Semua Bab She, His Enigma: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Iden’s throat constricted. “Ellaya…” he whispered. She turned slowly. Not surprised. Not afraid. Her eyes were wild with stormlight. Then she smiled—and hummed the final line of their wedding song. He lurched forward, hand outstretched to touch her. But she vanished like breath in winter air. His heart skipped. Was she real? Or a ghost conjured by guilt? Then—he heard it again. That hum. From upstairs. He bolted, footsteps thunderous against the silence. With each step, the melody sharpened, luring him deeper into the dark. At the top of the stairs, he paused. His breath hitched as his fingers hovered over the doorknob. Cold metal bit into his skin, a cruel mirror to the chill in his chest. The door groaned open—revealing a room drenched in shadow and memory. A crackling gramophone spun her tune. Dust danced in the moonlight. He crossed the room and shut it off. Turned— And saw her. No… not her. A photograph. Framed on the far wall. A frozen moment: Ellaya in white

The door creaked open. A glint of silver flickered—then disappeared into its sheath. A shadow stepped back into the dimness. “You—what are you doing here?” the woman gasped, jolting upright in bed. A man stood in the doorway. His face was tight with dread. “She’s back,” he said. “She’s out of prison.” Her pulse slammed against her ribs. “That’s impossible. She was locked away for life! There’s no way—” “I thought the same.” His voice trembled, torn between disbelief and certainty. “But my informant isn’t wrong.” He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her trembling frame. She gripped him like he was an anchor and the world had just tipped. In the far corner of the room, where shadows stretched and light dared not reach, a woman in black watched. Her eyes glittered—silent, unreadable. Then, without a word, she turned and vanished into the dark. --- She moved through the mansion like smoke. In the library, the scent of old books curled around her—dust, l

The man in the hospital ward scrolled through his phone, his silver-grey eyes narrowing slightly. Those eyes—the sharp blend of angelic grace and devilish intensity—seemed to pierce through whatever they landed on. Even in the simple hospital gown, he exuded an authority that demanded the world’s obedience. Iden Ruan rose from the edge of the hospital bed. The clean, minimalistic lines of the room seemed to bow to his commanding presence. His frame, towering above six feet three, moved with a predatory elegance. Muscles rippled beneath the fabric, their angular definition hinting at raw power. A strong jawline, cut as if by a master sculptor, framed a mouth that was both cruel and inviting, while strands of black hair shimmered faintly under the morning light streaming through the window. In less than fifteen minutes, Iden had washed away the residue of rest, dressed in a perfectly tailored coat, and was walking briskly out of the ward. His movements were calculated, the click of hi

The party hall was lavishly decorated with every imaginable detail. Men and women were laughing, drinking, talking, and displaying their status. Mr. and Mrs. Stone cut the huge cake, while holding each other's hands and smiling affectionately. Music played and couples danced. Only one man was leaning against the railing of the balcony watching everything with his colourless beautiful orbs. To put straight his hawk-like eyes searching for someone. People were perplexed by his presence today, much like he was. He was not a partygoer. The world knew that no one could make Mr. Iden Ruan attends their personal parties. Not even his immediate family. He never understood the concept of broadcasting their special day to the world and wasting the most expensive thing. Time. And despises wasting his time on such frivolous pursuits. But today, he was here to spend his most important time. BORED. He was smoking while leaning against the balcony. Men attempted to approach him but were turned aw

“You recently returned from France and successfully took over your hometown’s business. I am very proud of you, my son,” Devid Ruan said, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and expectation. Iden sat across from his father, his posture straight yet subtly tense. His father was behind his grand oak study table, the pipe in his hand a reminder of his habit of filling moments with purposeful gestures. “As mayor, my duty is not just to serve the nation but to inspire young people to step into politics,” Devid continued, his tone firm yet inviting. “Every citizen’s primary duty should be to their country. Politics isn’t just a realm for retirees—it is a stage for the young and driven. And I need your support in the upcoming elections to spread this message.” Devid puffed on his pipe, exhaling calmly, as though his argument was undeniable. His eyes gleamed with pride, sweeping over his son like a silent applause. Iden had proven himself as a businessman, taking Ruan Industries to