The professor was gone.
The door shut.
No one dared to stand.
Everyone waited for Ling Kwong to move first—because that was how survival worked here.
Ling didn't move.
She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, jaw sharp, eyes empty. The room felt smaller with every second she delayed. Fear soaked into the walls.
Then—
A chair scraped.
Slow. Deliberate.
Rhea Nior stood up.
Her dress hugged her curves unapologetically—42Inches-hips steady, back straight, chin lifted. Not rushed. Not nervous. She adjusted her hair once, like she had all the time in the world.
Ling laughed.
Cold. Mocking. Dangerous.
"Idiots," Ling said, voice smooth with venom. "There's always one who mistakes stupidity for courage."
Rhea didn't even look at her as she stepped into the aisle.
Ling straightened.
"Hello," she said sharply. "Miss Attitude."
Rhea stopped.
Ling's eyes burned—not because Rhea stood up, but because she stood-Like she wasn't beneath.
Ling hated inferiority—
and she hated anyone who refused to acknowledge it even more.
"You stay," Ling continued, smile thin as glass. "You think rules don't apply to you? Cute."
Rhea turned slowly.
Her expression was bored. Almost amused.
"I don't remember asking for permission," she said coolly. "And I definitely don't take orders from insecure tyrants."
A sharp inhale rippled through the room.
Ling's eyes darkened instantly.
Before Rhea could take another step—
Thud.
The classroom doors slammed shut.
Two senior boys stood there now, blocking the exit. Shoulders broad. Faces blank. They didn't touch Rhea—but the threat was loud.
Ling walked closer.
Each step measured. Controlled. Her tall, lean frame radiated authority—blazer fitted tight, shoulders squared, presence crushing. She stopped just inches away from Rhea.
Up close, Ling noticed details she hated noticing.
The curve of Rhea's 28Inches-waist.
The way her 38Inches-chest rose calmly with each breath.
The steadiness in her eyes.
No fear.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"You're new," Ling said quietly. "That makes you small."
Rhea tilted her head, lips curving faintly.
"Funny," she replied. "You're powerful—and still terrified someone might be bigger than you."
That landed.
Hard.
Ling leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Rhea.
"You don't belong in my space," she said. "And people who pretend otherwise get broken."
So this is her, Rhea thought.
Mom was right.
She smiled—slow, sharp, egoistic.
"Then break me," Rhea said softly. "Let's see what you're capable of without hiding behind locked doors."
Silence screamed.
Ling straightened abruptly, anger coiling tight in her chest—anger and something else she refused to name. Heat. Pull. An instinct she crushed immediately.
She turned away.
"Sit down," Ling ordered coldly. "This isn't over."
Rhea held her gaze for one final second she smirked saying "Tssk your Ego hurting"
Then she sat.
Graceful. Defiant. Untouched.
As she did, her fingers brushed the edge of the desk—steady, relaxed.
Inside her mind, her mother's voice echoed like a vow.
Make her fall apart slowly.
Let her think she's in control.
Rhea's lips curved faintly as she lowered her eyes.
Lingling Kwong didn't see it.
This wasn't just defiance.
It was the first incision in a revenge planned long before the two of them ever met.
The classroom stayed locked.
No one breathed.
Ling stood near the front now, tall and immovable, shadow slicing across the floor. Her presence crushed the room into obedience. She hated chaos. Hated anyone who dared erase the line between above and below.
Rhea back was straight. Legs crossed with deliberate grace. Soft curves contained power, not softness. She looked like someone waiting for a verdict she already knew would favor her.
Ling's eyes flicked to her, sharp.
"Good," Ling said coldly. "You learn fast."
Rhea smiled.
Not wide.
Not playful.
A thin, dark curve of her lips—egoistic, knowing.
"Don't flatter yourself," Rhea replied. "I sat because I was done standing. Not because you told me to."
A few students visibly flinched.
Ling's jaw tightened. She despised inferiority—but this girl didn't feel inferior. That was the problem.
Ling stepped closer again, voice low and lethal.
"You're playing a game you don't understand."
Rhea finally looked up at her fully.
Her eyes were dark now.
"Wrong," Rhea said softly. "I understand it perfectly."
She leaned back slightly, fingers resting on the desk—relaxed, confident.
Then she spoke again, quieter. Only Ling heard.
"You like control because without it," Rhea murmured, "you don't know who you are."
The words slid under Ling's skin like a blade.
Ling straightened instantly.
"What did you say?"
Rhea tilted her head, lashes lowering—masking something dangerous.
"I said," she repeated, louder now, voice sweet and sharp, "that Your Kingdom Feels… Fragile."
Rhea reached into her bag.
Slowly.
Every muscle in the room tensed.
She pulled out a thin black notebook and placed it on the desk.
Tap.
One sound. Final.
Ling's eyes narrowed. "What's that?"
Rhea stood this time—unhurried, heels steady. She walked past Ling, close enough that Ling caught her scent—warm, expensive, unsettling.
At the door, Rhea stopped.
She turned just enough to look over her shoulder.
"That," Rhea said calmly, "is a list."
Silence swallowed the room.
"A list of powerful people," she continued, eyes locking onto Ling's, "who believed they were untouchable."
Her lips curved—slow, dark.
"They aren't anymore."
She reached the door. One of the boys hesitated, confused.
Ling didn't stop her.
Rhea unlocked it herself.
Before leaving, she added—quietly, precisely:
"You should be careful, Lingling Kwong. I don't break rules."
She paused.
"I break people—when the time is right."
Then she walked out.
The door shut behind her.
The classroom remained frozen.
Ling stood unmoving, heart hammering—not from fear, but from something far worse.
For the first time, she understood one truth with terrifying clarity:
This girl hadn't challenged her for power.
She had walked in already knowing how Ling would fall.
And somewhere deep inside—buried under ice and pride—
Ling realized she had just met the most dangerous thing of all:
Someone whom she can't scare.