When Henry fell into a deep sleep with his head resting in Laboni's lap, an eerie, heavy silence settled over the room. His breathing was now steady, almost peaceful, yet Laboni's body was still trembling with humiliation and pain. Looking at Henry's exhausted face, there was no sign of the monstrous form he had taken only moments earlier.
Laboni did not move. She sat still like stone. The torn red ribbons of her dress were still coiled around her neck, constantly reminding her of her disgrace. The touch of Henry's sweat-soaked forehead and the black shirt against her skin felt poisonous now—yet she did not push him away.
Outside, the night had grown deeper. The whispering voices of the policemen in the corridor had fallen silent. Everyone believed the IGP was resting in perfect peace.
Laboni lowered her gaze and looked at Henry. For a moment, she thought she could shove this sleeping man aside and escape right now. But what about her daughters? They were still in the custody of Henry's men. Without Henry awake, finding them would be impossible.
Suddenly, Laboni noticed a faint blue glow coming from Henry's pocket—his phone. Very carefully, without disturbing his sleep, she extended her hand toward it.
Laboni (to herself):
"This sleep is your last chance, Henry. When you wake up, the world will no longer be the same for you."
She pulled out the phone and saw that Sara's location was being tracked. The fire that had once defined Laboni returned to her eyes. She understood then—this was no time for mercy or forgiveness. Now she had to become ruthless.
Gently, she lowered Henry's head onto the pillow. He turned to one side, still deeply asleep. Laboni stood up and adjusted her red dress as best as she could. When she saw the dark bruises on her neck in the mirror, flames ignited in her eyes once more.
With trembling hands, she picked up Henry's phone. At the top of the call log, a number had called several times. She immediately called it back. A grave male voice answered from the other end.
Voice on the phone:
"Sir, everything is fine. The two girls are in our safe house. They're eating, no problems at all. We're waiting for your next order."
Hearing this, a massive weight lifted from Laboni's chest. It meant that all the terror Henry had inflicted on her earlier had been a cruel psychological tactic to dominate her. At least for now, her daughters were unharmed and safe.
Laboni stared at the phone screen and saw that the caller's location was also traceable. She realized that with Henry submerged in deep sleep, this was her golden opportunity.
She looked once more at Henry, lost in sleep. This was the same man who had attacked her like an animal moments ago, and now he slept like an innocent child. A strange mixture of hatred and relief played within her. She quickly straightened her torn red dress as much as possible.
She knew police guards stood outside. But if she walked out confidently with Henry's phone in hand, no one would dare stop her.
Laboni (to herself):
"You tried to destroy me, Henry, but your own phone will now become the reason for your downfall. I'm coming to my daughters."
She moved silently toward the cabin door. Outside, the constables still stood drowsily on guard.
Just as Laboni was about to step out, a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around her from behind. She hadn't even realized when Henry had woken up. The heat of his body and the familiar scent of his perfume overwhelmed her once again.
Henry said nothing. Slowly—almost with an eerie tenderness—he began to untie the disordered belts and ribbons at the back of Laboni's red dress, one by one. There was no violence in his touch this time—only a strange surrender and thirst.
Laboni closed her eyes. For a brief moment, the exhaustion and hatred in her body dissolved into a deep, dangerous haze. She felt Henry's warm breath on her shoulder. Where the ribbon had bruised her skin earlier, Henry now pressed his lips with unsettling softness.
Henry (whispering):
"Don't go, Laboni… at least let this last night be like our old days. I know I became a monster—but in this moment, I just want to be your Henry."
Laboni could no longer pull herself away. She drew a long, heavy breath, filled with a thousand unspoken words and resentments. The room felt completely cut off from the outside world.
It felt as if they had risen above violence, power, and the arrogance of the IGP—like standing in an immense rose garden, where the scent of fallen petals filled the air. In that imagined fragrance, both of them seemed to lose their entire sense of self. Laboni's blood-red dress slowly slipped to the floor, like petals falling from a fully bloomed rose.
In the deep night, in the darkness, two people—one a perpetrator, the other a victim—forgot everything and lost themselves in a strange, unsettling calm. All the noise of the world, the police guards, and the web of conspiracies seemed to halt outside the door.
The dark room now lay in a mournful, mysterious stillness. Laboni lay on the bed, and her condition spoke of a devastating storm that had passed. Her once-elegant red dress was in disarray, and her fair body was flushed with humiliation, pain, and turmoil.
She was not completely still; her body twitched again and again, as if trapped in a demonic trance. Her eyes were half-closed, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Henry's intoxicating yet poisonous touch had dragged her into a state from which there was no return.
Henry held her from behind, his hands still roaming her body with a possessive intoxication. The bruises around Laboni's neck burned like fire. She could neither move nor remain still.
Laboni (in a faint, almost inaudible voice):
"Henry… you're destroying me…"
The bedsheets around them were crumpled and twisted. The faint scent of roses in the corner of the room had mixed with blood and sweat, creating a grotesque intoxication. As Laboni's body trembled again and again under the strain, Henry leaned close to her ear.
Henry:
"This is the end, Laboni… this pain is the completion of our union. Didn't you want to be red? Look—tonight your entire existence has turned blood-red."
Outside, it was the final watch of the night. The darkness thickened further. Laboni's movements slowly weakened, as if she were sinking into a bottomless abyss, drained of all strength.
When Laboni finally woke, she felt the cold breeze of dawn against her skin. She jolted upright and was confronted with a brutal truth—she was no longer wearing her red dress.
She lay completely naked on the vast bed, covered only by the white sheets. Her symbol of elegance—the red silk dress—lay on the floor like a crumpled corpse. The marks of last night's frenzy and struggle were etched all over her body. The bruises on her neck had darkened into a deep purple.
Stunned, she looked around. The room was empty. Henry was gone—his clothes gone, even the inhaler he had dropped was gone. It was clear he had left quietly, with calculated calm.
At that moment of utter helplessness, her phone rang. Seeing Sara's name on the screen, Laboni pulled the sheet over her body with one hand and answered with the other.
Sara:
"Mom? Why weren't you answering? We've been waiting for you since morning."
Laboni (her voice breaking, barely audible):
"Sara… where are you now? Are you… are you okay?"
Sara:
"Yes, Mom, we're at home. Uncle Henry's men took us to an ice cream parlor last night, then dropped us back home. They said you were stuck in an urgent meeting. But Mom… why does your voice sound like that? Are you crying?"
Laboni struggled desperately to hold back her tears. She realized Henry had shattered her not just physically, but mentally as well. In one night, he had proven he could toy with her children's lives—and just as easily return everything to normal.
Laboni looked at the red dress lying on the floor. From this day on, it would remain a living testament to her humiliation and hatred.
Laboni:
"No, sweetheart, I'm fine. I'm… I'm coming. Lock the door and stay inside."
After ending the call, Laboni knelt on the bed. Her tears soaked the white sheets. She knew that once she left this room, she would have to become the strong Laboni again—but the part of her soul that Henry had torn away that night would never return.
Clutching the sheet around her naked body, Laboni broke down in sobs in the empty room. Her cries echoed off the walls. Again and again she asked herself, "Where did he go? How could he leave me like this and disappear?"
Exhausted from crying, fragmented memories of the final moments began to surface in her mind. She remembered that when Henry had held her from behind and her body had begun to calm, he had whispered something faintly into her ear.
Was it a farewell? Or the beginning of a new threat?
As Laboni closed her eyes, she recalled that just before slipping into deep unconsciousness, she had felt Henry press a gentle kiss on her forehead. There was no violence in that kiss—only a strange pity. After that, she had fallen into a deep, unnatural sleep.
Now suspicion crept into her mind. Had Henry mixed some mild sedative with the inhaler—or used some other means—so that she couldn't stop him in the morning?
As she picked up the red dress from beside the bed, a small golden locket fell out. When she opened it, she saw a tiny photograph from twenty years ago—Henry and Laboni smiling at each other.
Laboni understood then—Henry hadn't come only to humiliate her. He had left her trapped in a cruel dilemma: on one side, his monstrous self; on the other, these lingering traces of their past.
She buried her face into the sheets again. Her head was still spinning. She didn't know if she could face the policemen outside—the same men who had laughed the night before. Yet somewhere deep inside, her subconscious whispered that Henry hadn't truly left her. Perhaps he was nearby, watching, savoring her broken state.