The hallway was silent except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan.
Arora's boots clicked lightly against the marble as she walked toward the lounge. She expected to find her subordinates gossiping or sparring—anything but him.
Yet when she stepped inside, she stopped short.
Jack was there, standing in the center of the room, smiling at her as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
For one disorienting heartbeat she simply stared. He's still here…
Her expression hardened, masking the ripple inside her. "Where are the others?"
Jack tilted his head. "You mean Edwin, Brother Kelvin, and Miso?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "Where are they?"
He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "They all left me here—and told me to cook something for you when you woke up."
Arora blinked. The absurdity sank in. "What the hell? Why would they ask you to cook for me!?"
She snatched her phone from her pocket and dialed. "Hello! Edwin! Where the hell are you?"
Static crackled, then his voice came, full of mischief.
"I'm … on a date with my girlfriend!"
Arora's brow twitched. "You don't have a girlfriend, Edwin."
"Ah—ah! Bad signal, can't hear you, Leader!"
The line went dead.
She stared at the phone, fury simmering. "He hung up on me?"
Miso didn't answer her call either.
Her jaw clenched. "What am I supposed to do now!?"
The frustration broke loose in one sharp cry that echoed down the empty corridor.
"AAAHH!"
Jack peeked from the kitchen doorway, startled. "What happened, Baby?"
She exhaled sharply, glaring. "I'm hungry! Do you even know how to cook?"
Jack's grin returned, bright and ridiculous. "Yes, I do! Tell me what you want to eat."
Arora crossed her arms, pretending disinterest. "Just a bowl of fried rice."
"Coming right up!"
---
In the Kitchen
Jack moved with a lightness that didn't belong in this fortress.
He rolled up his sleeves, humming softly, gathering vegetables from the counter.
The knife began its rhythm—swift, sure, almost musical.
Arora sat across from him, arms folded, but her eyes followed the dance of his hands.
The scent of raw onion and garlic rose; the sound of chopping filled the room.
He's actually good, she thought, surprised.
Her gaze softened before she noticed. And he looks… kind of handsome doing that.
Jack suddenly looked up, catching her stare.
"Why are you staring at me like that, Baby? Am I that beautiful?"
Her face went blank. For one horrifying second she forgot how to breathe.
"Yes," she said automatically.
His eyes widened. "What!?"
Realization slammed in; she turned away, flustered.
"I mean, yes—because the carrots you're cutting look beautiful."
Jack smirked. "Is that so?"
"Yes!" she said quickly, glaring at the nearest wall as if it had offended her.
He chuckled, turning back to the stove. The flame bloomed gold, throwing light across his face.
Steam rose; oil hissed. The room filled with warmth and the gentle scent of fried vegetables.
Arora's heartbeat slowed and then sped again, caught between calm and something dangerously close to peace.
She hadn't felt this in years—the quiet rhythm of another person existing near her without fear.
How can I like someone I met just yesterday? she wondered. It's absurd.
But the thought didn't stop the pull; it only made her chest ache more.
She stood before she knew it, drawn forward by the sound of his voice, the glow of the fire painting him in gold.
"Jack," she said softly.
He turned, surprised. "Yes?"
Her voice faltered, thinner than usual. "How come you're this beautiful?"
The words slipped out before she could catch them.
His breath hitched. "Beautiful?"
Something inside her cracked—years of restraint splitting open.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
The warmth of him startled her. Solid, real, gentle.
She could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands, the faint scent of soap and smoke from the stove.
He froze, the wooden spoon still in his hand. "Am I really that beautiful?" he whispered.
Arora leaned closer, her breath brushing against his ear.
"Yes," she murmured. "You are."
Her voice trembled just enough to betray her. "You shouldn't make me feel like this, Jack."
She didn't plan the next motion—it simply happened, instinct and heartbeat taking over.
Her lips grazed his ear in a soft, fleeting kiss.
Jack's breath caught. The spoon slipped from his hand, clattering against the stove.
For a second the world stilled: the flame, the fan, the rain outside.
Arora's heart raced so fast it hurt. What am I doing…
And yet, in that quiet kitchen, for the first time since she'd built her empire of fear,
the Black Rose allowed herself to feel alive.
To Be Continued.