Ling surged to her feet.
Her calm was gone—ripped out at the root.
She grabbed the engineer by his collar, lifting him just enough that his heels scraped the marble floor. Her blood-smeared knuckles pressed into his chest, eyes blazing, feral.
"Open it," she said quietly.
That quiet was worse than a scream.
The engineer swallowed hard. "M–Miss Kwong, p-please—one minute—"
Ling leaned in, her forehead almost touching his.
"You have ten seconds," she whispered. "Nine if I blink."
Everyone froze.
Mira took a step back. Rina stopped breathing. The two boys stiffened, knowing this wasn't a threat—it was a countdown.
Inside the elevator—
Rhea's knees finally gave out.
Her breath stuttered once. Twice.
Then stopped trying.
Her head lolled to the side, lashes wet, lips parted in a silent, defeated gasp. Her body went limp against the cold metal wall.
Ling felt it.
She didn't know how—but something in her chest tore.
"OPEN. IT. NOW."
The engineer fumbled violently, fingers slipping over buttons, sweat pouring down his face.
"Seven—"
Click.
"Six—"
A loud mechanical groan echoed.
"Five—"
The doors shuddered.
"FOUR—"
They slid apart.
Ling didn't wait.
She shoved past everyone, heart slamming so hard it hurt, eyes locking onto the crumpled figure inside.
Rhea lay unconscious on the floor.
Still.
Too still.
Ling dropped to her knees so fast it hurt, hands shaking as she gathered Rhea into her arms. Blood from Ling's knuckles smeared against Rhea's wine-colored dress, blooming dark and ugly.
"No—no—no—" Ling whispered, panic choking her voice. "You don't get to do this."
She pressed her forehead to Rhea's, breath uneven, tears falling freely now—no pride left to protect her.
"Wake up," she begged softly, thumbs brushing Rhea's cheeks. "I'm here. You're safe. I swear—you're safe."
Her voice cracked completely.
Rhea didn't move.
Ling's jaw clenched, fury and terror colliding violently inside her chest.
She lifted Rhea carefully, possessively, as if the world itself might try to steal her again.
"Move," Ling snapped at everyone without looking up. "Now."
No one dared argue.
Ling Kwong walked through it like a storm wrapped in skin—Rhea cradled against her chest, one arm under her knees, the other tight around her back as if loosening even a fraction would break something irreparable.
Blood stained Ling's sleeve.
Hers.
Every step echoed.
Her family stood frozen.
Victor's strict, unshakable gaze faltered—just for a second. He had seen his daughter command boardrooms, break men with a look, bend institutions to her will.
He had never seen her like this.
Eliza's pride dimmed into something unreadable. Her lips parted slightly, shock flickering beneath her polished control. This wasn't dominance. This wasn't strategy.
This was terror.
Dadi's teasing smile vanished completely. Her sharp eyes softened, old wisdom recognizing something dangerous and rare. She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering almost reverently,
"This is what finally reached her."
Rina didn't joke.
Didn't tease.
She just stared—wide-eyed—as Ling bypassed every guest room, every corridor, every rule she had enforced since childhood.
Straight to her room.
The door opened.
Ling stepped inside.
And the world shifted.
No one had ever crossed that threshold without permission. Not friends. Not family. Not even Mira. It was the one space Ling guarded like a fortress—clean, cold, controlled.
Until now.
She laid Rhea gently on her bed.
Her bed.
The silk sheets crumpled beneath Rhea's unconscious weight, wine-colored fabric stark against the monochrome room. Ling hesitated only a second before pulling the blanket over her, hands trembling as they brushed Rhea's arm.
Too pale.
Too still.
Ling knelt beside the bed, breath uneven, staring like she didn't trust reality anymore.
"I told you to breathe," she whispered hoarsely, thumb hovering near Rhea's cheek but not quite touching. "You were supposed to listen."
Her voice broke on the last word.
She clenched her fist instead, blood seeping again, dripping silently onto the floor. Ling didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't care.
For the first time, she had let someone into the only place she never shared—
Not because she chose to.
But because her fear did.
"One doctor," she said sharply, without turning around. "Now."
A woman stepped forward from the guests—mid-forties, composed, a private physician often present at Kwong gatherings. She hesitated only a second before following Ling toward the room.
Mira moved too.
Instinct. Panic. Jealousy masked as concern.
"I'll come—" Mira started, already stepping over the threshold.
Ling turned.
The air cracked.
Her glare hit Mira like a blade—eyes red, wet, burning with something far more dangerous than rage. Fear lived there too, raw and unfiltered, and it made her terrifying.
"Don't," Ling said.
Just one word.
Mira froze.
Ling took a step closer, voice dropping so low it vibrated with promise. "You don't get to cross this line."
Mira's lips trembled. "Ling, I was just—"
Ling leaned in, close enough that Mira could smell blood and adrenaline. Her eyes narrowed, sharp with sudden clarity.
"I know it was you," she said quietly. "Jian doesn't move unless someone pulls his strings."
Mira's face drained of color.
Ling's jaw clenched, muscles in her neck standing out violently. "Not now," she warned. "Not tonight."
She straightened, voice cutting cold as steel.
"But don't mistake my silence for mercy."
Her gaze hardened further. "I'll deal with you later."
The words landed like a sentence, not a threat.
Mira couldn't speak.
Ling turned away without another glance and shut the door behind her—firm, final.
Inside, the doctor was already kneeling beside the bed, checking Rhea's pulse, her breathing, murmuring clinical reassurances.
Ling stood at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, blood still drying on her knuckles, chest rising too fast. Her eyes never left Rhea's face.
"Is she—" Ling started, then stopped, swallowing hard. She forced the word out anyway. "Ok?"
The doctor looked up. "She fainted from severe panic and oxygen deprivation maybe Claustrophobia. She'll wake up."
Ling's knees almost gave out.
She gripped the bedpost instead, knuckles whitening, breath shuddering as relief hit her like a delayed blow.
"Good," she whispered—not to the doctor, not to anyone. To herself. To whatever had been listening.
And Mira—standing alone in the corridor, hands clenched at her sides—finally understood something she had been refusing to see:
She hadn't been competing with Rhea.
She had already lost.
Outside the closed door, no one spoke.
They had seen Ling Kwong furious before.
They had never seen her afraid.
They all understood one thing now, even if Ling herself refused to:
Whatever Rhea Nior was to Ling Kwong—
She had already crossed a line no one else ever had.
And Ling Kwong had never been this afraid of losing anything in her life.