Dawn crept into the room quietly.
Pale gold light slipped through the sheer curtains, brushing the walls, softening the sharp edges of Ling's room—the cold perfection melting under morning warmth. Dust motes floated lazily, caught in the glow, as if time itself had slowed.
Rhea stirred.
Her head throbbed dully, a slow ache pulsing behind her temples. She frowned, breath uneven, memories returning in fragments—darkness, steel walls, panic, Ling's voice breaking through it all.
She shifted slightly.
And froze.
There was an arm around her waist.
Strong. Unyielding.
Warm.
Her lashes fluttered open.
The first thing she registered was breath—steady and deep—brushing the crown of her head. Then the unmistakable weight of a body behind her, solid and close, chest rising against her back.
Her eyes widened.
Ling.
Still asleep.
As Rhea turned her head slightly Ling face was inches away, relaxed in a way Rhea had never seen—no sharp edges, no dominance, no cruelty carved into her expression. Just softness. Vulnerability. Human.
Ling's arm tightened unconsciously as Rhea moved, pulling her closer in sleep, as if afraid she might disappear with the morning light. Her other arm rested under Rhea neck, fingers curled possessively into the fabric of Rhea sleeve.
Rhea's heart slammed violently.
What—
Her head ached worse now, but she barely noticed. Her breath came shallow as she became painfully aware of how close they were—her face tucked under Ling's chin, her hand still holding Ling's, thumb over Ling's knuckles resting.
She could feel Ling's heartbeat from her back.
Steady. Strong.
Alive.
Rhea swallowed hard.
She tried to move again—slowly, carefully—but Ling murmured something unintelligible and pulled her tighter, face burying instinctively into Rhea's hair. The gesture was raw, unguarded.
Protective.
Rhea went completely still.
Her pulse raced, cheeks warming despite herself.
This is… dangerous, she thought.
Not because of power. Not because of pride.
Because Ling Kwong—cold, untouchable Ling Kwong—was holding her like this in her sleep.
Like it was natural.
Like it was necessary.
Rhea stared at the sunlit wall, heart pounding, mind spiraling.
She had come here to break her.
And instead—
She was waking up in her arms.
Thoughts began to claw their way back in.
Her mother's voice echoed—cold, precise, unforgiving.
Fire doesn't hesitate.
Break her before she breaks you.
Don't forget why you're there.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
This—this—was not part of the plan.
She stared at the arm locked around her waist. At the way Ling's body curved around hers even in sleep, protective, instinctive. At the faint warmth of Ling's breath against her neck.
Weakness.
That's what her Mom would call it.
Rhea swallowed, chest tightening. I can't stay like this. Not here.
Slowly, carefully, she tried to slide Ling's arm away.
It didn't budge.
Ling's grip tightened instead, reflexive, possessive even in sleep.
Rhea's breath hitched.
"No," she whispered under her breath, panic flickering. She braced her palms against the mattress and pulled harder this time—decisive, abrupt.
Ling jolted awake.
Her eyes flew open instantly, sharp even through sleep, breath catching as she felt the sudden emptiness leaving her arms.
"What—" Ling started, voice rough, confused.
Rhea scrambled away, sitting up too fast, dizziness hitting her in a sharp wave. She steadied herself, back pressed to the headboard, eyes wide and guarded.
Ling pushed herself upright just as quickly, sheets falling from her shoulders. Her gaze locked onto Rhea—wild for half a second before control slammed back into place.
Their eyes met.
Silence thundered between them.
Ling's jaw tightened. "You shouldn't move like that," she said flatly, masking everything beneath authority. "Your head—"
"I'm fine," Rhea cut in sharply, though her temples pulsed in protest.
Ling noticed anyway.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Rhea's clenched hand, the shallow breaths, the way she held herself like she might bolt at any moment.
Something unreadable crossed Ling's face.
"…You were trying to leave," Ling said quietly.
Rhea didn't answer.
She looked away.
That was answer enough.
Ling exhaled slowly, fingers curling into the sheets where Rhea had been moments ago. "You didn't have to rip yourself out like I was hurting you."
Rhea finally looked back—eyes sharp, defensive, pride intact. "You were holding me."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line. "You came into my arms."
Rhea flinched.
The truth stung more than accusation.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Rhea straightened, resolve hardening over the ache in her head and the confusion in her chest. "This doesn't change anything," she said coldly.
Ling's gaze darkened. "Good, neither to me" she replied, tone just as controlled.
But her hands trembled—just slightly—before she stilled them.
Because both of them knew:
Something already had.
Rhea stood abruptly.
The movement made her head spin again, but she didn't show it. Pride straightened her spine before balance did. She grabbed her phone from the bedside, fingers tight around it like an anchor.
Ling opened her mouth—instinctively—to stop her.
Rhea turned before the word could leave Ling's lips.
Her eyes were sharp now. Guarded. Cold.
"Don't," Rhea said flatly. "Say anything."
Ling's jaw clenched. "You should rest. At least eat something. You fainted—"
"I didn't ask to stay," Rhea cut in, voice edged with steel. "And I definitely didn't ask to be held hostage in your room."
The words landed deliberately cruel.
Ling stiffened.
"Something would've happened if you'd left," Ling shot back, temper flashing. "So don't twist this into—"
Rhea laughed once—short, bitter. "Hero complex suits you, Kwong."
She stepped past Ling, shoulder brushing hers just enough to sting.
Ling turned sharply. "Rhea."
Rhea didn't stop. She didn't look back.
Downstairs, the mansion was already awake.
Sunlight flooded the dining hall. The family sat gathered—Victor reading the news, Eliza composed and elegant, Dadi sipping tea with knowing eyes, Rina mid-sentence before she froze at the sight of Rhea.
The room stilled.
Rhea descended the stairs with her chin lifted, steps controlled despite the ache behind her eyes. Ling followed a few paces behind—silent, stormy.
Dadi was the first to speak, gentle but warm.
"Good morning, child. Come, sit. You need food after such a night."
Rhea stopped.
She turned, offering a polite, distant smile—perfectly measured.
"Thank you," she said respectfully. "But I'll pass."
Eliza studied her closely. Victor looked relieved she was standing at all. Rina's eyes flicked between Rhea and Ling, curiosity blazing.
Dadi tilted her head. "At least tea?"
Rhea shook her head. "I appreciate the concern. Truly."
Her gaze flicked—just once—to Ling.
Hard. Complicated. Unreadable.
"But I don't stay where I don't belong."
The words were calm.
They cut anyway.
Rhea bowed her head slightly—courteous, controlled—then turned and walked out.
The door closed behind her with a final, echoing click.
Silence swallowed the room.
Ling stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides, chest tight like something essential had just been ripped away.
Rina broke it first, low and teasing—but careful.
"…Wow."
Dadi didn't smile this time.
She looked at Ling, eyes sharp with quiet understanding.
Ling didn't meet anyone's gaze.
She stared at the closed door long after Rhea was gone—
And hated herself for wanting to follow.