The Kwong mansion did not prepare for guests.
It commanded them.
Crystal chandeliers burned like frozen constellations above a hall carved in ivory and gold. Walls of glass opened to manicured gardens lit with warm amber lights, fountains whispering money and power in motion. A string quartet played near the staircase—not to entertain, but to remind everyone where they stood.
This wasn't a party.
It was a display of ownership.
Students arrived dressed carefully, nervously—trying not to look small.
And then—
Ling Kwong descended.
She wore deep wine red—a tailored blazer with black shirt beneath two buttongs open, the cut sharp, dangerous, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at muscle. High-waisted trousers, perfectly fitted. Leather boots polished to a mirror shine. Her hair was loose tonight, falling over her shoulders like she didn't need armor.
The room shifted.
Conversations died mid-word.
Eyes followed her unconsciously.
Ling didn't acknowledge anyone at first. She moved through the crowd like gravity—inevitable.
Rina whistled low. "You look illegal."
Ling ignored her, eyes already scanning the entrance.
Not yet.
Mira stood near the staircase, dressed in soft ivory—a dress elegant, expensive, chosen carefully to complement Ling's dominance rather than compete with it. When Ling passed, Mira's breath caught.
Again.
Always.
"You look…" Mira began.
Ling glanced at her briefly. "Adequate."
It should've stung.
It didn't.
Mira smiled anyway, stepping closer. "You clean up dangerously well."
Ling took a drink from a passing tray, eyes still drifting toward the doors.
"You're blocking my view."
Mira followed her gaze—and understood.
Her smile tightened.
"She said she'd come," Mira said lightly.
Ling's jaw clenched for half a second. "I didn't ask."
Rina leaned in, amused. "You didn't have to. You've checked the entrance eight times."
Ling shot her a glare. "Count again and you're dead."
The boys—Jian and Rawen—stood watchful near the edges, dressed in muted greys, eyes alert. They noticed it too.
Ling Kwong—restless.
The doors opened again.
Laughter rose.
Not her.
Ling exhaled slowly, irritation creeping back in.
She hated waiting.
She hated anticipation.
She hated that Rhea Nior had turned her party into a question mark.
Mira stepped closer, voice soft. "She doesn't deserve this kind of attention from you."
Ling finally looked at her—really looked.
Cold. Sharp.
"Careful," Ling said. "You're assuming I'm giving it."
Mira held her gaze, heart racing. "I've always been here."
Ling turned away.
"And yet," she said flatly, "you're still standing beside me, not ahead of me."
Mira's fingers curled into her palm.
The laughter near the balcony grew louder when Dadi arrived, cane tapping once on marble—not for support, but for attention.
"There you are," she said fondly, catching Ling by the arm before Ling could escape. "Standing like the world owes you interest."
Ling smirked. "It does."
Dadi laughed, patting her cheek. "Arrogant since birth. I raised you right."
Ling leaned down slightly so Dadi could whisper, and Dadi did—loudly.
"If you keep looking at the door like that, people will think you're waiting for someone."
Ling straightened instantly. "I'm not."
Dadi's eyes sparkled. "Hmm."
Across the hall, Eliza noticed Mira standing too still, smile worn thin at the edges.
Eliza approached her smoothly. "What's wrong, Mira?"
Mira hesitated, then said softly, "Ling… she's been distant. Cold."
Eliza waved it off with effortless confidence. "No, no. She hate her."
Mira smiled knowingly. "If Ling hated her, she wouldn't notice her at all."
Mira swallowed.
Eliza took Mira's hand gently. "Come. I'll show you something."
They crossed the hall together. Ling felt it before she saw them—her mother's presence always carried weight.
Eliza stopped beside Ling and, without asking, positioned Mira at Ling's side, close enough that their arms almost brushed.
"Stand here," Eliza said warmly to Mira. "This is where you belong."
Mira's smile bloomed—soft, hopeful, victorious.
Ling rolled her eyes. Hard.
"Mother."
Eliza ignored her. "You two grew up together. People should see that."
Ling muttered, "People should mind their business."
Dadi chuckled from behind. "Oh hush. If we didn't meddle, this family would be unbearably dull."
Mira leaned slightly toward Ling, lowering her voice. "You look… distracted tonight."
Ling's gaze flicked—again—to the entrance.
"Go enjoy the party," Ling said flatly. "You're blocking my air."
Mira didn't move.
"I like it here," she replied softly.
Ling clenched her jaw.
The music swelled. Glasses clinked. Power flowed freely through the room.
And still—
Rhea Nior had not arrived.
Ling stood surrounded by family, wealth, expectation—
with Mira at her side, placed carefully where she was supposed to belong.
Yet Ling's attention remained fixed on an empty doorway.
Music swelled.
Lights shimmered.
The richest crowd in the city filled the hall—
But Ling Kwong stood at the center of it all, restless, dangerous, eyes fixed on the entrance like a storm waiting for permission to break.