Jack followed Arora in silence, his footsteps soft against the cold marble floor.
The echo of rain outside was the only sound between them.
He didn't know which was worse — her silence, or the possibility that she already knew everything.
She hadn't said a word since she caught him on the phone. No questions, no accusations — just that cold, unreadable stare that made him feel like his heartbeat was too loud.
He knew what she was capable of. He'd seen the old footage — the Black Rose, gun in one hand, blood on the floor, men dropping like dominoes.
If that version of her had been standing here tonight, he'd already be dead.
But she wasn't shouting.
She was quiet.
And somehow, that scared him more.
---
The car beeped as Arora unlocked it. The sound made Jack flinch.
"Ah," he muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.
She turned, her hair sticking slightly to her rain-damp cheek. "What? You a scaredy-cat or what?"
Her tone was calm, teasing — but her eyes were cold.
She opened the passenger-side door and looked at him pointedly.
"I can sit in the back—" he started.
"Nah." She cut him off. "Sit in front. I'm not your driver."
He obeyed immediately. The seat felt too small, the air too thin.
When she came around and slid into the driver's seat, she noticed him fumbling with the belt.
"Hey. You a kid? Don't know how to buckle up?"
She leaned over before he could react, grabbing the belt from his shoulder and snapping it into place.
The movement was so close, so sudden, he caught the faint scent of her perfume — clean jasmine with a sharp undertone of smoke. A contradiction, just like her.
When she pulled back, their eyes met — briefly, dangerously.
Jack's chest tightened. The memory flashed — that night when he was drunk, when he kissed her. The taste, the heat, the confusion that followed. He'd convinced himself it was a dream. But here she was, close enough that the scent was the same. The same warmth. The same danger.
He turned away quickly, face burning.
---
The car roared to life, headlights slicing through the darkness.
For a long while, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic squeak of the wipers across the windshield.
"So, Jack," Arora said finally, her eyes still on the road. "Who are you?"
He froze, throat dry.
"You know me, Leader," he said, forcing a light laugh. "Why ask?"
Her hand tightened on the gear stick, shifting hard. "I know your biography," she said, voice even. "Jack Billsberg. Born July 22, 1993. Owns a cosmetic company — The Paint. Records clean."
She paused, then looked at him briefly, just enough to make him squirm.
"But I couldn't find anything about your parents. Or your childhood. Isn't that strange?"
Jack's pulse spiked. He looked out the window, pretending to be calm. "They died when I was a kid."
The lie came too fast. He could feel her eyes still on him, measuring his every twitch.
"Oh," she said softly, turning the wheel. "Let's talk about this later."
The car slowed as the Black Rose headquarters came into view — tall and sleek, its glass facade gleaming with reflected lightning.
Even the rain seemed to hesitate before touching that building.
---
The moment she stepped out, the atmosphere changed.
Guards straightened. Men who'd been joking near the entrance fell silent.
Everyone knew what that cold expression meant.
Miso came running up, nearly tripping over her boots. "Leader! Everyone's here. We used the third-floor hall — it's the only one that fits this many people."
Arora nodded. "Good. Let's go."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Jack. Follow me. Don't leave my side."
He nodded quickly, falling into step behind her.
---
The elevator doors slid open with a low metallic hum. Inside, Miso's hand shook as she pressed the third-floor button.
Arora noticed. "What's wrong?" she asked, leaning back casually against the wall.
"Nothing, Leader," Miso said quickly. "Just… it's my first time seeing all three hundred of our people gathered together."
Arora smiled faintly — the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry. It'll be fewer by tomorrow."
Jack shivered. He didn't think she meant it as a joke.
---
The elevator opened with a ding, and the sound of a hundred hushed voices filled the air.
As Arora stepped out, the chatter died immediately. The crowd of gang members parted like water, clearing a path for her.
Every person in that room — smugglers, lieutenants, spies — had heard the stories.
The night she'd wiped out an entire rival syndicate on her own. The night she earned her title.
But tonight, her aura felt even heavier.
Even Jack could feel it pressing on his chest, the weight of authority and rage barely contained.
Nick stood by the stage, microphone in hand. His usual smirk was gone — replaced with a kind of wary respect.
He handed her the mic without a word.
Arora took it and walked to the center of the platform.
The silence in the room was suffocating. The fluorescent lights flickered faintly, shadows twisting across her face.
She looked out at the sea of people — her people — and for a moment, she saw ghosts instead.
Her father.
Her mother.
Blood. Smoke. Rain.
She blinked it away.
Then her voice came, sharp and cold, slicing through the air.
"Whoever's been a rat," she said, "come out now before I find you myself. Because if I do—"
She paused, scanning the room.
"You'll learn what death really feels like."
The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.
Every syllable carried weight — calm, measured, lethal.
A few of the men shifted. Someone coughed.
But no one moved forward.
The air grew thick with tension. Even the hum of the ceiling fan seemed too loud.
Behind her, Jack watched with a mix of awe and unease.
He'd seen her cold before — but this was different.
This was the side of Arora the underworld feared.
The side he was starting to realize he might have to face soon.
---
Miso looked around nervously, clutching the edge of her jacket.
Nick crossed his arms, muttering, "Damn. She's serious tonight."
Arora lowered the mic slightly, scanning the room once more. Her gaze was sharp enough to slice through bone.
"Alright then," she said. "Let's make this simple."
She leaned forward slightly, the faintest curl of a smile on her lips.
"Since no one wants to admit anything… I'll just find out myself."
A collective shiver passed through the room.
And from the far end, someone whispered, almost trembling —
"She's going to start the cleansing…"
Arora heard it.
And for the first time all night, she smiled — cold, amused, terrifying.
"Exactly."
Her heels clicked once against the floor, echoing like a gunshot.
To be continued…