_______________
"I'm fine," the manager said, forcing her composure back into place with a shaky breath. "This way, Miss Yunah. Please, follow me."
She led Yunah into a private salon filled with rows of elegant gowns that looked more like works of art than clothing. The room was a sanctuary of silk, velvet, and diamonds.
"This is our latest collection. Every piece here is a one-of-a-kind original," the manager explained, her voice still trembling slightly. "Since Mr. Jay mentioned a gala, I thought..." She pulled out a gown in a violent, bloody red and another in a heavy royal green.
Yunah's expression remained flat. She didn't see herself in those colors; they felt too loud, too aggressive. Seeing her lack of interest, the manager began showing dress after dress, her movements becoming increasingly frantic.
*****
In the surveillance room, Noah watched the monitors with a predatory focus. To anyone else, it was just shopping. To him, seeing her find the perfect armor was the most important mission in the world.
****
Finally, Yunah stopped. Her eyes lit up as she stepped toward a row in the corner. Her gaze locked onto a floor-length, black evening gown. It featured a sophisticated, modern silhouette—slim-fitting with a dramatic thigh-high slit and a subtle, floor-sweeping train that pooled like liquid midnight.
Beside it, resting like a captured nocturnal creature, was the mask. It was an exquisite piece of silver filigree, one side blooming into the delicate, vein-like patterns of a butterfly's wing. It glimmered with a cold frost, studded with gems that caught the dim light like distant stars.
The manager caught the shift in her mood instantly. "You like this one?" she asked, her voice hopeful.
Yunah reached out, her fingers barely skimming the fabric. "It's... beautiful," she gasped, completely mesmerized.
***
"Finally," Noah whispered in the dark of the surveillance room. A gentle, genuine smile broke across his face as he watched her eyes sparkle through the screen.
***
The manager let out a massive sigh of relief; she could practically feel her job security returning. "An impeccable choice, Miss Yunah. And the mask is its perfect match." She clapped her hands with sudden, genuine excitement. "Please, you must try it on. We need to check the fit, and if it needs any alterations, I'll have my tailors work through the night. Trust me—you will look absolutely stunning."
"You really think so?" Yunah asked, her voice trailing off. She stared at the black silk, her old insecurities whispering that she wasn't grand enough for such a dress.
"One hundred percent. Go," the manager urged, gesturing to the staff. "Help Miss Yunah change. Carefully!"
***
Minutes passed. Noah waited, his eyes never leaving the monitor. He was the picture of patience until the velvet curtains of the fitting room finally swept open.
Noah froze. The air left his lungs.
Yunah stood there, the black fabric hugging her curves like a second skin, the high slit revealing the elegant line of her leg. She looked jaw-droppingly beautiful—no longer just the girl from the apartment, but a queen of the night. Noah's grip tightened on the edge of the console. He wanted to rip the cameras off the wall, run downstairs, and stand in front of her just to see if she was real.
"Dangerous..." he whispered to the empty room. "Thank God for the mask. If other men saw her face like this, I'd lose my mind." For the first time, a flicker of regret crossed his mind. Did I make a mistake inviting her to the gala? How am I supposed to let other people even breathe the same air as her?
***
"Miss Yunah..." the manager's mouth hung open. The other employees stood in a trance, completely silenced by her transformation. "You look... flawless. It fits as if it were stitched onto your soul."
Yunah stepped in front of the full-length mirror, her breath hitching at her own reflection. "It's okay? It's not too much?"
"Okay?" the manager exclaimed. "It's the best we've ever seen. You look breathtaking." She quickly brought over a pair of matching heels. "Slip these on. They were made for this silhouette."
Yunah stepped into the heels, her stature rising, her confidence flickering to life as she turned in the mirror. Just then, her phone buzzed on the nearby table. An employee politely handed it to her. "A message, Miss Yunah."
Yunah took the phone and swiped the screen. It was a single word from Jay:
"Dangerous."
Yunah blinked, her heart skipped a beat. Dangerous? What does that even mean? Confused, she typed back a single question mark: "???"
****
Noah watched her hit 'send' and let out a soft, dark chuckle. He didn't reply. He didn't want her to realize he was watching her every move through the glass; he didn't want to scare her away by revealing he was her invisible stalker. He just leaned back in his chair, his hazel eyes fixed on the screen, memorizing every inch of her.
-----------
Yunah returned to the apartment late that night, her mind still dizzy from the velvet gowns and the strange "Dangerous" text from Jay. She expected the living room to be dark, but as she stepped inside, she was greeted by the blue glow of the television. Noah and Yogesh were sprawled on the couch, caught in the middle of a Netflix marathon.
"You're both still awake?" Yunah asked, surprised as she kicked off her shoes and began heading toward her room.
"Yeah... though I'm only conscious because this guy forced me to stay up," Yogesh grumbled, his voice thick with annoyance. "He insisted we wait for you so we could all have dinner together."
"Dinner?" Yunah stopped in her tracks, looking between them in disbelief. "Wait—you mean neither of you has eaten yet? It's nearly midnight!"
"We wanted to wait for you," Noah answered. His voice was soft, his eyes searching hers with a gentle, patient light that made her feel a sudden pang of guilt.
"Don't say 'we'!" Yogesh cut in, shooting Noah a look. "Say 'I.' Because I was ready to eat an hour ago." He turned back to Yunah, his expression hopeful. "Please don't tell me you already ate out."
Yunah bit her lip, hesitating. "I did... I had a quick bite while I was out. You guys should have just eaten without me."
"See? I told you!" Yogesh groaned, throwing his hands up in offense. "I told you she'd eat, but no, the 'Young Master' here wanted to be a martyr."
Noah didn't look at Yogesh. He just looked at Yunah, his expression shifting into one of innocent, quiet defeat. "You won't eat anything at all?" he asked softly, looking like a puppy that had been left out in the rain.
The sight of him looking so crestfallen was too much for her.
Yunah sighed, dropping her bag onto the couch. "Well... I'm full, but I suppose I can manage a little more. Just because you both were stubborn enough to wait."
A bright, genuine smile broke across Noah's face—a look so happy it was hard to believe he was the same man who had threatened a manager's life earlier that day. "Then I'll serve you," he said, practically leaping off the couch. "I'll go heat everything up."
"Wait—what about me?" Yogesh shouted at Noah's retreating back, still clutching the remote. "Did you just completely forget your other roommate hasn't eaten a crumb either?"
--------------
Sunday Evening — The Night of the Gala
The day had vanished in a blur of anticipation. Yunah had came to work even in sunday as she had some work left to complete. Immediately after finishing her work, Yunah headed straight to the LV building, her fingers trembling as she sent a quick text to Yogesh: I'll be late tonight. Going out for dinner with some colleagues, don't wait up.
She felt a pang of guilt lying to them, but the "debt" to Jay was a weight she couldn't ignore.
The moment she entered the building, she was whisked away to a private VIP suite. A team of stylists descended upon her like silent artisans. They worked with practiced precision—painting her lips, styling her hair into a sophisticated arrangement, and finally, helping her into the midnight-black gown.
Yunah stepped infront of the mirror and she couldn't recognise herself. The girl infront of the mirror looked really different, like she belonged to entirely different world.
"Miss Yunah," the manager whispered, breaking the silence of her awe. "The driver is waiting outside to escort you. It is time."
Yunah took a final look at her reflection, secured the silver butterfly mask over her eyes, and walked out. The weight of the silk trailing behind her felt like the beginning of a new, dangerous life.
Waiting by the curb was a sleek, black sedan. Beside it stood Ashish. His face was obscured by a sharp, obsidian mask that matched his suit, giving him an intimidating, faceless aura. The moment he saw her, he bowed with deep, military-grade respect and opened the rear door.
"Mr. Jay will meet you at the port," Ashish stated, his voice steady. "He has instructed me to escort you there personally."
Yunah slipped into the plush leather interior without a word. Her heart was a frantic bird trapped in her chest, but behind the silver filigree of her mask, her face remained an unreadable mystery. Ashish closed the door with a muted thud, took the driver's seat, and the car pulled away, weaving through the shimmering city lights toward the dark expanse of the harbor.
--------
After a twenty-minute drive through the winding city streets, the car finally pulled to a stop at the edge of the dark, salt-scented port. Ashish glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing Yunah's stiff posture. Her silence was louder than words; she was terrified.
"Mr. Jay is on his way," Ashish said, his voice respectful. "He'll be here in five minutes."
Almost on cue, Yunah's phone buzzed. A text from Jay: "Sorry for making you wait. I'll be there in five."
Yunah let out a long, shaky sigh. The car felt too small, too suffocating, so she stepped out into the cool night air, leaning against the sleek black metal of the sedan.
A moment later, a heavy black SUV roared toward them, pulling up just a few yards away. The door swung open, and Jay—the man she knew as her savior and her creditor—stepped out. He was a vision of dark elegance in a crisp white shirt and a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit, punctuated by a deep red tie that looked like a streak of dried blood. A striking black-and-gold mask obscured his features, and his eyes—normally the hazel she had grown to habituate—were now a piercing, unfamiliar shade. He had hidden his gaze behind lenses, ensuring not a single shred of "Noah" would be visible to her tonight.
Yunah's heart skipped a beat, then seemed to stop altogether. As he began to walk toward her, every step he took felt like a drumbeat of danger. He didn't look like a boy; he looked like a king of the shadows. The tension radiating from her was palpable, and behind his mask, Noah saw it instantly. He always saw everything.
A gentle smile played on his lips as he stopped just a few feet away, maintaining a respectful distance. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," he said. His voice was unexpectedly soft, a velvet contrast to the lethal aura he projected.
"Ah... n-no," Yunah managed to stutter, her voice small.
Noah let out a soft, melodic scoff. "That's a relief, then." He extended his arm, an invitation draped in silk. "Shall we? We wouldn't want to be late for our own arrival."
Yunah stared at his arm, then up at the masked stranger. The sensation was haunting—an overwhelming wave of familiarity crashed over her. In the presence of this dangerous man, she saw the ghost of Noah, and she couldn't understand why. Yet, the sound of his voice acted like an anchor; the crushing tension in her chest began to ease, replaced by a strange, budding comfort.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and slipped her arm through his.
Noah's smile deepened. "I forgot to mention it earlier," he murmured, his tone turning low and flirtatious, "but you look breathtaking tonight, Miss Yunah. Even with that beautiful face hidden, you outshine the stars."
Behind her silver mask, Yunah's cheeks burned a deep crimson. She remained silent, unable to find the words to reply to such a bold compliment. Noah led her toward the private yacht waiting at the dock, and though she followed him, it was actually Noah who was matching her pace—slowing his strides to ensure she never stumbled in her heels.