Laboni yanked the curtain aside and looked down. In the dim glow of the street lamp, Henry was standing there, clad in the same black shirt that blended seamlessly with the night. He stood motionless, eyes fixed directly on Laboni's window.
Laboni gripped the window grill tightly. The mark from her own hand on her forehead still burned fiercely.
Henry spoke, his voice calm but grave, carrying clearly to Laboni's ears:
"Why do you keep hurting yourself, Laboni? Is this curse for you, or for me?"
From below, Laboni could see the golden glint of his eyes, and even from that distance, that gaze felt like fire searing through her.
Laboni shouted, "Why are you here? Are you even human? Are you truly some kind of demon? No ordinary person could vanish like that or return this way!"
Henry maintained that familiar, mysterious smile at the corner of his lips and took a step forward.
"Whether I'm human or not, you already proved it thirty minutes ago, Laboni. Could that union have happened without the touch of human blood and flesh? I return to you again and again because, even when you curse me, your body recognizes me."
Laboni seethed. "I will end you, Henry! Tomorrow morning, I'll go to the police again."
Henry chuckled softly, a chilling undertone in his voice. "You forget, Laboni—the police can't touch me. I am already hidden inside your mind. And listen… your daughters are coming back from the hospital. Will you stand in front of them with your bloody forehead and swollen lips? Or will you dress yourself up again as 'Officer Ananya'?"
A shiver ran down Laboni's spine. He was right. Sara and Rini were returning at any moment. She hurriedly tried to hide the mark on her forehead with her scarf. She realized Henry had not come to physically hurt her tonight—he had come to assert mental dominance.
Laboni whispered, almost to herself, "You truly are a curse, Henry…"
Henry waved from below as if bidding farewell, then slowly began walking into the darkness. Laboni watched him fade into the night, and with him, the scent of roses lightened. The ground beneath her seemed to give way. She quickly stepped away from the window and grabbed her phone, her heart racing. Henry's mysterious presence and uncanny power compelled her to uncover the truth even deeper.
With trembling hands, she dialed a highly trusted senior officer from her police service, someone who knew the intricate details of that case from twenty years ago.
"Hello, Sir? It's Ananya… no, Laboni. Sir, this is urgent. Henry… Henry, is he still in that isolated jail cell? What's his current status?"
Silence stretched from the other end. Then the senior officer spoke in a low, grave voice:
"Who are you talking about, Laboni? Henry? He is no longer a prisoner. Don't you know? Over the past ten years, the entire system has changed. Henry is now the IGP. His rank is above everyone. The entire police force of the country moves at his command."
Laboni froze. The words hit her ears like an explosion.
"Sir… what are you saying? He was a killer! He was in jail! How can a convicted criminal become the head of the police?"
"That's the mystery, Laboni. How he escaped that dark cell, how all evidence against him vanished—no one knows. All I can tell you is he is now the most powerful figure in the current government. No one dares to defy him. But why are you asking? Has he appeared before you?"
Laboni could barely speak. She threw her phone onto the bed. Henry had not only mastered dark rituals, he had also seized the machinery of the state. Tonight, he had not come to her office as a fugitive—he had come to assert his "right."
Laboni whispered to herself, "The one I threatened to imprison is now the jailer himself. He's the IGP? Then who were those who came to raid my office today? Was it all part of his own police theater?"
She realized she had stepped into a deadly trap. Henry did not come to kill her—he intended to make her a captive queen beside his vast empire. And her daughters—Sara and Rini—were unwittingly under their "IGP father's" shadow.
Laboni stood frozen before the bathroom mirror, water still streaming down her body, the thin scarf clinging to her wet frame. Her forehead throbbed lightly.
Just then, a call came through her intercom—or perhaps her mobile. Who could be calling in such a situation? Laboni picked it up with trembling hands, her heart racing—was it Henry? Or some dire news from the hospital?
She asked sharply, her voice low and piercing:
"Hello… who is this?"
There was no male voice. Instead, a mechanical, cold female voice floated through the line:
"Laboni, congratulations. You have accepted the IGP's special invitation. Your two daughters are now in the hospital's special cabin block. But they are not waiting for you—they are dining with their 'new father.'"
Laboni's hands almost dropped the phone. She shouted, "What are you saying? New father? Is Henry there? I'm coming immediately!"
"Don't delay, Laboni. The IGP dislikes tardiness. And yes, will you change that thin scarf, or come as it is? Because he likes seeing you in every form."
The call ended abruptly. Laboni stared into the mirror, eyes wide with terror. Henry was not just outside her office or below her home—he had penetrated every fiber of her daughters' lives. He had turned the city into his personal prison, and Laboni was the most prized prisoner.
She quickly removed her scarf and prepared her outfit. There was only one thought in her mind—Sara and Rini. Could she save them from this demonic grasp, or would she have to surrender everything to Henry's overwhelming power tonight?
Laboni took out her special red dress from the wardrobe. It was beautiful and mysterious. The back was entirely open, with subtle cuts along either side, and a thin, scarf-like fabric hung down like a pendant, connected to several belts or straps. These belts had a special feature—when pulled, they could wrap her tighter and, if necessary, allow her to pull anyone close.
She stood before the mirror, covering the marks on her forehead and lips with makeup. She was not going to surrender—she was stepping into a dangerous game.
When she left the room, the bright red dress highlighted every curve of her body. She knew Henry wanted to see her exactly like this. As she descended the stairs, the straps at the back swayed in the night air.
Laboni thought to herself, "Henry, if you are the IGP, then I am the predator who has been brewing poison for you for twenty years. Those belts you made to pull me close… I will use them to choke your breath away."
Her high heels clicked against the quiet night as she approached her car. She knew it wasn't just her daughters waiting in that VIP hospital lounge—there was also a terrifyingly powerful man, her lover, her killer, and her daughters' so-called "father."
Once in the car, Laboni glanced at her red lips in the mirror. She was ready. This dress might be soaked in blood tonight—or witness the birth of a new history.
When she entered the VIP lounge at the hospital, the air grew heavy. Her vivid red dress, the mysterious cut in the back, and the pendant-like straps gave her an almost magical presence.
Henry gave her a broad, satisfied smile the moment he saw her. He had expected her to arrive—and exactly like this. Sitting in his IGP chair, he looked regal, his golden eyes gleaming brighter in contrast to her red dress.
But Laboni noticed her daughters, Sara and Rini, were completely changed. They sat on one side of the dinner table, silent. Henry tried to make them smile, but they barely responded, terrified. The sparkle of their usual innocence was gone.
Henry said, smiling at Laboni:
"I knew you'd arrive just in time, Laboni. That red suits you perfectly. Look at our daughters—how regal they look tonight."
Laboni rushed to her daughters. They didn't look at her, shrinking as if in fear of an invisible force.
"What have you done to them, Henry? Why are they so silent?"
Henry rose from his chair, moving slowly behind her:
"They're just a little surprised, Laboni. They never imagined that their mother and their 'new father' had such a deep past. I was telling them about our golden days."
He placed his hand lightly on the belt at the back of her dress, pulling her subtly closer. Laboni felt his breath near her neck.
Henry whispered:
"See, Laboni, the girls are watching. Do you want me to tell them more about our 'prideful union,' or will you join this dinner like the dutiful mother?"
Sara and Rini lifted their eyes briefly, their eyes brimming with tears. Laboni realized Henry was manipulating her daughters mentally. If she rebelled now, Henry would not hesitate to use his IGP authority to harm them.
Laboni advanced slowly to the table. The dress's hem grazed the floor with a royal sound. Sitting down, the back cut and straps of her dress dangled like a forbidden tease before Henry's eyes.
The table was laden with regal dishes, but she had no appetite. She glanced at Sara and Rini, who kept their heads down. Even in her seated posture, Laboni radiated dignity and defiance.
Henry leaned slightly across the table, gesturing toward the strap dangling near her collar.
"This belt is exquisite, Laboni. Will it draw you closer, or bind me to you?"
Laboni met his gaze directly, her eyes blazing with revenge, her lips curling in that mysterious smile. She knew this dinner table had become the battlefield for their next confrontation.
She remained silent, staring at her plate. In a calm, controlled voice, she whispered to her daughters:
"Sara, Rini… eat. There's nothing to fear, Mother is here."
They obeyed, shaking, unsure why their mother remained so composed.
Under the table, a dangerous game had begun. Henry, with his IGP authority and masculine dominance, placed his right hand on Laboni's thigh, slowly moving upward. She shivered, but her expression remained unchanged. His fingers traced lightly over the boundary of her red dress, testing how long she could endure his dominance.
His golden eyes burned with desire and triumph. He leaned close to her ear, ensuring the girls wouldn't hear.
"The more you remain silent, Laboni, the deeper I go. Did you not realize when you wore this red dress that I had every right to undo its straps? Your daughters think we are merely telling stories, but look—I am crushing you in my grasp."
Laboni's hand instinctively clenched beneath the table. His hand edged closer to a dangerous zone. Her breath hitched, but before her daughters, she could not react. She twisted the straps in her fingers.
She thought: "Come closer, Henry… just a little more. The moment you think I've succumbed completely, I'll shatter your empire into dust."
Under the table, his hand didn't stop. The fingers pressed above the red dress's perilous line, radiating a primal ferocity that stunned her nerves. Her daughters were seated before her, unaware of the humiliation she endured.
Henry's lips hovered near her ear, his warm breath burning against her exposed back.
"Are you trembling, Laboni? Or secretly enjoying this intensity? Did you not expect this red dress would make your body so accessible? If I move my hand just a little higher, will you scream in front of the girls, or submit to my IGP authority?"
A fire sparked in Laboni's eyes. She realized he wanted to mentally dominate her, not just expose her physically. She swiftly picked up a sharp knife from the table—not toward food, but discreetly under it, near his hand.
She spoke in a low, calm voice:
"The seasoning is strong, Henry, and too much spice can burn. Are you sure you want your IGP hand to get soaked in blood?"
Henry did not remove his hand but pressed slightly more. His eyes now dared her, challenging her to act. He knew she would not strike in full view of the gathering.
Henry whispered:
"You know the taste of blood, Laboni. Have you forgotten the bathroom thirty minutes ago, when your blood touched my lips?"
At that moment, Sara looked up. She saw her mother's forehead glistening and her eyes fixed unwaveringly on Henry.
"Mama? Are you unwell? Why are you trembling?"
Laboni realized words alone would not stop this demon. As his hand breached every limit, she pressed her pointed high-heel against his foot under the table with all her strength.
Henry gasped in pain, his leg jerking away. The wine glass atop the table trembled. Sara and Rini looked up, startled.
Henry ground his teeth but did not yield his pride. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to laugh it off. "Ah… just a cramp, Laboni. You're right… your spice is intense."
Laboni had joined the deadly battle. The red dress was no longer just allure—it was her weapon.
She whispered to her daughters, "Sara, Rini… finish your food. Your uncle might not walk properly tonight, right, Henry?"
Henry's forehead was now dotted with sweat. He realized even if trapped, this tigress could not be tamed.
He moved his mouth near her ear, breath heavy against her nape.
"Starting the fight with footwork, Laboni? Alright… now I'll show you the real fun. Tonight ends with you surrendering that red dress and asking for forgiveness. Remember, I am the IGP—this entire city moves at my command, and your daughters are my hostages."
With a sinister smile, he sent a message from his phone. A chill ran down Laboni's spine. She had removed her heel, but he had already made his move.
Suddenly, the restaurant lights went out. Sara and Rini screamed.
Laboni felt the straps at the back of her dress being yanked violently in the darkness, pulling her toward someone.
Henry whispered from the dark:
"The fun has only begun, Laboni. Now, what I do in the dark, your daughters will not see—but you will feel it forever."
Then, a heavy sound reverberated, and she felt the strap at her neck used to restrain her.
In the silence, Laboni froze. The strap's tension remained, but she felt a cool, mysterious touch glide over the cut in her back. Unlike Henry's rough, dominant touch, it was deliberate, precise, and chilling. Someone's finger traced down the central cut of her dress.
Her hair stood on end. She whispered in panic, "Henry… what are you doing? Let me go! The girls are scared…"
No answer came—just the icy touch reaching the belts near her waist. The heavy breath she had felt earlier, previously Henry's, was now different—denser and unfamiliar.
At that instant, emergency lights flickered back on. Laboni spun around, eyes wide.
Henry was no longer by her side. He was across the room, holding Sara and Rini's hands, a cruel grin on his face.
Then who had touched her back?
Laboni reached behind and felt a black slip of paper wedged between her dress's straps. A waiter in a black shirt, blending into the crowd, was disappearing into the throng—wearing the same black shirt Henry had worn moments ago.
Henry's voice rang out from afar, laughing:
"I'm right here, Laboni. Who touched you? Or are the old memories of my hands still caressing your body?"
With trembling hands, Laboni unfolded the slip. Written in blood-red ink were the words:
"The IGP's power lies outside, but the key to undoing the straps of your red dress is still in my pocket. See you at your home in thirty minutes."
Laboni could not tell if the man before her was the real Henry, or the one who had touched her—a twin, a shadow, or a sorcerous projection meant to drive her insane.