Ling didn't sit back down.
She stood there long after Rhea had left, hand still resting on the table where Rina's coffee had spilled—fingers tense, knuckles pale.
She told herself it was anger.
It was always anger.
But anger didn't make her chest feel tight.
Anger didn't make her replay the way Rhea's lips curved when she said accidents repeat themselves.
Anger didn't notice the sway of her walk,the movement of her hips, the confidence in her spine, the deliberate calm.
Ling had already fallen.
She just refused to admit it—even to herself.
This is distraction, she thought coldly. Nothing more.
A lie. Clean. Practiced.
Mira watched her from the side.
She had seen that look before—not often, but enough to recognize it. The way Ling's eyes lingered half a second too long. The way her jaw tightened not with rage, but restraint.
Interest.
Mira's fingers curled slowly around her cup.
She smiled softly, the way people did when they hid knives behind kindness.
"So," Mira said gently, "that was… bold."
Ling didn't look at her. "It was intentional."
"Oh, I know," Mira replied, eyes flicking briefly toward the café exit. "Girls like her don't make mistakes."
Girls like her.
Mira's tone was light, but something dark stirred underneath. She hated Rhea for the confidence, for the beauty, for the way she dared step into Ling's world and leave fingerprints.
More than that—
She hated her for being noticed.
"She's not special," Ling said abruptly.
Mira's smile deepened. "Of course not."
But her thoughts were sharp, poisonous.
Then why are you still standing?
Why didn't you crush her like the others?
Mira loved Ling. She always had. Quietly. Patiently. With devotion sharpened into possession.
And she sensed the threat.
Across the café, near the counter—
Rhea stood with her back turned, stirring her coffee.
Her reflection stared back at her from the glass.
Calm face. Relaxed posture.
Inside, her pulse was anything but calm.
Ling's voice—low, controlled.
Ling's eyes—burning, restrained.
The way she stepped closer, protective over her people.
Rhea had felt it.
That pull.
Dangerous. Unwanted. Real.
She hated herself for the flicker of warmth that had settled low in her chest.
Focus, she told herself. This is not desire. This is leverage.
She took a slow sip, hiding the tremor in her fingers.
She's already reacting, Rhea thought. Good.
She turned slightly—just enough to catch Ling in her peripheral vision.
Ling was still watching her.
Their eyes met for the briefest second.
Neither looked away first.
Then Rhea turned back, expression smooth, composed, pretending she felt nothing at all.
Ling finally sat down.
Hard.
Her control slipped only inward.
She hated Rhea.
She wanted to break her.
She wanted to understand her.
And that terrified her more than any rebellion ever had.
Mira leaned closer, voice soft, poisonous-sweet.
"Be careful," she murmured. "Girls like her don't stop once they start."
Ling didn't answer.
She was too busy fighting the truth clawing its way up her spine—
That this wasn't about power anymore.
And somewhere between jealousy, revenge, denial-
Three women had already crossed lines
none of them were ready to name.
The war was no longer loud.
It was intimate.