The thunder rolled outside, low and heavy, but inside the kitchen there was only the sound of rain—and two uneven heartbeats.
For a moment, Arora still felt dazed. That strange, fleeting daydream from earlier hadn't left her; she could almost still feel it clinging to her skin. She shook her head slightly, trying to forget.
Then she noticed Jack's shoulders trembling.
Her hand moved before she could think—brushing along his back, tracing slow, uncertain circles meant to soothe. An instinct she didn't know she had.
He's shaking… she thought. So easily frightened. How can someone who smiles like that look this fragile?
The smell of fried rice still hung in the air, mixed with the faint scent of his shampoo and rain-damp clothes. It made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't name.
I should step back.
But her arms didn't obey.
Instead, she found herself whispering, "It's just thunder. Nothing can reach you here."
Jack nodded against her shoulder, his breath warm. "I know," he murmured. "It just… reminds me of things."
His voice trembled—small, honest—and it hit her harder than she expected.
Reminds him… of what?
Curiosity twisted into something deeper—something dangerously close to concern.
She'd seen men cry for mercy, seen blood on her own hands, and not once had her heart faltered.
But now, holding this boy while rain crashed against the windows, she felt an ache that frightened her more than any enemy ever had.
What am I doing?
He's just a stranger. I met him yesterday.
I'm the leader of the Black Rose—what would they think if they saw me like this?
Yet when lightning flashed again, she caught sight of his face—eyes closed, trusting her completely.
And the question faded.
Her arms tightened slightly.
He trusts me… He shouldn't, but he does.
And for the first time, she wanted to be worthy of that trust.
The storm eased slowly; thunder drifted farther away.
Neither of them noticed the silence returning until only the rain remained.
Jack spoke first, voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, Baby."
Arora stiffened at the name, but the protest never came. The word didn't sound foolish anymore—it sounded… gentle.
Why do I like it when he says it? she wondered. Why does it sound like something real?
He pulled back slightly, looking up at her. His eyes still held traces of fear, but the edges had softened.
There was gratitude there—and something else she couldn't decipher.
Arora looked away, clearing her throat. "You should finish your food before it gets cold."
Jack smiled faintly. "Only if you eat with me."
"Bosses don't share dinner with hostages," she said automatically.
He tilted his head, the corner of his lips curving upward. "Then maybe stop treating me like one."
The words landed harder than they should have.
Stop treating me like one…
She turned toward the table, avoiding his gaze. "Sit down," she said quietly. "And eat before I change my mind."
They ate in silence.
Every so often she caught herself watching him again—how carefully he lifted the spoon, how he smiled after each bite, how the smallest things seemed to make him happy.
How can someone live like this? she thought. Without walls, without fear.
He laughed softly at something she didn't catch, and before she realized it, she was smiling too.
I slept for a whole day, she thought. And woke up to this madness.
Her eyes lingered on him. Maybe it's not madness… maybe it's peace—and I just don't recognize it.
After dinner, Jack rinsed the dishes, humming a tune she didn't know.
Arora leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him quietly.
It's strange, she thought. I've commanded armies of men, but I've never seen anyone move so freely around me. He doesn't know what fear is—or maybe he's just brave enough to hide it.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, though the thunder had already passed.
He looked over his shoulder, meeting her eyes, and smiled again. "See? The storm's gone."
Arora's heart gave one traitorous thud.
If only it were that easy to calm the one inside me.
When he turned back to the sink, she whispered to herself,
"You make me forget what kind of world I built."
The rain outside slowed to a drizzle, tapping gently against the glass—steady, patient, like a heartbeat that refused to fade.
And for the first time since she'd become the Black Rose,
Arora didn't feel like a ruler watching her kingdom.
She felt like a woman standing in a quiet kitchen, unsure whether to be terrified or grateful for the warmth blooming in her chest.
To Be Continued.