The world beyond the garden felt different.
The air seemed heavier, as though some invisible weight had settled upon it after the silence of yesterday. Even the mansion itself — that vast fortress of shadow and memory — seemed to breathe in slow, measured rhythms, as if preparing for something not yet spoken.
The day was bright, though the brightness carried an edge of unease. The sky above was pale, washed in a light too cold to be comfort.
Maya walked through the halls of the mansion without haste, her black boots making no sound. Her brothers followed at a distance, as they always did, each step deliberate and cautious. Their gazes never met hers directly. She was no longer theirs to approach freely.
The invitation had come days before.
Anik's birthday. His family — distant yet powerful — had extended a formal invitation for Maya and her family to attend. It was not just courtesy. It was a summons .
She did not speak of it. She did not look toward her brothers when the invitation had been presented. She had simply nodded once, and left the matter unspoken.
The night air outside Anik's villa was heavy with fragrance. Lanterns glowed softly along the terrace, casting pools of gold across white marble. Music flowed faintly — a string quartet playing somewhere inside, weaving a delicate thread between laughter and conversation. The air was warm, filled with the scent of roses and wine, of silk dresses and perfume. It was the kind of night designed for celebration.
They arrived.
The party was set in a grand estate — a sprawling garden estate lit by chandeliers strung between ancient oaks. White tents sheltered tables groaning with silver platters of food. Strings of faint golden lights swayed gently in the evening air. Music floated softly, the kind of music that felt rehearsed to perfection. Laughter curled like smoke around the edges of the gathering, but beneath it lingered something unspoken — tension.
Maya entered last. Her steps were slow, measured. Her black silk dress caught the light in faint glimmers, as though woven from shadow itself. Her braid swung like a pendulum, precise and controlled. Her gloved fingers rested at her sides, unmoving, carrying the weight of her own silence. She stepped into the hall as if passing through glass — unnoticed, untouched. Her black gown fell over her figure like flowing ink. The silk brushed softly against her skin, but her eyes carried nothing of the world inside. She did not greet. She did not smile. Her hands rested at her sides. Her face was still as marble.
She sat at a reserved table, apart from the others. Her family gathered nearby, invited but respectful of her quiet. They did not approach her. They did not speak to her. They still remembered the night she had collapsed in the hall. They still remembered the sound of her voice stripped of warmth. They still feared the girl who had rebuilt the mansion with a single gesture.
She did not notice.
The party moved around her like water around stone. Conversations rose and fell. Glasses clinked softly. A faint scent of roses and spice lingered in the air. The guests paid her little attention. She was not part of their world — she existed in her own, silent and untouched.
Then — the air shifted.
It was subtle at first. A change in the rhythm of sound, a tightening of the light. A presence.
The doors at the far end of the hall opened suddenly.
A figure entered.
Uninvited.
A man. A doctor by appearance — tall, his coat dark as midnight, his face pale and sharp. Behind him, a dozen guards stepped in, their armor black and glistening in the light, their faces hidden beneath hoods. They moved not like men walking but like shadows drawn forth by command.
The chatter of the party fell away. Conversation stopped in mid-laughter. Every eye turned toward the intruder.
He walked slowly, deliberately, toward the center of the hall.
When his gaze fell upon Maya, the sound of breath seemed to vanish entirely. His voice came then — low, certain, carrying a name that sounded like an accusation.
"Rose of Death."
The words struck the air with the weight of steel.
The room froze.
Every face turned toward her. Every gaze sharpened.
Her brothers stiffened. Fahad's jaw tightened. Fahan's hand went to his side instinctively. Rahi's eyes widened. Fahim took a step forward. Fahan, Fahish, Farhan — all stood still, unsure.
Rahi, above all, felt a tremor of fear. The man before them was no ordinary guest. His presence carried command. His voice carried danger. And the way he said her name was not curiosity. It was certainty.
The doctor did not stop. He spoke again, louder now. Words that seemed to echo beyond the walls.
"I see them all here. All the subjects together at last. That is… a rare thing. A rare opportunity. All things are together. 17-B you… you guided, commended, and structured them well I see. You surrounded yourself by subjects. experiments. All fragments. And yet, you pretend to be still human."
He said it as though speaking to a memory long kept, addressing her not as Maya, not as daughter, not as woman, but as a name — a number. A thing made.
Maya's lips remained still. Her eyes followed his slowly, deliberately. No flicker of fear, no recognition, no change.
He stepped even closer to her. Every movement was controlled. Every breath deliberate. The guards behind him shifted like a tide ready to sweep the hall into violence.
Maya did not flinch. She did not speak.
"You have grown quite and less resistant," he said quietly. Then louder: "I want you to understand what you are. What you were made to be."
His voice carried across the hall.
Guests leaned forward in fear and fascination. The family around her shifted, uneasy.
Even Anik — who stood to one side — looked on with a furrowed brow.
Rahi stepped forward. His voice was trembling, cracked with dread. "Leave her. You have no right."
The doctor smiled faintly, as though pitying the words themselves. "No right?" he said softly, stepping closer. "You think she has a choice? You think she is free?"
He turned to look at her directly, his voice hardening into a cold command. "Do not move. Do not resist. If you do — everyone here dies."
The words sank into the air like stones thrown into still water.
Maya's body remained still. Her eyes did not move. Her lips did not part. Her body did not move to protect itself.
The guests murmured. Fear threaded itself through the air. Her brothers shifted, stepping closer to her instinctively. They moved together, protective, though they kept their distance. They did not approach her. Not yet.
Then came the second blow — this one across her cheek. The slap rang through the hall, louder than his words. Gasps and murmurs rose in waves. The room's air seemed to tighten around her. The hand of the man lingered upon her face for an instant longer than necessary, pressing her cheek against his fingers before releasing her.
Rahi moved toward him, his voice broke again, louder now. "Release her. Please. She does not belong to you. Stop! You do not know what you're doing. Let her go!"
The doctor's smile hardened into something sharper, crueler. He lifted one hand, speaking again without hesitation: "Bravery. And what makes you think she would escape me now?"
"Did she think… she could decide her own path? How does 17-B dare call herself free?"
Without warning, he struck her — a sharp blow to her face.
The sound was a crack, sudden and violent.
Her head turned slightly, but her body remained unmoving. Her lips did not part. Her breath did not falter. There was no flinch — no sign that pain had touched her. Only a quiet stillness that felt unnatural.
The hall seemed to exhale in shock.
Then he struck her again — this time to her stomach.
The blow landed with a muffled sound that was swallowed instantly by the stunned silence. A gasp rose from the crowd, then vanished under the weight of the moment.
Maya's body did not collapse. She did not cry. Her breath did not change. She remained standing as though nothing had touched her — as though the strike had been against air.
The doctor stepped closer. His boots rang softly against the marble. His voice was calm now, almost gentle. "How does it feel, Rose of Death? To know you have no will left? To know your body is still mine to command?"
Rahi moved again, his voice sharp and trembling with fear. "Leave her!"
The man looked past him, toward Maya, and then to the rest of the room. His voice carried a quiet cruelty that seemed to freeze the air. "She will not leave. Because I will not allow her to. Because none of you can. How does one escape what was never given?"
His gaze returned to her. "17-B, sit down."
Maya did not move. Her hands remained still. Her lips stayed closed. Her eyes remained empty, unreadable.
The doctor's voice rose then, carrying over the silence of the hall: "You will obey me. You will sit down. Because I have the command. Because I gave you your form. And I will take it again."
A shadow moved in the crowd. Anik stepped forward slowly, his eyes narrowing. His voice cut the air like steel. "Enough."
The doctor glanced at him, faint amusement in his expression. "Ah. The savior arrives. But tell me — does your command matter here? Does your will matter? Or is it nothing before hers?"
He took another step closer again. Guards moved with him like waves converging. He raised his hand again.
Rahi stepped forward, trying to protect her.
But Maya did not look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere beyond the hall, beyond voices, beyond names. As though she had already left.
The doctor's voice hardened. "Then I will make you obey."
He spoke one word, sharp and deliberate: "Move."
Maya remained still.
He stepped forward and struck her once again — harder. The blow landed with a muted thud, her body barely shifting. Her brothers' breath caught in their throats. The air itself seemed to still.
Then, without warning, Maya rose.
Her movement was not of fear. Not of defiance. Not of anger.
It was mechanical. Quiet. Certain.
She rose slowly, deliberately, without glancing at the man who struck her.
Her eyes — unreadable, unfeeling — turned to the doctor.
And for the first time, her voice broke the silence.
Not in anger. Not in plea.
But in a single, quiet sentence:
"I am not yours."
The words were calm, precise — and they carried the weight of a truth the doctor had not expected.
The air in the hall shifted.
Her brothers remained still, caught between relief and fear.
The guests leaned forward, hushed.
The doctor's expression changed — from control to a thin smile of something dangerous.
He stepped closer again. "You will learn that you belong to no one, Rose of Death. But you also belong to nothing. You are nothing but a puppet."
His voice was low. Then struck again — across her cheek. His hand lingered, pressing against her face. His guards shifted, their boots silent against the marble. The hall was stillness, but it trembled with the threat in his words.
The man's expression hardened. His voice cut through the room like steel. "She will speak when I say she speaks."