The gates opened in silence.
Rhea's car rolled into the driveway, headlights washing over marble steps and glass walls that reflected nothing but wealth and restraint. The mansion stood alert—waiting.
So was Kane.
Inside, the mansion was lit like a cathedral.
Cold. Vast. Merciless.
Kane Nior stood near the fireplace, dressed in black silk, a glass of wine untouched in her hand. She didn't turn when Rhea entered.
Rhea entered without greeting.
She slipped off her heels slowly, deliberately—each movement controlled despite the dull ache in her muscles, despite the lingering chill beneath her skin.
Kane stood.
"You're late," she said calmly.
Rhea shrugged out of Ling's blazer and placed it on the arm of the couch.
"I fell into a pool," Rhea replied evenly. "Nearly died. Very educational."
Kane's eyes flicked to the blazer.
Then back to Rhea's face.
"Did she save you?" Kane asked.
Rhea's lips curved faintly.
"Yes."
Kane exhaled—not relief.
Satisfaction.
"So," Kane said calmly, "did she break today?"
Rhea smiled faintly.
Not proud. Not soft.
Dangerous.
"No," Rhea replied. "But she bent."
That got Kane's attention.
She turned—slow, predatory—eyes sharp as blades honed by years of resentment.
"Bent how?"
Rhea walked closer, every step measured. She took the glass from Kane's hand without permission and sipped.
"She jumped into a pool for me," Rhea said lightly. "Without hesitation. Without witnesses she trusted."
Kane's fingers tightened.
"She touched you?"
"She carried me," Rhea corrected. "In front of everyone who fears her."
Silence fell heavy.
Then Kane laughed—low, bitter, pleased.
"Oh," Kane murmured. "So the ice princess bleeds."
Rhea's eyes darkened.
"She knelt," Rhea continued. "Before she knew I was awake."
Kane's expression sharpened.
"She carried me," Rhea continued. "In her arms. To her private changing room."
That earned a slow smile.
"She knelt," Rhea added, almost casually. "Watched me breathe like it mattered."
Kane stepped closer. "And you?"
Rhea's reflection stared back at her in the glass—composed, cold.
"I pretended to be unconscious," she said. "Long enough."
Silence thickened.
Kane studied her daughter carefully. "Did you feel anything?"
Rhea didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was precise.
"Yes."
Kane's smile faded slightly. "Careful."
"I am," Rhea replied. "That's why I didn't show it."
She turned now, meeting her mother's gaze.
"She's already compromised," Rhea said. "She just doesn't know it yet. She's fighting herself harder than she's fighting me."
Kane nodded slowly. "And Mira?"
Rhea's eyes darkened.
"She pushed me," Rhea said flatly. "Not hard. Just enough."
Kane's lips pressed together. "Jealousy."
"Worse," Rhea corrected. "Possession."
Kane considered that. "Useful."
Rhea tilted her head. "Dangerous."
Kane waved it off. "You survived. That's what matters."
Rhea's fingers tightened briefly at her side.
"I didn't survive," she said softly. "Ling made sure I did."
That was the truth she didn't like.
Kane stepped closer, voice lowering.
"Remember the plan," Kane said. "You don't fall for her. You make her fall apart."
Rhea smiled—slow, dark, controlled.
"She already is," she replied. "And I didn't have to touch her."
She picked up the blazer again, folding it neatly.
"This," Rhea added, "isn't revenge anymore."
Kane raised a brow. "Then what is it?"
Rhea met her eyes.
"A controlled collapse," she said. "Mine included—if necessary."
Kane studied her daughter for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
Rhea placed the glass down carefully. Her reflection shimmered in the wine like a distorted ghost.
"Thing is she doesn't know why," Rhea said. "She doesn't know me. She doesn't know what her father did to you."
Kane stepped closer, lifting Rhea's chin with two fingers—gentle, possessive.
"And she never must," Kane whispered. "Revenge is sweetest when the victim believes it's fate."
Rhea's lips curved slowly.
Rhea's voice dropped—soft, lethal.
"I'll become the only place she feels human," Rhea said. "I'll make her forget power. Forget control. Forget herself."
Kane's eyes gleamed.
"And when she finally kneels willingly?"
Rhea smiled fully now.
"I'll take everything she protects," she said. "Her pride. Her name. Her certainty."
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"And when she looks at me the way she did today… like I'm the only thing she can't command…"
Rhea met her mother's gaze, unflinching.
"I'll decide whether to burn her," Rhea finished, "or let her beg."
Kane brushed a hand through Rhea's hair, satisfaction humming beneath her touch.
"You're my daughter," Kane said softly. "Just don't forget why this began."
"Don't die," Kane said simply.
Rhea turned toward the stairs.
"I won't," she replied. "Not yet."
She paused halfway up.
"Oh—and mother?"
"Yes?"
Rhea smiled, sharp and unreadable.
"She thinks she saved me."
Kane waited.
Rhea's smile deepened.
"I'm going to make her realize she chose me."
She disappeared upstairs, leaving Kane alone with the city lights and the quiet understanding.
But as she reached the top, her hand lifted unconsciously to her nose ring—fingers lingering.
Her smile faded.
Because buried beneath strategy and vengeance, one truth disturbed her more than any plan:
Lingling Kwong hadn't looked at her like an enemy.
She'd looked at her like a sin she wanted to commit.
Somehow Rhea realized this game had crossed a line—
From vengeance
to mutual ruin.