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At Shrestha's Mansion
The black Brabus 900 rolled through the towering wrought-iron gates, their intricate patterns gleaming under the moonlight. The mansion ahead stood like a modern-day palace—grand, cold, and gleaming with gold-lit windows that pierced through the night. The marble driveway shimmered, spotless, like even dust was too afraid to land there.
The car came to a smooth halt before the entrance.
The door opened.
A polished black shoe touched the ground first, followed by Noah, stepping out with the kind of quiet authority that could make the air around him bow. Dressed in a black tailored suit and a deep maroon shirt, his look was sharp enough to wound. His hair was slicked back perfectly, revealing a sculpted forehead and an expression colder than the marble beneath him. A gold watch glinted on his wrist — understated but commanding.
The guards stationed at the massive front doors immediately straightened and bowed.
"Good evening, young master."
Noah didn't so much as glance at them. He walked past — calm, silent, dangerous — like a storm disguised in human form.
From the driver's side, Ashish, his right-hand man, stepped out in a matching black suit and followed behind, his pace disciplined and steady.
As they entered the mansion, the luxurious silence of wealth filled the air — chandeliers glimmered, portraits stared down from the walls, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered from another room.
Standing near the archway, Steven Lepcha, the old butler, was already waiting. His back was straight despite his age, his face worn but still loyal.
"Welcome home, young master," Steven greeted, bowing respectfully.
Noah didn't return the courtesy. "Where are they?" he asked, his voice low and razor-sharp.
"In the study room," Steven replied, his tone polite but laced with caution. "They've been waiting for you."
Noah's gaze lingered for a second — cold, unreadable — then he started walking again.
Ashish followed silently behind.
Just as Noah passed by, Steven spoke again, voice steady but edged with warning.
"Young master… be careful. The master is furious. You're thirty minutes late — and you missed the family dinner."
Noah paused mid-step. For a brief second, the air felt heavier.
Then he looked back at the old man, his expression unmoving. "I know," he said flatly. "I came late on purpose."
Without waiting for a reaction, he turned and strode down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps cutting through the mansion's silence — sharp, deliberate, and defiant.
********
Ashish halted in the hallway — the grand marble corridor lined with portraits of long-dead men who still seemed to watch over the house. The guards, all tall and broad, stood like statues, their cold eyes fixed on him. None of them moved, but their presence alone made it clear — he wasn't allowed any further. Only family.
Noah didn't even glance back. His footsteps echoed with quiet confidence as he walked down the long hallway and stopped in front of the oak door of the study.
He knocked at it once.
A deep, sharp voice came from inside, edged with authority.
"Come in."
Noah pushed the door open.
Inside, Nerav sat on the couch, tense, while their grandfather stood facing the window, a glass of red wine swirling lazily in his hand. Even with his back turned, he commanded the room — shoulders square, posture straight. The dark brown suit fit his frame perfectly; he looked less like a frail old man and more like a retired mafia boss who still ruled in silence. His hair was grey, but his hands — strong, veined, and precise — mirrored Noah's.
"Master," Noah said, his tone calm and even.
The old man turned — and in one swift motion, threw the wine in Noah's face.
The glass hit the floor, shattering. Red splattered across the tiles like blood.
Nerav jolted up, panic flashing across his face. "Grandpa, please, calm down! He must've had a reason—"
"Reason?" the old man roared, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel.
"You dare defy me, boy? You think you can ignore my summons?"
Noah didn't flinch. Drops of wine trickled down his cheek, but his eyes stayed cold.
"I didn't wanted to have dinner together."
The words fell heavy in the silence that followed. Nerav froze. Their grandfather's jaw clenched — his fury trembled through the air like static before lightning.
"Fine," the old man hissed. "You want to test me?"
Without hesitation, Noah kneeled on the cold marble, straight-backed and expressionless. He removed his blazer, folded it neatly, and placed it beside him.
"You can punish me," he said quietly. "I'm already used to it."
"Noah!" Nerav rushed forward, panic spilling from his voice. "Get up, damn it! What are you doing?" He tried to pull Noah up, but the younger man stayed firm — immovable.
The old man sneered. "You've grown arrogant, boy. You've been acting on your own — capturing men, making enemies, thinking you're above my word." He turned sharply to his guards. "Bring me the whip."
"Grandpa, no!" Nerav stepped forward, voice trembling. "He's just a kid! You know he's loyal to you — always has been. Please, don't do this. I'll take responsibility."
The old man's gaze burned through him. "Step aside, Nerav. This brat needs to be reminded who his master is."
"Da…" Noah's calm voice cut through the tension. He didn't look up. "It's fine. Let him do it. I told you — I'm used to it."
The whip arrived, its handle gleaming in the dim light. Grandpa Naresh wrapped his fingers around it, testing its weight. His voice dropped, low and lethal. "Drag Nerav away."
"Let me go!" Nerav fought against the guards as they grabbed his arms and dragged him out. "Grandpa, please—!"
*********
Now, only Noah and his grandfather remained in the room. The silence was thick— heavy with authority and defiance.
Grandpa Naresh rolled the whip slowly, the leather coiling and snapping like a live serpent. Then, without a word, he struck.
Crack!
The sound tore through the room.
Noah's body jerked slightly, but he didn't made a sound. He stayed on his knees, unmoving — his back straight, his eyes fixed on the floor. His fingers curled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white.
Another strike came.
Then another.
Each lash echoed against the walls, louder than the last. The whip hissed and snapped through the air, and soon, his maroon shirt split open, threads giving way to torn flesh. Red welts formed, deep and raw.
Still, Noah didn't flinch. Not a groan, not a plea. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the silence between the blows.
Grandpa Naresh's eyes were cold — completely void of pity. To him, this wasn't punishment; it was control. A reminder of who ruled this bloodline.
Crack!
"You think you've grown strong enough to defy me?" he hissed, his voice low, dangerous.
Another lash.
"This is what happens when you forget your place."
Noah remained still, his jaw tightening. Blood ran down his back, soaking into his torn shirt.
If pain could break him, it would've long ago.
But it didn't.
Grandpa Naresh's arm finally lowered, his breathing heavy, the whip hanging loosely from his hand. He looked at the boy kneeling before him — silent, bleeding, unbroken — and for the briefest moment, there was a flicker in his eyes. Not guilt… but irritation.
Even after everything, Noah still looked fearless.
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Few Hours Later — At the Hospital
Yunah sat alone in her ward, staring blankly at the clock. The silence was unbearable. She let out a sigh and decided to step out for some air. With her IV still attached, she carefully dragged the stand beside her, its small wheels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
The hallway was quiet. Most visitors had already left; it was 9 p.m., and this small-town hospital was nothing like the busy ones in Kalimpong. Only a few patients and nurses moved here and there, their footsteps echoing faintly in the dim corridor.
As Yunah reached the entrance, the night breeze brushed against her skin, cold and sharp. She shivered instantly.
"Ugh… I should've brought my sweater," she muttered under her breath, hugging herself with one arm while gripping the IV stand with the other. She inhaled deeply, trying to feel alive in the still night air.
Then — a figure appeared from the shadows near the parking area. Someone walking unevenly…slow but determined.
Her eyes narrowed for a moment before they widened in disbelief.
"Noah?"
He was pale, sweating, and looked like he could collapse at any moment. Yet his steps quickened the moment he saw her. His gaze locked on hers — desperate, longing, almost relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath for hours and finally found the air he'd been searching for.
When he reached her, Yunah barely had time to react before Noah wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.
"Noah—!" she gasped, frozen for a moment, confusion and shock flooding her at once.
He said nothing at first. Just buried his head into her shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against her skin.
"Why are you outside… wearing something this thin?" His voice was weak, strained. "You always make me worry."
Yunah's body softened at his words, but before she could respond, he murmured again — voice trembling, barely audible:
"It's warm here… peaceful. I missed this."
Her heart clenched. Something was wrong.
"Noah… are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.
He didn't answer.
"Noah?" she tried again, gently shaking his arm.
Still nothing.
Her panic grew. "Noah! Noah—"
Before she could finish, his body went limp. His weight fell heavily against her, and she barely managed to hold him upright. The IV stand toppled beside them, the needle slipping out of her hand. Pain shot through her side as her stitches strained and her wound began to bleed — but she didn't even notice.
All she could see was Noah's pale, unconscious face against her shoulder.
"Noah! Noah, please—open your eyes!" her voice cracked. Her chest tightened, her throat burning as fear choked her voice. Tears spilled down her cheeks without her realisation in fear. She held his face with trembling hands.
"Someone help! Please!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the quiet night.
Blood from her wound stained her hospital gown, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the boy in her arms — the one who'd finally come back to her, only to collapse in her embrace.