EXT. YACHT – OFF THE COAST OF PHIL'PHAN – MORNING
The coastline shimmered in the distance, a jagged outline against the crystal-clear water. The sea mirrored the soft hues of the sky—lavender, silver, and pale blue blending like watercolors.
A woman tied the sash of her silk robe as she stepped onto the deck. Her platinum-blonde hair caught the light, stark against her porcelain skin. A table was already set. A chef in crisp whites stood silently beside it, awaiting her word.
She slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses, let out a languid yawn, then sank gracefully into the lounge chair.
A man in a tailored suit approached and bowed.
"Good morning, Madame. You have a call from the Major General of Zone Seven."
He extended the phone with both hands, arms stretched low in perfect etiquette.
Without a word, she took it. Her tone, when she spoke, was smooth and lazy—like velvet slipping off silk.
"Leon. How lovely."
The same voice that had once echoed coldly from the warehouse speakers during the Peligro incident.
"That's nice," she cooed, as if commenting on a weather report. "I'm at—"
She turned to the man at her side. "Where are we again?"
He responded only with a discreet hand signal.
"Right. Zone Three. Phil'Phan." She stretched out across the lounge chair, the robe slipping just enough to reveal legs like marble. "Weather's delightful."
A pause. Then, she smiled.
"Resume operations there. Money's waiting."
INT. LUX VILLA – ERION'S PAD – 5:00 A.M.
The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains in soft gold streaks. Evah moved quietly through the villa, locking every window she could reach. The ache in her chest had dulled to a manageable throb. Riko had visited briefly to check on her. Erion had seen him out.
It had been a relief, seeing Riko. His calm, clinical demeanor made everything feel less chaotic—even her guilt, which twisted tightly in her gut. After all, she was technically his superior. The whole situation was humiliating.
She sighed, long and quiet.
The sudden ring of her phone broke the stillness. She looked down: Yuka.
Her heart jumped. Yuka had been forbidden from contacting her—Erion's orders. But there was no time to hesitate.
"Yuka! Are you okay?"
"Yes! I'm great."
But her voice betrayed her. It sounded... off. Like she was trying too hard.
"The General told me to call you. Are you okay?"
Her concern was soft, and it soothed Evah's fraying nerves.
"I... I'm fine. Just worried about you."
"I know! Me too! Got any gossip? I'm so bored here."
That voice—bright, innocent, full of mischief. The same voice that kept Evah grounded during their worst days.
"Not really. I'm just... packing."
Her eyes flicked to the small travel bag on the bed.
"Ooh, where to? And with whom?" Yuka's tone turned teasing.
"It's a work trip," Evah replied flatly, switching on speaker and continuing to pack.
"Lame. No hottie escorting you?"
"Nope," she answered, with mock pride.
"When I get out, we're going on a double blind date, okay? First thing."
Evah didn't answer. She just smiled. Yuka's energy was contagious, like sunlight in her voice.
"Hey! At least try to go on a date while I'm gone. I won't mind—promise!"
Evah opened her mouth to reply, but Yuka cut in again.
"Oh! Nurse's here—I gotta go. Safe trip!"
Click. The call ended.
Silence returned.
Evah zipped the bag shut. Just then, a knock at the door made her jump.
Erion stood in the doorway. Jacket, dark pants, sneakers—his usual gear.
"Ready?"
"I don't have my passport," she said warily.
"No need. Let's go."
His voice was soft, deliberately gentle. He always knew how to handle people—probably second nature to someone in his position.
She followed him wordlessly. They took the elevator up, which puzzled her. Shouldn't they be going down?
But she didn't question it. Not out loud. In the CGO, there was an unspoken rule:
Erion always has a plan.
She used to think that was ridiculous. Now, she wasn't so sure.
But even so… was this enough to trust him?
She didn't have many options. In this world, she had no power. Only those with it could help her.
INT. PRIVATE PLANE – IN FLIGHT
The aircraft was sleek, unmarked. A small private jet with an unfamiliar emblem on its tail. Only four people were aboard—Evah, Erion, and two silent pilots.
Inside, the seats were wide enough to lie flat. Erion lifted her bag into the overhead compartment himself, then guided her gently into her seat.
"It'll be a long flight—ten to twelve hours," he said, placing a bottle of water on the side table. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be over there."
He moved across the cabin to the other side, close but not too close.
Evah watched his back. So quiet. So unreadable.
He probably hates me.
She turned away and pulled out her laptop, trying to distract herself.
Search: Ar'sia
Images filled the screen—lush landscapes, fortress-like cities—but very little real information. Most links led to blank pages or broken sites. Finally, one official page loaded.
Foreigners are forbidden.
Her brow furrowed.
She scrolled quickly to the fine print.
Legal siblings, including non-biological ones, are permitted to have residency, as long as approved by the relative holding citizenship.
Marriage partners from other countries are eligible for entry and long-term residence.
See More.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Non-married couples may be granted temporary visas only if they intend to wed in-country.
What...
Ar'sia had always seemed like a peaceful, almost sleepy place. She never imagined it was this… strict.
I didn't know they were this closed off.
She clicked off the browser and shut the laptop.
Erion has a plan. I'm sure of it.
She leaned back in the seat, willing herself to rest.
Maybe when I wake up, this will all feel like something I didn't really do.
The Mcquaide Mansion
Bathed in the gentle brilliance of midmorning sun, the mansion stood like a crown upon a hill—regal, immaculate, and radiating peace. Its pale cream façade gleamed softly in the daylight, kissed by golden rays that shimmered across tall arched windows and ivory columns. Classical in design but impossibly grand in scale, it bore all the hallmarks of timeless beauty—balconies with ornate balustrades, symmetrically placed dormers, and a stately central entrance framed by soaring pillars and intricate stonework.
A pair of sweeping staircases curved outward from the main entrance like welcoming arms, descending into a meticulously tended garden that burst into color beneath the sun. The stairs were flanked by a riot of flowers—roses, lilies, and tulips in radiant hues of crimson, gold, and violet, their petals catching the sunlight and almost glowing with life. The air was perfumed with their sweet fragrance, blending with the earthy scent of freshly cut grass and distant pine.
In the center of the grand circular drive, a fountain stood like a sentinel of grace. Crafted from pale marble, it released a steady, melodic stream of water into its wide basin, the droplets glittering like tiny diamonds as they caught the sunlight. Around it, box-shaped hedges and round shrubs formed a perfect green halo, their deep emerald color contrasting beautifully with the bright blossoms scattered along the drive's border.
Here, the atmosphere felt untouched by time—quiet but not silent, alive yet utterly calm. The wind danced through the trees, rustling their leaves in soft rhythm, while birds sang from the high branches, their songs carried gently across the open grounds. Every breath was a luxury, the air fresh and clean in a way that made one forget the heavy smog of the city. It was the kind of place where the sky looked bluer, the clouds fluffier, and the world just… gentler.
Behind the mansion, hidden past sunlit corridors and wide windows draped in sheer curtains, lay the estate's private garden. A sanctuary of color and stillness, it was filled with winding paths, shaded benches, and bursts of blooms that seemed to lean toward the sky. At the heart of this retreat stood a greenhouse, its arched glass roof glinting in the sun—a haven of rare plants, herbal remedies, and delicate ecosystems that thrived under the family's care.
And just beyond, a serene lake lay nestled in the hills, its waters glistening under the midday light. Dragonflies skimmed its surface, and the trees along its edge bowed low as if in reverence, their reflections painted perfectly across the glassy expanse.
Though this grand estate served as the home of the Mcquide, noble family, it was more than a private paradise. When crisis struck the land—floods, storms, fire, or worse—the mansion opened its gates. Its spacious halls transformed into shelter; the kitchens fed the hungry, the bedrooms housed the displaced. People came not just for safety, but to remember what it felt like to breathe again, to hope.
Under the high sun, surrounded by life in full bloom, this mansion was more than a refuge. It was a promise—that even in the darkest of times, light, beauty, and kindness could still thrive.