as though the board had vanished and the world had shifted under her. She looked up slowly, and in her eyes everything collided at once—relief so sharp it ached, grief that loosened but refused to leave, joy trembling on the edge of tears, astonishment that left her breathless.
It was all tangled inside her, breaking and mending in the same heartbeat. Hope—fragile, impossible, radiant—rose through the storm, and she could neither hold it steady nor let it go.
"Mr. Li—are you serious?" Sara asked after a long, careful silence.
"Yes, Ms. Sara," Li Cheng replied. "Alexa wants to come back to New York."
Sara let the words settle, then tilted her head. "Do you think she should?" She pushed a pawn forward, the small click loud in the quiet room. "If she comes back, she might be a target. I think she should stay in Japan and keep an eye on Cora's movements from there."
Li Cheng advanced his knight with the same slow certainty he used in everything else. "You have a point. But if she's here, she can assess the situation for herself. She'll know what we're dealing with."
Sara's hand hovered above the board. "That could put her in danger," she said softly.
Li Cheng tapped his knight against the square, almost fondly. The gesture was small but charged; it was the first time Sara had seen him make such a move against her. Her fingers stilled. A flicker of surprise—then something like pleasure—crossed her face.
"All right," he said, smiling with the kind of ease that made strategy seem inevitable. "Then we must make a new plan."
Sara slid a rook forward, the sound decisive. "We prepare for an attack by next month." Her voice held both command and the thrill of arranging forces.
Before she could relish the moment, Li Cheng suddenly leaned in and, with the same inexorable calm, put Sara's king in checkmate. The board stilled. Sara blinked, a grin breaking across her face. "Well, well, Mr. Li," she laughed, conceding. "At last—someone who can beat me."
They reached out in the old, respectful ritual of players: a handshake, brief and honest. Li Cheng took her hand like a man acknowledging a worthy opponent.
Then his phone rang.
He answered with a clipped, "What?"—not a question but a shock that jumped out of him. Lines of concern tightened around his mouth; his composure slipped for the first time that afternoon. Sara watched the change happen in an instant—business intruding on the private theater they'd just created.
"All right," he said into the receiver, then cut the call short. Without another word to her, Li Cheng rose and left the room in a hurry, the calm authority replaced by urgent motion. Sara stayed where she was, the board between them suddenly smaller than the silence he left behind.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Sam had just stepped into the hospital when his eyes caught a glimpse of a nurse hurrying down the corridor, speaking quickly to a doctor. The expressions on her face—shock, joy, disbelief—were impossible to miss.
Sam, bouquet in hand, ignored the scene and headed straight to the reception. "Excuse me," he asked the girl behind the desk, "I'm here to ask about Alexa."
The receptionist looked up at him with surprise. "Mr. Samael… didn't anyone call you?"
Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She's awake, sir. Alexa has regained consciousness. You can go see her now."
For a moment Sam just stared, stunned, then relief broke across his face. "Really? Thank you… thank you so much." Without another word he hurried down the corridor, his heart racing, and in minutes he was standing outside her ward.
He pushed open the door quietly. Inside, Alexa sat propped up against pillows, frail but awake, a ghost of her old strength flickering in her eyes. When she saw him, her lips curved into a weak smile. She tried to rise, but Sam rushed forward and stopped her gently.
"No, Alexa. Don't move. You've only just woken up."
Her hands, which had been pressing against the mattress as if to push herself up, relaxed. She nodded and sat back properly. Sam stepped closer, placed the bouquet on the side table, then sank into the chair across from her.
"I didn't know you'd woken up today," he said softly. "How are you feeling now?"
"B… better," she whispered, her voice broken and strained from silence. The doctors had warned it would take time for her throat to heal, but talking would help.
"How long until I can be discharged?" Alexa asked.
"Not yet," Sam shook his head firmly. "You need more time here—until you're strong enough."
She frowned but didn't argue further. Instead, her voice came quieter. "Where is everyone else?"
At her question, Sam hesitated. His silence stretched before he finally spoke. "Sara has already gone back to New York… with her uncle. Sim and maera… have also left."
The word uncle was enough. Alexa understood instantly—it meant Li Cheng.
"And Zero? Where is he?"
Sam's expression fell, his head lowering. "Zero… he's gone back." His voice trembled as he fought to keep control.
"Sam?" Alexa pressed, noticing the sudden heaviness. "What happened? Tell me the truth."
Sam stayed silent, gripping his hands together, but his eyes betrayed him—shimmering with unshed tears.
"You two… fought again, didn't you?"
Her words cut straight through. Sam's head snapped up, and this time his eyes were wet.
"Damn it," Alexa muttered, anger and sadness mixing. "I told that fool not to do anything reckless…"
Sam blinked at her, startled. "What do you mean? What are you saying, Alexa?"
She looked right at him, breath unsteady. "You really didn't know, Sam? We— all of us—knew this would happen. We warned him not to be impulsive, not to make a mistake. But after I fell into the coma… I don't know what happened." She coughed, the effort straining her voice.
Sam quickly stood, pouring her water and handing her the glass. "Alexa… a lot has happened. Too much."
She held the glass, her eyes searching him. "Like what?"
He sank back into the chair, rubbing his face. His voice came out low, almost broken. "He kissed me… before he left."
The words barely left his mouth when Alexa exploded. "WHAT?!" The water sprayed from her lips like a fountain, drenching Sam.
"I told him not to rush!" she snapped, fury flashing—but beneath it, pain.
Sam wiped his face with his sleeve, looking defeated. "And now… since the moment he left, he hasn't spoken to me. He hasn't even read my messages." His voice dropped, filled with quiet sorrow.
Alexa leaned forward, determined. "Sam, start from the beginning. Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out."
And he did. Piece by piece, Sam unfolded the story—starting from Sara, leading through all the chaos, until finally it all circled back to Zero.
Alexa listened without a word, her breath caught in her chest, her eyes locked on his.
At the end, her lips twitched into the faintest smile. "So… you even opened a café?"
Sam stared at her, exasperated. "Out of everything—everything—that's the detail you noticed?"
Alexa chuckled weakly, eyes sparkling despite her frailty.
"Of course, I've noticed a lot more than you think, Sam. But since Sara has already left… I have to go too," Alexa said softly.
"Go? Go where?" Sam asked, concern etched across his face.
"New York," Alexa replied with a single word.
"What do you mean? You've just been discharged, you can't just leave like this," Sam protested, his tone worried.
Alexa gave a faint smile. "Sam, I know it's hard to explain, but I have to go. I need to report back. I can't stay here any longer."
Sam narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to piece the puzzle together. He didn't speak, but his silence spoke volumes. Alexa could read the storm of questions running through his mind. After a moment, she broke into a small smile and said,
"Sam… the truth is… actually, I'm not who you think I am."
And with that, Alexa began to reveal everything, one secret after another—her real identity, the hidden ties, the shadows Sara belonged to.
This time it was Sam's turn to sit in stunned silence, holding his breath as if the air itself had frozen around him. His eyes widened in disbelief, struggling to process the reality unraveling before him. By the time Alexa finished speaking, he was still seated like a man caught in a trance, trying to accept what he had just heard.
At last, he drew in a long, shaky breath. "So what you're saying is… you're not really Alexa, but Irlyn. And Sara isn't just some ordinary girl—she's the daughter of the underworld's… untitled king?"
"Untitled queen," Alexa corrected him calmly.
"Yes, yes—same thing," Sam muttered, waving his hand dismissively.
A small smile curved on Alexa's lips.
Sam leaned forward. "So this means… you really do have to return to New York?"
"Yes."
"For how long?" he pressed.
"I have to leave tonight—on the very first flight. If you can book one for me, do it," Alexa said firmly.
"Don't worry, I'll handle everything. But first, we need to get you officially discharged," Sam replied, already rising to his feet.
As he moved toward the door, he paused and turned back. "Alexa, if what you've told me is true, then your identity has to remain a secret. No one can know you've regained consciousness."
"Exactly," Alexa nodded, her expression turning serious. "And that's what worries me most."
Sam gave a steady look. "Don't worry—we'll take care of that too."
Alexa inclined her head in agreement, and with that, Sam left the room, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the truth he now carried.
Time slipped by with the swiftness of the wind. By evening, in the biting cold, the two of them stood near the airport gate. Dressed in black trousers and shirt, layered with a long black coat, her face covered with a mask, and a suitcase in hand—Irlyn and Sam sat quietly in the waiting area until the time for her flight finally arrived.
Irlyn rose to her feet, and Sam instinctively stood with her."It's time to go now, Sam," she said gently.
"Take care of yourself, Alexa," Sam replied.
Irlyn, who had already turned to leave, froze. She slowly turned back, her eyes widening in surprise. Sam stood behind her, smiling faintly—though the sorrow in that smile was unmistakable.
"Alexa?" she whispered, almost in disbelief.
Sam nodded. "Yes, Alexa. Our friend, Alexa. For me—for all of us—you'll always be Alexa."
Her eyes welled up, shimmering with tears she could not hold back. She stepped toward him and embraced him tightly. "Thank you, Sam. My dear friend."
Sam smiled faintly and returned the gesture.
When she stepped back, she added, "Sam… what I told you must stay between us."
In response, Sam zipped his lips with a gesture, a playful seriousness in his eyes. Irlyn smiled through her tears, whispered her final goodbye, and walked away.
Sam stood rooted, watching her silhouette grow smaller with every step, until she finally boarded the plane. The air was icy, but the chill in his chest felt far deeper. For the first time in years, Sam felt a hollow loneliness gnawing at him. One by one, all of his friends had drifted away. No one was left beside him now in Japan.
"So this is what people call practical life?" he wondered. "Being left alone… drowning in work and responsibilities… without anyone to share it with?"
He turned away, his footsteps heavy. He didn't even know where to go anymore. With Alexa gone, he had shut the café earlier than usual, and now, other than going home, he had no place to be.
Stopping briefly, he pulled out his phone. Zero's contact blinked on the screen. Sam opened their old chat—but the messages were still unread. Zero hadn't checked them. A smile appeared on Sam's face, but it was the kind of smile that wasn't a smile at all.he said, "You've gone so silent, Zero… is this my punishment now?" his tone was silent like something in him is lost long ago..
He was about to put his phone away when it suddenly rang.
The caller ID read: Jacob.
Sam answered."Yo, bro! What's up with the party?" Jacob's voice rang cheerfully through the line.
"Party?" Sam asked honestly, his brows furrowing.
"What, you forgot? Today's Sato's birthday! We planned the party at your place…" Jacob's tone was full of disbelief.
The realization struck Sam like lightning. He had been so consumed by everything lately that the plan had completely slipped his mind."Oh—right, I remember now. Today…" He quickly glanced at his phone screen. It was already 5:00 p.m.
Bringing the phone back to his ear, he said, "Alright, be at my place by 7:00. And you haven't told Sato anything yet, have you?"
"Nope. She has no idea. She'll love the surprise," Jacob chuckled.
"Hey, Jacob—don't even think about making a move on my colleague. She's still in high school," Sam scolded sharply.
On the other end, Jacob burst out laughing. "Alright, alright. Relax, man."
Sam couldn't help but laugh too. "Fine, hang up now."
Ending the call, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and kept walking. He had to prepare everything before 7:00. Sato's place was far too small for a celebration, so he and Jacob had planned to set up the surprise at Sam's house instead.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
When Zero entered the office, most of the employees were already at their desks. For him, that was the most humiliating thing of all. The only fear he truly carried was to appear careless as a CEO—to arrive late before his own staff. But what was done, was done. The damage had already been done.
Still, Zero was not the kind of man to lose his composure so easily. With the same air of control, he walked toward his office. Once inside, he placed his phone on charge, settled into his chair, and immediately lifted the receiver to call his secretary.
Moments later, Rose appeared."Yes, Mr. Zeyad?" she asked politely.
"Rose, what about the task I assigned you?"
She smiled. "Sir, it's done. We've secured all the footage from Silicon Hotel that night. It clearly shows Liam spiking your drink."
"That's excellent," Zero replied, though his tone remained firm. "But we both know this won't be enough. We can't bring Liam down on just one piece of evidence. We need something stronger—irrefutable."
"You're right, sir," Rose agreed.
Zero fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. "I want the new project files on my desk in five minutes."
"Yes, sir." Rose left quickly.
Zero rose from his chair, retrieving his phone. Finally, the device had enough charge to turn on. The lock screen was flooded with notifications,but he cleared them all in one swipe, not bothering to even look at them. A small banner, tucked between countless notifications, disappeared too—unseen, unnoticed. Unlocking the phone, he dialed Parker's number.
The call was answered in two rings."Hey, Zero…" came Parker's usual unserious drawl.
"Parker, any updates on Liam?" Zero asked directly.
"Yes, brother. Good news." Parker chuckled. "One of his men opened his mouth. Looks like Liam didn't pay him enough to keep it shut."
Zero exhaled sharply, unimpressed by the joke. "Send me the recording. We need solid evidence to pin him down in court."
"Don't worry, my friend. We've got more than enough to bury him. This time, Liam won't escape," Parker assured him. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "Oh—and about that picture I sent you, the details on Sam and—"
"Parker, not now. I'm busy. We'll talk later." Without waiting, Zero ended the call.
Parker's unfinished words lingered in the silence, but Zero ignored them. A sharp sting had already risen in his chest. Somewhere deep inside, guilt gnawed at him—an unspoken weight pressing down, making it harder to breathe.
He turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, the sky was heavy with clouds, birds flying freely against the gray. They looked so unburdened, so untouched by the heaviness of life. For a fleeting moment, Zero wished he could be like them—untethered, untroubled, soaring without fear or guilt.
The thought drew a faint, ironic smile to his lips. He returned to his chair, trying to lose himself in the illusion of freedom outside, if only to silence the ache within.
A knock at the door pulled him back."Come in," Zero said.
Rose stepped inside, placing a stack of files on his desk. "Here are the project files, sir. And these require your signatures as well," she added, setting another set neatly to the side.
Zero nodded. "Alright. You may go."
"Yes, sir." Rose bowed slightly and left.
Once again, Zero's eyes drifted back to the sky. The sight of the birds gave him a fleeting comfort—at least enough to forget his pain for a moment, or perhaps to fool himself into believing he could ignore the guilt clawing at his heart.
TO BE CONTINUED