CHAPTER LIV
"Whispers from the Pages of the Past"
I gently motioned for Arora to sit down on the edge of the bed. She obeyed, silently, her eyes still holding that unreadable calm — the kind of calm that hides a thousand stories beneath it.
I stood across from her, arms crossed, thoughts swirling.
Then I finally asked, my voice quiet but firm:
> "Who are you people? I've known this man — D-Rax — for over five years. Back then, there was no team. No guards. No girls with guns. He was alone. Completely alone."
Arora tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting into something between surprise and curiosity. Her gaze met mine, and for the first time, I saw the flicker of realization in her eyes.
> "Wait… are you that Sam?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The one D-Rax wrote about in his diary?"
The air in the room changed instantly.
My heart skipped a beat.
A cold shiver crawled down my spine.
> "What did he write about me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even though I could feel it wavering.
Arora's tone softened.
> "Not much. Just one powerful thing. He wrote that everything he is — everything he's become — it's because of you. He said you're his God. The reason he's still alive."
I took a step back, stunned.
God?
That word echoed in my head like thunder in a cave.
I remembered that day vividly now — the day I met him. He was broken. Shattered. Ready to throw himself off the edge of his own existence. I didn't save him out of mercy… I saved him because I saw something in him — a potential. A mind that could build or destroy the world if pointed in the right direction.
And I gave him that direction.
I gave him purpose.
I gave him a reason to exist.
And now… this? A house? A hidden fortress? A team of women trained to protect him?
> "So… that's what he's done with his second chance," I murmured to myself.
Arora seemed to sense the swirl of memories behind my silence. She leaned forward, folding her hands on her lap.
> "You want to know about us too, don't you?"
I nodded.
She took a breath and said,
> "We were waitresses. Bartenders. Cleaners. All working in a restaurant in America. Broken lives. Tough pasts. Then one day, this man — D-Rax — walked in and offered us something no one ever had: a purpose. Protection. A job worth fighting for."
Her eyes were steady. Not proud. Not regretful. Just honest.
> "He asked us to guard his property. Not his life. His work. He said there are people who'd want to destroy what he was building. And he couldn't afford that. So we became his shield."
I slowly nodded, piecing the fragments together.
> "I see. So that's the truth."
Arora looked at me for a moment, as if deciding whether to say more. Then she stood up, brushing off her pants.
> "Do you want to ask anything else?" she said politely. "Or should I leave you to rest?"
I gestured toward the door.
> "You can go."
But as she turned to leave, something unexpected happened.
She paused… and then reached out, gently taking my hand in hers.
Her touch was soft — uncertain — as if she wasn't sure why she did it herself.
Then she whispered, almost like a confession:
> "Your touch is… gentle. Strangely gentle. You could control anyone with it — break or bind anyone's will. It's rare. Dangerous, even."
I didn't respond.
I didn't have to.
Because she wasn't finished.
She stepped back, her fingers lingering for a second longer than they should have. Then she smiled lightly and said,
> "And yes… before I forget — there's a party tonight. D-sir insisted. Just something small, to help everyone breathe again. Don't worry — the entire house is soundproof. No one outside will hear a thing."
With that, she opened the door.
Paused once more.
Then exited.
The door closed softly behind her — but the weight of her words stayed behind.
A party?
After all this?
I sat down on the bed slowly, running a hand through my hair, heart still pounding from everything I had just learned.
D-Rax saw me as his savior.
These girls saw him as theirs.
And now we were all together — in a fortress made of secrets, held up by lies, haunted by truths that refused to stay buried.
> And somehow, amidst it all, there was a party being prepared.
But inside me?
It was anything but celebration.
It was a storm.
One I couldn't dance through this time.
"The Smile Behind the Storm"
Everyone was dressed, glowing in the soft lights of the underground estate. The scent of food wafted through the corridors, laughter echoed faintly, and for the first time in what felt like years, the air didn't taste like blood and fear.
It was as if D had known we would come — as if he had planned this party long before we even stepped into his world. Everything was perfectly set. Music played low in the background. Candles flickered in elegant glass holders. Tables were filled with fruits, bread, wine, and dishes I hadn't seen in years.
But my steps were slow.
Measured.
Because even though everything around me whispered peace… my heart screamed caution.
> One wrong move. One wrong word. One buried truth… and this delicate illusion of safety would crumble.
And I couldn't let that happen.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
Just as I was about to walk deeper into the room, I felt a familiar warmth beside me. I turned — and there she was.
Mon.
Dressed in soft blue, her hair braided loosely over her shoulder, her eyes glowing under the golden lights. She looked radiant… but more than that, she looked real. Solid. Unshaken. As if all the chaos in the world hadn't touched her.
She smiled and asked sweetly,
> "How do I look?"
Her question was so simple — yet it shook me to my core.
My throat tightened.
Because just seeing her… being near her… brought everything I had tried to forget crashing back into focus.
> And I couldn't lie to her — not tonight.
So I reached for her hand, laced my fingers between hers, and gently pulled her away from the crowd. Away from the music and the eyes and the distractions.
We found a quiet corner — hidden behind a curtain-draped hallway. Only the hum of the distant speakers reached us here.
I turned to her slowly.
Looked into those calm, honest eyes.
And asked the question I had been holding inside for far too long.
> "Mon… have you truly forgiven me? Have you really let go of everything that happened between us?"
She didn't answer right away.
Her eyes softened, and she looked down at our joined hands for a moment.
Then she said — quietly, but firmly:
> "Sam… people don't forget. They just forgive. And forgiveness isn't about erasing the past — it's about choosing to live with it… to move forward anyway. That's why people stay."
I could barely breathe.
But she wasn't finished.
> "As for us… you don't remember everything. Not yet. You chose not to. You took those medicines to bury the truth… to bury your pain. But when the day comes — and it will come — when you remember it all…"
She leaned closer, her voice colder now.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
> "…I'll end you. I'll kill you with my own hands, Sam. Just like so many innocent lives were lost… because of you."
The words hit me like bullets.
I blinked.
Tried to speak.
But nothing came out.
The world swayed — and for a second, I couldn't breathe.
> Was this real? Was she actually saying this to me?
Then — a sharp jolt.
Like lightning through my chest.
I gasped.
Suddenly back in reality.
Mon was still standing in front of me, smiling softly, gently brushing hair away from her face.
And I realized — it was all in my head.
That threat.
Those words.
That hatred.
It had never left me.
> But it wasn't real.
Not yet.
My imagination had betrayed me. Again.
I looked at her — truly looked at her — and found her eyes watching me with concern.
> "Sam," she said gently, "are you okay?"
I blinked quickly, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were there. My face was damp with sweat. My hands trembling slightly. My heart thudding painfully.
> "You look tired. And you're sweating a lot. Your eyes are red. Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice full of care.
I forced a smile through the ache in my chest.
> "Yeah," I whispered. "Just… a little exhausted. That's all."
She reached up and touched my cheek gently, and for a moment, everything felt calm again.
But deep inside?
I was unraveling.
Because no matter how gentle her touch was…
No matter how kind her eyes were right now…
I knew.
> One day, when the truth comes out… she might really say those words.
And I might lose her forever.
So I clung to this moment — to her kindness — like a dying ember in a storm.
Even if it was only temporary.
Even if it was built on a lie.
To be continued…