Room Number 7.
A number that carried silence, warning, and power.
Everyone in the headquarters knew — that door did not open for anyone but her.
Arora walked down the corridor with Jack in her arms, his head resting limply against her shoulder. He was heavier than he looked, but she carried him easily — her strength had never been the kind that wavered. Still, tonight… something about his weight felt different.
It wasn't the burden of a body — it was the burden of responsibility.
The rain whispered against the windows as she pushed open the door. The faint scent of sandalwood and steel filled the room — her sanctuary, untouched by anyone else.
She laid him carefully on the bed. His breathing was uneven, his brows furrowed as though trapped in a bad dream.
Arora exhaled slowly and brushed the wet strands of hair from his forehead. "You're hopeless," she murmured. "Three shots of gin and you nearly passed out."
Her tone was sharp, but her hands betrayed her. They lingered too long, tracing the side of his face before pulling away.
She poured a glass of water and tried to wake him, but he didn't respond — just mumbled something in his half-sleep. The faint lamplight touched his features — soft, warm, infuriatingly peaceful.
It shouldn't have affected her.
But it did.
She'd seen men beg for their lives, seen them crumble under her stare — but she'd never seen someone look so… unguarded in front of her.
For a woman who ruled through control, his vulnerability felt dangerous.
She sighed, setting the glass down. "If you get sick, I'm not babysitting you again," she said, though her voice had already lost its edge.
When she turned to grab a towel, her gaze caught on the faint glint of his shirt — unbuttoned halfway, sticking to his chest with sweat. The definition beneath the fabric startled her. She hadn't expected it.
The boyish smile, the gentle voice — none of it matched this quiet strength.
Her eyes lingered longer than they should have.
"Damn it," she muttered. "Why does he have to look like that?"
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him. Her mind — always disciplined, always cold — refused to quiet down.
He was just a man.
A foolish, naive man who'd wandered into a world that could destroy him.
And yet, when she looked at him, the ruthless leader inside her trembled — like her armor was cracking, one piece at a time.
Her hand moved before she could stop it, brushing against his collar. His skin was warm. The rain outside seemed to echo the rhythm of her heart — steady, relentless, unyielding.
"Baby…"
The word came from him — slurred, barely coherent, but it froze her.
Her breath caught. "What did you just—"
He blinked up at her, dazed, a lazy smile curving his lips. "What are you doing… trying to undress me?"
Arora froze, mid-motion.
Every nerve in her body screamed at her to step back — to walk out, to leave him, to not give in to whatever this was.
But her heart? Her heart whispered something else.
She stared at him, her pulse loud in her ears. "Don't flatter yourself," she managed to say, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded softer than it should've been.
He chuckled faintly — that drunken, unguarded sound that somehow felt too honest — and clumsily tugged his shirt open.
The lamplight fell over him again, tracing lines of skin and warmth. Arora's throat went dry.
For a moment, she couldn't look away.
What's wrong with me? she thought. Why am I even standing here?
She turned to leave — but then felt a hand around her wrist.
"Where are you going, baby?"
The drunken whisper broke whatever restraint she had left.
She looked down at him — his blue eyes unfocused, yet somehow searching for her — and something inside her just… stopped.
For once, she wasn't the leader.
She wasn't the Black Rose.
She was just a woman — standing too close to something that felt like temptation itself.
When he reached up and kissed her, she didn't pull away.
It was gentle at first, hesitant — like he didn't quite know what he was doing. His lips were warm, trembling slightly.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She could've stopped it.
She could've shoved him away easily.
But she didn't.
Instead, she found herself leaning in — her fingers curling against his shoulder, her breath mingling with his.
It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was something quieter. Something raw.
A moment that tasted like confusion and longing and fear.
When she finally broke away, her heart was racing like she'd been running for miles. Jack's eyes were half-closed again, the smile still faint on his lips.
She stood there for a long while, watching him breathe.
He looked peaceful — too peaceful for someone who had just turned her world upside down.
"You're drunk," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "And I'm… losing my mind."
She turned toward the door, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle.
"I shouldn't be here."
Her voice cracked — a rare, human sound — before she closed the door behind her.
Outside, the storm had calmed, but her pulse hadn't.
And for the first time since she'd taken the Black Rose throne, Arora felt truly defenseless
TO BE CONTINUED....