At the hospital, where Lucas and Azan had been admitted, the atmosphere was quiet but heavy.
Azan lay in his ward, his body weak, his arm bandaged. Beside him sat Mrs Thompson, watching closely.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
"Mum..." he said faintly.
Mrs Thompson leaned forward immediately.
"Azan... how are you? I was so worried about you."
But Azan did not focus on himself.
"The girls... how are they? How is Yvette? Is she alright?"
Mrs Thompson paused briefly.
"Oh... I forgot," she said. "We did not bail her."
Azan turned slowly to look at her.
"What do you mean you forgot about her? Why did you not bail her as well?"
Mrs Thompson adjusted her posture. "That reminds me—you will be travelling to London once you are better."
Azan frowned weakly. "Mum... I do not want to go to London."
"Your father is abroad," she replied firmly. "You are going to join him. The same applies to your friends. You are all leaving."
Azan swallowed hard.
"Including Yvette?"
Mrs Thompson's voice turned cold. "Over my dead body."
Azan's eyes filled with emotion. "Mum... you cannot do that to my girlfriend. Please... just let me see her. Please."
Mrs Thompson looked at him, clearly displeased. "When you have Quin, Nicole, and Irin to choose from, you are telling me Yvette? Azan, what is wrong with you?"
His voice trembled. "Mum... please. Let me see her one more time before you send me away."
A long silence followed.
Then she sighed.
"Alright."
A knock came at the door.
Nicole stepped in slowly.
"Ma'am... I would like to ask you for a favour."
Mrs Thompson looked at her. "Go ahead, my child."
Nicole swallowed. "Ma'am... I am requesting that you arrange bail for our friend, Yvette."
Mrs Thompson's expression hardened. "Bail the person who nearly killed my son?"
Nicole shook her head quickly. "Ma, it was not her. I promise—it was Quin."
Mrs Thompson let out a quiet, cold laugh.
"People like her are meant to suffer for people like us."
Nicole's voice broke slightly. "Ma'am... please. She is still your son's friend."
Mrs Thompson waved her hand dismissively.
"Very well. I will think about it."
She stood up and left.
Nicole turned to Azan quickly. "Please... speak to your mother again."
Azan looked helpless. "I have tried..."
Nicole sat beside him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied quietly.
Nicole sighed deeply. "I wish we had never answered that call... it was Quin."
Azan's jaw tightened. "So Quin was responsible for this?"
Nicole nodded slowly. "Yes."
The next morning felt even heavier.
Mrs Thompson stood beside Azan again.
"If you want to see your friend," she said calmly, "she is in the dark room."
Azan looked at her, confused.
"Mum... what is your profession?"
She froze slightly.
"I... I am an artist."
Azan frowned. "You have never painted or drawn anything."
She quickly corrected herself. "What I meant is... I buy and sell."
"Sell what?"
She hesitated. "...goods and services."
Azan stared at her.
"Mum... why did you say you were an artist?"
She looked uncomfortable. "I am sorry about that. I need to go now."
And she left.
The moment she was gone—
Azan acted.
He pulled out the drip line from his arm, ignoring the pain, and got out of bed. Weak but determined, he rushed out of the hospital without being noticed.
He arrived at a dark place.
The air felt cold.
Unwelcoming.
He stepped forward slowly.
"Yvette... Yvette..."
A soft voice answered.
"Azan..."
She recognised him immediately.
Her face lit up as she ran towards him and embraced him tightly.
Azan held her just as firmly. "I am getting you out of here," he said, holding her hands. "The others are waiting in the car outside."
Yvette nodded. "Alright."
They moved quickly towards the exit.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly.
Until—
They stepped outside.
And froze.
Their mothers were standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Mrs Thompson stepped forward slowly, disappointment written across her face.
"It is disappointing that my son could go this far for a mere scumbag."
She signalled with her hand.
Immediately, bodyguards moved forward.
They grabbed Azan roughly, pulling him away.
"No!" he shouted, struggling.
He reached for Yvette—
Their hands locked tightly.
"Yvette!" he cried out. "I will always come back for you! When these wicked people are gone, I swear I will find you!"
Tears streamed down her face.
"Goodbye... everyone... goodbye, Azan..."
"No!" Azan shouted desperately. "Not goodbye! I will see you again! Please... do not give up!"
Yvette slowly pulled her hands away, covering