Ibrahim's expression changed instantly. His entire face lost color. His heart dropped at the fear in her voice, "Ava...."
He reached out, but Ava pulled her hand back. He took a deep breath and said softly, "I'm sorry… I swear, I'm so damn sorry for that night. That night… I was messed up, I was not thinking straight, I was angry, I was… I don't even know who I became."
His eyes were pleading now. "I'm not going to defend what I did. I know I hurt you. And I will regret that for the rest of my life." He placed his hand on his chest. "I swear to you, I will never, never let myself cross that line again. If you never want to be alone with me, I'll understand. But I want to fix things… I want to be better—for you."
Ava's hands trembled uncontrollably, the file slipping from her grip and landing near her feet with a soft thud. Her body flinched at the sound, as if it were a gunshot instead of paper.
Ibrahim bent quickly to pick up the file, but before he could say another word, Ava stood—almost stumbled—and bolted toward the staircase. She didn't even realize she had left her phone and purse behind on the sofa.
"Ava—!" Ibrahim called out in shock, grabbing her things and chasing after her. "Ava! Where are you going?"
But she didn't stop.
She glanced behind just once—and that one glimpse of Ibrahim hurrying after her made her run faster, like fear itself had grabbed her ankles and was whispering run, run, run. But she only managed three steps before Ibrahim caught her elbow and gently turned her around.
Ava gasped. She stood two steps above him, giving her a rare height advantage. It brought their faces to almost the same level. Her body was angled toward him, slightly bent forward, hair falling over her face. From this close, Ibrahim could see it all—her panic, her confusion, her pain… and the raw, open fear in her eyes.
That shattered him. In that moment he realised, she was seeing that man.
The man who lost control.
Who cornered her like a predator in that cursed cottage.
Who didn't stop when she asked him to.
His heart dropped to his stomach.
- God, what did I do to her…
He wanted to tear that night out of existence. To dig his nails into time and erase that moment. He wished he had locked himself away before his rage became her nightmare.
He wished he could rip that memory from her mind and replace it with something soft, something safe.
He wished... he wasn't the reason for that look in her eyes.
I broke her....
He blinked, and a tear nearly escaped before he swallowed it back. He deserved her fear, didn't he? He deserved her running.
"I… I don't deserve you, I know that." He looked up at her like a sinner begging the heavens. "But baby girl… can't you give me a second chance? I'm begging for it. Just one chance to make things right. I'll try everything. I'll fix what I broke. I'll fix me if that's what it takes. Just… Just tell me you can forgive me. Even a little."
Ava's voice trembled as she asked, "Can you fix a broken glass, Ibrahim?"
Around them, a few people passing by paused. Some glanced curiously at the couple locked in such an intense moment on the staircase. But Ava only saw him. Just him.
"No," he admitted. "I can't fix a broken glass. But I can pick up every sharp piece with my bare hands. I'll bleed .... but I'll never let those pieces stay shattered between us. I'll take each one, hold them tight, and if they can't be what they were—then I'll build something new. With you. Only with you. Something stronger. Softer and Safer. Something that doesn't break so easily."
Ava's eyes fell on the single tear still resting on Ibrahim's cheek. She couldn't remember ever seeing tears in his eyes before.
She steadied herself by gripping the railing, "You can ask for forgiveness every single day but I'll never forgive you. Some things aren't that easy to forgive… and you'll pay the price for what you've done. And about living separately… okay. I'll see now how you act. Let's see what that really means for you."
Her fingers moved on their own, gently wiping the tear from Ibrahim's cheek. It surprised her—how warm it was, how real.
She paused when she saw the other tear still clinging stubbornly to his other eye, refusing to fall. And Who says men don't cry?
They do.
But only when their heart breaks where words can't reach.
Ibrahim swallowed hard, "I won't disappoint you. Never again."
Before either of them could speak further, Farah came rushing toward the staircase, looking around, "There you are! I've been searching everywhere for you—"
She stopped mid-sentence, freezing the moment Ibrahim turned slightly toward her. Her words stopped mid-sentence as Ibrahim turned to face her. She hadn't realized until now who was standing so close to Ava. She looked between the two of them but said nothing.
Ava saw the surprise etched on Farah's face. She slowly stepped down the stairs, "Is everything alright?"
"Y-yeah… Mahi's check-up will take some time, so I came looking for you. You haven't eaten anything since morning, and I thought... maybe you should have something."
Ibrahim looked at Ava with a sudden frown of concern.
"You didn't eat anything till now?"
Ava gave a soft shrug, avoiding his eyes. "Left early, didn't have much time. I'll eat later."
Ibrahim turned to Farah then, "You can go back to your friend. I'll inform someone to prep the reports ahead—her check-up will be done much sooner. That way, you both can leave early. And I'll take Ava back to KL myself."
Ava's eyes snapped toward him, "Excuse me? Why would I leave with you? I came here with them, and I'll leave with them."
Farah stood there awkwardly, glancing between the two like a spectator stuck in a very domestic drama. Their argument was low but intense.
Ibrahim simply ignored Ava's protest, gently took her hand, and started walking toward the lift with his usual calm stubbornness. Ava was still talking—probably complaining—but she didn't pull her hand away.
In his other hand, Ibrahim was carrying her phone and purse. No pride, no show—just a quiet, gentlemanly gesture that made Farah shake her head.
Hopeless man. And hopelessly hers.
Farah turned around, typing a quick message to Elara, letting him know he was absolutely right about his sister. Just as she was about to head back, a voice called out from behind—one she hadn't expected at that moment.
"Ma'am," Sameer said, hands in his pockets, walking toward her with that lopsided grin he always wore, "You said you'd help. But then—poof—you vanish. Don't even reply to my messages."
Farah sighed, "I got busy. I forgot. You have seven minutes. Say what you want to say."
Sameer blinked, clearly thrown off by her bluntness. "Seven minutes? What's the hurry? We could grab a coffee and talk properly."
Farah didn't even miss a beat. "You just lost thirty seconds."
Sameer huffed a short laugh, but didn't push further. She wasn't like other girls, and he'd learned that quick.
Farah, on the other hand, could see right through this. She wasn't new to how Ibrahim operated. He didn't show up without a reason. He was spending time alone with Ava… while his little brother was out here "working."
Sameer glanced around to make sure no one was listening too closely, then leaned slightly toward Farah, "Three years ago. I hacked into Rafi's personal laptop."
Farah raised an eyebrow. "You what?"
"It wasn't easy," Sameer said, rubbing the back of his neck. "His system had two layers of encryption. First was basic—a decoy. It looked like a normal setup. Pictures, emails, boring stuff. The second layer was custom-coded. I had to create a spoofed access point, pretend to be one of his backup servers, and mirror his login environment. It took days, and every wrong move almost triggered auto-wipe. But I managed to clone his drive before that kicked in."
Farah asked, "And?"
"I got in, yeah. Found some interesting stuff—tracking logs, bank transactions, contact sheets. But there's this one file… It's like… heavily encrypted and fingerprint-locked. It doesn't open on any device except his original laptop. It's coded to detect the motherboard ID—like it knows if it's being opened elsewhere. Any tampering and the whole thing corrupts itself."
"So basically, the most important file is the one you can't open."
"Exactly. It's like the heart of his operation, locked in a digital vault with no key."
"And you thought this half-baked info was enough to ask for help?"
"I'm giving what I've got. Till now, I got a list of the girls who've gone missing over the last ten years. Cross-referenced by age, background, and sometimes even location. It's not random. There's a pattern."
"Then figure out the pattern. Because if you're asking me to step into this mess, I need more than just a locked file and a theory."
Sameer gave a single nod. "Fair enough. But we both know if anyone can help figure it out—it's you."
"Send me the details of those girls you found. I'll try my best to do whatever I can… Tomorrow's Christmas, so Rafi will be out with his kids. Let's see if I can cook up a plan in less than twenty-four hours."
"I know you will. You always have a plan."
"Sameer .... Is there any chance… even a small one… that the girls who were kidnapped are still alive?"
"Fifty percent. Maybe less. I'm not sure. Black Mamba doesn't kill girls unless he absolutely has to. To him, girls are just inventory. Once they're no longer 'desirable' enough for prostitution—too old, too sick, or too damaged—he doesn't take the risk of letting them go. He knows the face of a girl who's been inside his hell will be enough to burn his empire to the ground. So he keeps them. Turns them into silent slaves. Some are drugged to the point where they forget their own names. Others are kept in underground cells, away from sunlight, away from sound. It's like he erases their humanity bit by bit."
Farah felt a chill run through her. "And no one knows?"
Sameer's smile this time was sadder than silence.
"The world moves on. So do their families. People search for a few months… maybe a year… and then they adjust. New routines. New griefs. Eventually, they forget the voice of the missing. This isn't a fairytale where everyone keeps lighting candles."
He looked up at her.
"People disappear every day. Some are remembered. Most are not. It's not like the whole family stays depressed forever. People learn to smile again. And the girl becomes a photograph in some drawer as a dusty memory."
Farah said with a big hope in her heart, "Let's just hope… one day, there'll be an end to Black Mamba. To all of this..... they'll get the justice they deserve."
Sameer nodded, eyes locked on hers. "Ameen."
She was about to turn away when his voice gently stopped her again, "Farah?"
She paused, glancing back at him.
Sameer hesitated for a beat, then asked quietly, "Are you happy with Elara?"
Farah blinked once, then narrowed her eyes — not in suspicion, but with a flicker of irony, like she knew where this was going, "Do you have any doubts?"
He took a step closer, "Elara is a good man. Strong, decent… he'd die before hurting someone he loves. But if one day… if he ever forgets how lucky he is… If he ever speaks to you like you're ordinary… if he stops listening when you talk, or forgets to notice the sadness behind your smile—"
He paused.
"—you know I'm still waiting, right? Not to steal you. But to remind you how you should've always been loved."
"Stop wasting time on me, Sameer. Do something productive."
And without another word, she turned and walked away.
Sameer smiled. Her direct reply didn't surprise him. It never did. She had always been like this—straightforward. And maybe that was what drew him to her in the first place. She never gave him false hope, never played pretend. She just existed in his world like sunlight he could feel but never hold. Her words might've sounded like rejection, but to Sameer, even those little conversations, those tiny moments, were enough to keep his one-sided love alive. Maybe he was a fool—maybe more than that—but some people don't fall in love to be loved back. Some just fall, knowing there's no ground to land on… and still choosing to stay in free fall, because it's her. And that's all that ever mattered.