The gates closed behind Rhea with a muted metallic echo.
The mansion rose ahead—glass, marble, quiet wealth polished to perfection. Lights glowed warm against the dark sky, reflecting off the long driveway like restrained fire. This place didn't shout money. It assumed it.
Rhea stepped inside without removing her heels.
The house staff froze, then melted away. They knew better than to speak first.
She walked through corridors lined with art and silence until she reached the sitting room.
Her mother was already there.
Kane Nior sat near the window, dressed in black silk, posture immaculate. A glass of untouched wine rested in her hand. The city lights behind her framed her like a portrait of restraint and resentment.
"You're late," Kane said calmly.
Rhea set her bag down. "I wasn't done."
Kane's eyes lifted—sharp, observant. "You saw her."
Rhea smiled faintly, loosening her hair. "Everyone sees her. That's the problem."
Kane motioned for her to sit.
Rhea didn't. She leaned against the table instead, arms crossed, confidence rolling off her like heat. Her dress still held the classroom's tension—fabric clinging to curves that had unsettled a room full of power.
"She's exactly how you described," Rhea continued coolly. "Cold. Arrogant. Addicted to control."
Kane's fingers tightened around the wineglass.
"And?" she asked.
Rhea's eyes darkened. "She laughed when she thought she was humiliating me."
A beat.
"She didn't realize she was introducing herself."
Kane stood slowly, heels silent against marble. She walked closer, studying her daughter's face—searching for cracks. Finding none.
"Did she touch you?" Kane asked quietly.
Rhea scoffed. "She wouldn't dare."
That answer satisfied Kane more than comfort ever could.
She reached out and brushed an invisible crease from Rhea's shoulder—maternal, controlled.
"Good," Kane said. "She always needed to feel superior. That was how her father raised her."
Rhea's gaze sharpened. "You still talk about him like he's still in your heart."
Kane turned away toward the window.
"For me," she said softly, "He is untill he feels what I felt."
Silence stretched.
Then Kane spoke again—measured, deliberate.
"I was young when I trusted him. Powerful men are charming when they're hungry." Her jaw tightened.
Rhea watched her mother carefully.
"He didn't just leave," Kane continued. "He erased me. As if I was a phase. As if what we built meant nothing."
Rhea straightened.
"This is about him," she said. "Not Ling."
Kane turned.
A slow, cold smile curved her lips.
"No," she replied. "This is about inheritance."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Ling is his legacy. His pride. His proof that betrayal had no consequences. And above all he dies on her even when he pretends to be rude with her"
Rhea's eyes glinted.
"And you want me to—?"
"Not destroy her," Kane interrupted smoothly. "That would be mercy."
She reached into a drawer and pulled out an old photograph.
Kane and a younger man. His arm around her waist. Smiling.
Rhea didn't need to be told who he was.
"I want you to unmake her," Kane said calmly. "Slowly. Carefully. Let her believe she's losing control because she deserves it."
Rhea took the photograph, studied it once—then set it face-down.
"I already started," she said.
Kane raised a brow. "How?"
Rhea's lips curved—dark, egoistic, sharp.
"She felt something today," Rhea said softly. "She won't admit it. But she did."
Kane's eyes narrowed with interest.
"Feeling," Rhea continued, "is her weakest language."
She picked up her bag and headed toward the stairs.
"I won't attack her power," Rhea added over her shoulder. "I'll make her doubt it."
Kane watched her go, satisfaction settling deep in her bones.
As Rhea reached the landing, she paused.
"Oh," she said casually, without turning. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
Rhea smiled—to herself.
"She thinks she's punishing me."
Her smile sharpened.
"Let her."
She disappeared into the shadows of the upper floor, leaving Kane alone with the city lights and the quiet certainty that the past had finally found its way back—
Not with precision.
With fire.