As agreed in secret, the darkness of a movie theater was the safest place for the exchange. The silver screen cast dancing flashes of light across Alya's face as she sat in the middle row, pretending to focus on the movie. Before long, a casually dressed woman with watchful eyes took the seat right beside her. Without saying a word, in the theater's dim light, Indra's messenger slipped a small folded piece of paper into Alya's palm. The two of them continued their act, pretending to be strangers absorbed in the storyline, maintaining the silence until the end credits rolled and the theater lights slowly came on. They then split up in opposite directions, carrying a secret that had now changed hands.
Inside her car, Alya's hands trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper. An address was written there. Her heart pounded violently, as if it wanted to leap out of her chest. Worry, the longing that had been building inside her, and the guilt that had been tearing apart her sanity all merged into one suffocating surge of emotion. It had been nearly six months since Alya had looked at that face. Six months since the bloody night that had turned her life into a nightmare beneath the shadow of a mafia boss.
Alya sped down the streets and finally arrived in front of a modest house with a soothing, aesthetic design, hidden far from the capital's hustle and bustle. As she stepped inside, an understated atmosphere and warm lighting welcomed her. In the entryway, Alya's sharp visual instincts accidentally caught a white-framed instant Polaroid photo affixed to a textured white wall. Hung at a six-degree angle, the photo seemed to hold a quiet story of its own. But Alya quickly looked away when she heard the rustling of leaves from the back of the house.
In a wooden gazebo in the middle of the garden sat the man who had always been the compass of her heart. Rehan. He looked thinner than Alya remembered, dressed in a soft shirt and lost in thought as he stared at the cup of coffee in his hands.
"Rehan..." Alya whispered. Her voice broke and was carried away by the afternoon breeze.
The man turned. The gentle smile that had always managed to break through Alya's defenses returned to his still slightly pale face. Without wasting a second, Alya ran to him and threw herself into Rehan's arms. The strong journalist's tears broke free at once, spilling all her longing and suffering. Rehan returned the embrace just as tightly, burying his face in the crown of Alya's head and giving her the warmth that had been forcibly taken from them for so long.
They sat side by side, their hands clasped tightly as if afraid fate would separate them again. Rehan's hand stroking Alya's loose, long hair felt incredibly soothing. There, Alya poured out everything. She explained how her involvement with Arshaka had begun, the series of cruel threats from that domineering man, the act she had been forced to play, and the incident at the apartment when Rehan caught them together, which ended with gunfire from the enemy's henchmen. Alya didn't want a single opening for misunderstanding left between them.
"I'll put an end to all of this, Han," Alya said with tears in her eyes, staring straight into the tender man's gaze. "Once I manage to trap Arshaka, hand the evidence over to Indra, and prove that he's Ronan, the man who must be eliminated... we'll go back to living normal lives."
Rehan smiled sincerely. His eyes still radiated complete love, yet were filled with worry over his brave woman. He gently cupped Alya's face in both hands, gazed into her eyes, and wiped the tears from her beautiful face before slowly leaning in to kiss his lover's lips.
Alya closed her eyes, ready to accept the warmth of the love that had been her support for the past three years. But when their lips met, something strange struck Alya's conscience. Rehan's kiss, which had once always thrilled her, now felt... hollow. There was no electric spark, no passion exploding between them. Suddenly, Arshaka's image slipped uninvited into her thoughts, as if that handsome devil were watching her from the darkest corner. His masculine scent, his rough yet intoxicating possessive touch, and his commanding kisses that always forced Alya to surrender everything came vividly to mind instead. How foolish. With the man she loved in her arms, Alya's body and instincts were secretly longing for the mafia's deadly touch.
Alya pulled away, holding her breath as she tried to conceal the shock in her eyes behind a faint smile. Just as the awkwardness between them grew heavier, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them.
An elegant and beautiful woman walked toward the gazebo. "Sorry to interrupt your moment," she greeted them in a composed voice. She extended her hand to Alya. "I'm Aurel. I've been the one accompanying and caring for Rehan ever since Indra rescued him."
Alya accepted the handshake. As a journalist skilled at reading people's personalities, Alya immediately understood the meaning behind the woman's gaze. Beneath her friendliness and polite smile lay a flash of pain, disappointment, and jealousy that Aurel tried to bury deep inside when she saw Rehan's hand clasped with Alya's. It was obvious that the woman had fallen in love with the patient she cared for.
"I'll go back inside. Please continue your conversation. I'll give you some space," Aurel said before turning away, leaving behind a silence that suddenly felt unbearably suffocating.
Several hours later, when Alya finally stepped out of the house and sat behind the wheel of her car again, she fell silent, staring blankly at the road. Her plan was ready, and Rehan was still alive and loved her. She should have felt relieved. Yet her reflection in the rearview mirror revealed a far more terrifying truth. Her heart was being tossed about in a violent storm of doubt. The rope of hatred she had woven to choke Arshaka Revander's neck had, without her realizing it, wrapped around and ensnared her own heart.