Chapter 7 The House Of Incomplete Stories

• In the world of the underworld, everyone’s always playing a high-stakes game—there’s no real peace, no time to let your guard down. But even in that chaos, you need a place to unwind, a space where you can be yourself without the constant pressure and fears. For Sara, this mansion was that retreat—a home where she could switch off the endless noise and simply breathe like a normal human being. Today, though, something felt off. As she walked the familiar halls, a subtle unease lingered, hinting that maybe not everything was as it seemed something was different, but that's not just visible. Determined to check on every detail, she took a tour of the mansion before heading to her office, where Denny and everyone else were waiting for her. The air was thick with unspoken tension.
• Sara sees toward Denny as she goes to her chair while Jenny tries to hide behind Clara.
• Clara, wait sis don't see her like you gonna kill her just by your eyes, okay? First off, all, she didn’t do anything,” a gentle voice insisted from behind.
• Sara’s eyes narrowed, her gaze steady and focused. “Then what do you have to say about these scars, Clara?” Her tone was firm and matter-of-fact—a reminder of the real costs of living in this unforgiving world.
• Clara’s voice wavered as she tried to smooth over the tension. “Oh, sissy, calm down. Denny had a small fight with Samy—that’s all.”
• Sara’s expression hardened, not out of cruelty, but from the weight of experience. “So I think Denny needs to face the consequences for lying after all his small lie can cost a lot to Jenny.”
• Denny’s voice trembled and avoided eye contact, “Sorry, sis, but she gave me those medicines…I don’t like them…” His statement hung in the air like a little confession.
• “Even if you don’t like them, you have to take them, Denny,” Sara snapped, her tone laced with the severity of someone who’d seen too much loss. “They’re the only way to save you. No more arguments and I don't want to hear this matter again got it. And Jenny, you may leave now it was my fault I am sorry.” The finality in her voice left no room for protest.
• A long, pained silence followed before Clara murmured softly, “Why can’t you be soft and sweet, sissy? It’s been seven long years, and I haven’t seen you smile even once.you can tell this thing to Denny with a smile but you just never do that.” There was a trace of longing in her voice, a quiet reminder that even in a world as rough as today's, a little softness mattered.
• Lyon’s dry voice broke through the heavy atmosphere, laced with a touch of mischief. “Oh, so someone dares to say it aloud finally.”
• Clara turned sharply, spotting Lyon leaning against the door, his smirk a mixture of challenge and amusement. “Well, may I know who you are and how you dare to say in between me and my sis?” she demanded a answer.
• Lyon chuckled, his laughter echoing off the surrounding walls. “Your sis? Well, then she herself will tell you who I am.” There was a lightness in his tone that clashed with the gravity of the moment.
• Sara’s expression remained stone-cold. “Not an important person. He’s my driver. I hired him recently” The words cut through the air, dismissing any notion of his significance.
• Lyon nearly lost his balance, startled by her dismissal. “What?!” he managed, his tone half-amused, half-offended.
• Before the tension could settle, Clara shifted the subject with practiced ease. “And still, this much attitude? Anyway, sis—someone came to donate money and food supplements.”
• Sara frowned, her mind racing. “But how? This isn’t a registered NGO or anything formal. Then who came to donate?”
• Clara leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sis, I know you see all of us as family, and you refuse to let others pity us—but do you ever listen to what I tell you when you call?” Her eyes searched Sara’s face, pleading for a moment of softness.
• Sara’s went towards the windw and her gaze drifted to a figure in the distance—a woman whose presence felt like both an intrusion and a weird sensation. “Who is she?”
• Clara followed her glance and sighed. “Sis, she’s new here. We rescued her last week.”
• Sara’s tone turned cold, edged with a mixture of uncertainty and confusion. “Rescued? From where?”
• Clara hesitated, then spoke in a hushed tone: “She was sold by her own mother to one of the underworld gang masters. He used her as a s*x slave.”
• The words hit Sara like a blow, and she clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. “What is the name of the gang?” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
• Clara’s reply was tentative, heavy with uncertainty: “We don’t exactly know, sis—a man brought her here after the rescue.”
• Sara’s anger simmered beneath her calm exterior. “I want the details. And I will meet her the next time I will come here okay.” There was a promise in her words—a promise of justice, of retribution for all the broken souls left behind.
• Clara sighed again, almost as if she is witness the endless cycle of pain again and again. “So, when will that be, sis? Two months? Four? We can discuss it later. Let’s go—the kids and the others are waiting for you.”
• For a brief moment, as Sara’s hardened gaze softened into a flicker of concern, she asked, “Clara, is the donor still here?”
• “Yeah, sis—He is with the kids,” Clara answered, her tone gentle. "Do you wanna meet him?"
• Sara didn't said anything but sees towards her phone screen then she again sees towards Clara and said,"Well let's not interrupt him but I would like to meet aunt Anna so let's go there."
• (In the common area for kids to play and rest)
• Inside, the large, dimly lit common area that was alive with subdued laughter and murmurs of children playing. A deep, soothing voice was captivating a group of wide-eyed kids with an enchanting story.
• Kids (cheerfully): “Bro, bro, now it’s time for a love story!”
• Man (laughing): “You guys are so small, and you already want to hear love stories? Such naughty kids.”
• Kids (melodramatically): “Please, please, bro! Tell us the prince and princess story—the one where they live happily ever after!”
• The man paused, a gentle smile warming his face. “Alright, but first, do you know what love is?”
• Kids: “No, tell us!”
• He continued, his voice rich with wonder: “Love, my dears, is the most beautiful emotion. It makes you feel like you have everything—love brings colors, joy, light, and countless sparkling emotions.”
• Before he could paint his picture of dreams, a sharp, cutting voice sliced through the ambiance.
• Sara (coldly): “Don’t give them false hopes. Don’t tell them that love brings sparkles to your life, because love is an emotion that only makes you weak—nothing more.”
• A heavy silence fell over the room. The children’s bright faces, once filled with anticipation, now looked confused and somber. The storyteller’s eyes widened in shock as he turned to see the source of the harsh interruption. But Sara has already turning away, her phone ringing—a sound that seemed to summon her back into the world of cold responsibility. Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered and strode out of the area.
• The man, left with the echoes of her voice, murmured to himself, “Who was she?” His gaze settled on Clara and Lyon, who exchanged a look of quiet understanding, as if they both bore witness to the what kind of puzzle Sara is and what she meant by her words.
• Clara’s voice softened, carrying both admiration and regret. “Sara—our sis and family. She’s the one who made this house a home for those without a family, who takes care of the forgotten. She is the support system for those who believe their lives are nothing but burdens. Basically she is the one who keep this house of incomplete stories complete and a peaceful place for many to live in. But that’s only part of our story that we know about her otherwise… she remains a mystery no one has ever been able to fully solve. And sorry for what she said.” Saying this she gave the man a small apologetic smile.
• The man watched as Sara’s figure faded into the shadows, leaving behind a lingering aura of unanswered questions and a promise of storms yet to come.
• (In Mansion's garden)
• Later, away from the comforting murmur of the common area, Sara clutched her phone with a grip that belied her calm facade.
• Jerry (in a tense, low voice): “Boss, someone stole the drive.”
• Sara’s eyes flashed with cold fury. “Who is the fu*king ba***rd? Who did this? I’m coming there. Until then, search for it, every damn inch of it.”
• Jerry’s reply was immediate and curt, “Yes, boss. Vincent is already on his way back from the mission.”
• With a snap, Sara ended the call. Determination burned in her eyes as she turned and strode away into the dark hall of the estate, each step echoing the weight of her secrets and the promise of revenge. In that moment, amidst the lingering ghosts of betrayal and shattered hope, one thing was certain—Sara was not one to be underestimated.