Ling stopped mid-step.
Not because someone called her.
Not because logic told her where to go.
She closed her eyes.
Just once.
The noise of her mansion—the music, the laughter, the chandeliers clinking—fell away. For the first time that night, Ling Kwong didn't think like an heiress, a captain, a controller.
She listened.
And something in her chest pulled.
Hard.
Her breath hitched. Her hand curled into a fist.
"Downstairs," she whispered, eyes snapping open.
She didn't walk.
She ran.
The service corridor was colder. Narrower. No mirrors. No luxury—just steel and concrete.
Ling skidded to a stop in front of the closed elevator.
It was dead.
No light panel. No sound. Just a sealed metal box.
Her pulse spiked.
"Rhea," she said sharply, pressing her palm against the door.
Inside—
Rhea's world had reduced to air and panic.
The elevator was pitch-closed. No reflective surface. No cracks. Just metal walls pressing in from all sides. The light overhead buzzed weakly, flickering like it might give up any second.
Her breathing had lost rhythm.
In—too shallow.
Out—too fast.
Her chest burned.
"Open… open," she whispered hoarsely, fingers clawing at the door seam even though she knew it wouldn't move.
Her thoughts scattered, sharp and jagged.
No space. No signal. No exit.
Her vision tunneled. A familiar terror crawled up her spine—one she hated, one she buried deep.
"I'm fine," she lied to the empty box, voice cracking. "I'm—fine."
Her knees buckled.
She slid down, palms scraping metal, breath breaking completely now—short, panicked gasps that wouldn't fill her lungs.
Her head fell back against the wall.
"Don't—don't—" she choked, fingers trembling as she pressed them to her chest like she could physically hold her heart still.
Outside—
Ling heard it.
Not words.
Breath.
Broken. Ragged. Terrified.
Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Rhea," Ling said again—lower this time, closer, voice vibrating with something raw. "Listen to me."
She leaned her forehead against the cold steel.
"I'm here."
Inside, Rhea froze.
That voice.
Her lashes fluttered. She sucked in a breath that shuddered halfway through.
"…Ling?" Her voice was barely sound, scraped raw by panic.
Ling's hand flattened against the door like she could reach through it.
"Yes," she said immediately. No taunts. No arrogance. No mask.
"It's me."
Her throat tightened.
"You're not alone. Not anymore."
Rhea's breathing stuttered again, but this time it faltered—not worse, just… caught.
"You're trapped," Ling continued steadily, every word deliberate, grounding. "But you're safe. I won't let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?"
Rhea swallowed hard, tears falling nodding even though Ling couldn't see it.
"I—can't—breathe," she admitted finally, voice shaking with fury at herself more than fear.
Ling closed her eyes again, her own eyes filled, pain flashing across her face.
"Look at me," she said softly, impossibly, through steel. "Even if you can't see me—look at me."
Rhea pressed her forehead to the door from inside.
Ling mirrored her.
"Match my breathing," Ling ordered gently, command slipping into care.
"In with me. Slow."
She inhaled deeply, loudly enough for Rhea to hear.
"One… two… three."
Rhea tried. Failed. Tried again.
Ling didn't move. Didn't rush. Didn't leave.
Her voice lowered, rough around the edges.
"I'm right here," she repeated, like a promise she didn't know she was making.
"And I'm not going anywhere."
Footsteps thundered down the corridor.
Voices. Shocked gasps. Someone swore under their breath.
Rina. The two boys. Mira—slowing when she saw which elevator it was.
But none of it mattered.
Because inside the sealed metal box—
Rhea broke.
A sob tore out of her chest, raw and animal, no pride left to protect her now. Tears streamed unchecked, blurring the already dim light. Her body curled inward, arms wrapped around herself like she could disappear into her own ribs.
"I can't—Ling—I can't—" her voice cracked violently. "It's closing—everything's closing—"
Her breathing spiraled out of control again—sharp, broken gasps that scraped her throat bloody.
Ling's composure shattered.
"Rhea—look at me!" she shouted, slamming her palm against the elevator door.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Rhea flinched inside, crying harder, nails digging into her arms. "Please—make it stop—I don't want to die like this—"
That sentence—
That fear—
Something feral snapped in Ling.
Her eyes burned red, wet, wild.
"OPEN IT!" she roared, turning toward the others. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR?!"
No one moved fast enough.
Ling turned back to the door, fists clenched, chest heaving.
She hit the steel.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
"Damn it—!" Her knuckles split on impact, skin tearing instantly. Blood smeared across the cold metal, bright and unforgiving.
Rina gasped. "Ling—stop—!"
Ling didn't hear her.
She hit it again.
And again.
Each punch driven by panic, by helplessness, by a terror she refused to name—because naming it would mean admitting what Rhea meant to her.
Inside, Rhea slid completely to the floor, sobs shaking her violently. Her tears dropped onto her trembling hands, her breath coming in choking bursts.
"I'm scared," she whispered, voice small, broken. "I'm so scared…"
Ling froze.
Her fist hovered mid-air.
That whisper crushed her more than any scream.
Her shoulders shook. Her breath hitched sharply—and then her eyes spilled over.
"Don't say that," she begged, forehead slamming gently against the door now, rage dissolving into desperation. "Don't say that to me."
Her voice cracked open, stripped bare.
"I'm here," she said hoarsely, blood dripping from her knuckles. "I swear—I'm right here."
She pressed her bleeding hand flat against the steel as if Rhea could feel it.
"I can't—" Ling swallowed hard, tears streaking down her face unchecked. "I can't see you like this."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Silence fell outside.
Mira's face went pale.
Rina stopped smiling.
Inside the elevator, Rhea's sobs faltered—not gone, but shaken by something deeper than fear.
"…Ling?" she whispered again, fragile.
Ling slid down the door, knees hitting the floor, leaving a red trail behind.
"Breathe with me," she said desperately, forcing steadiness she no longer felt. "Please. Just—stay with me."
Her knuckles throbbed, blood pooling, but she didn't look away from the door.
Didn't move.
Didn't leave.
Because for the first time in her life, Ling Kwong wasn't afraid of losing control—
She was afraid of losing her.