The professor cleared his throat, voice cautious.
"Today's topic is—"
"—homosexuality," Ling cut in, not even looking at him.
The room stiffened.
The professor hesitated. "Miss Kwong, I was—"
"I'll continue," Ling said calmly.
It wasn't a request.
She rose from the chair, unhurried, commanding, and took the center of the room like it had always been hers. The projector flicked on behind her — she hadn't even been scheduled for this.
Ling didn't glance at the slides. She didn't need to.
"Homosexuality," she began, voice smooth, precise, cutting through the room, "is not a deviation. It's not rebellion. And it's definitely not confusion."
Her gaze swept the class — students shrinking, listening, hanging on every word.
"It's attraction," she continued. "Structured. Consistent. As biologically rooted as any heterosexual response. The only difference is social discomfort."
She paced slowly.
"Which," Ling added coolly, "has nothing to do with validity."
A few students shifted. Someone swallowed audibly.
Ling stopped.
"And since academics work best with examples—"
Her eyes lifted.
They landed on Rhea.
Miss Attitude.
Rhea didn't look up immediately. She kept writing, pen steady, posture immaculate.
Ling smiled faintly.
"Let's say," Ling said, tone deceptively casual, "I am attracted to Miss Attitude."
The room froze.
Rhea's pen paused.
Ling continued like she was discussing numbers.
"That attraction wouldn't exist because she's new. Or provocative. Or because she refuses to follow rules."
A pause.
"It would exist because power recognizes power."
Rhea slowly looked up.
Their eyes met.
Electric. Controlled. Dangerous.
"If I challenged her," Ling said, eyes never leaving Rhea, "it wouldn't be denial. It would be resistance."
A beat.
"And if she challenged me back?" Ling tilted her head slightly. "That wouldn't be confusion. That would be consent to tension."
The professor's face had gone pale.
Rina's mouth was open in delighted shock. Jian and Rawen were stunned. Mira's smile had vanished completely.
Rhea leaned back in her chair.
Slow. Elegant.
A smile curved her lips — sharp, mocking, beautiful.
"Hypothetically," Rhea said coolly, "your example assumes interest on both sides."
Ling's heart kicked hard.
She didn't show it.
"Of course," Ling replied smoothly. "And hypothetically—interest doesn't require permission."
Silence detonated.
The professor cleared his throat weakly. "Miss Kwong, perhaps we should—"
Ling turned, cutting him off with a glance.
"Class dismissed."
No one argued.
Students scrambled to leave, whispers erupting the moment they crossed the threshold.
Rhea stood last.
She walked past Ling without touching her.
"Your example was flawed," Rhea said softly.
Ling didn't turn. "How so?"
Rhea paused at the door.
"Because," she said evenly, "you assumed I'd stay hypothetical."
Then she left.
Ling stood alone in the hall.
Jaw tight.
Pulse loud.
Denial cracking.
She exhaled slowly.
You don't feel, she reminded herself.
But her heart had already answered — and it didn't care what she agreed to.
University — Parking Lot (Late Afternoon)
The crowd had thinned, but tension hadn't.
Mira caught up first, heels clicking fast, voice softening into something practiced.
"Ling," she said, touching her arm lightly, "take me back to your mansion??"
Ling didn't stop walking.
"I can't," she replied coolly. "Rina's with me."
Mira's smile faltered. "She can come in her car."
Before Ling could answer, Rina's voice cut in — cheerful, sharp.
"Yeah, I'll come by my own car."
Ling stopped.
Turned.
Shot Rina a glare so lethal it could've ended conversations.
Rina grinned wider. "What?"
"I said," Ling clipped, "you're with me."
Rina tilted her head, pretending to think. "Hmm. No."
Mira's eyes flicked between them, irritation leaking through. "Ling—"
"I'll go with the Kwong," Rina continued brightly, looping an arm through Ling's. "Family tradition."
Ling's jaw tightened, but she didn't pull away.
Mira's nails dug into her palm. "You're doing this on purpose."
Ling gasped theatrically. "Me? Never."
They reached the cars.
Ling unlocked hers. Rina slid into the passenger seat without asking.
Mira stood there, stunned.
Ling didn't look at her. "Take a cab."
Mira's voice cracked. "Since when do you started lying?"
Ling finally turned.
Her eyes were cold. Final.
"Since you forgot your place."
The door shut.
Engine on.
As Ling pulled out, Rina leaned back, seatbelt clicking, satisfaction written all over her face.
"Well," she drawled lightly, "Miss Attitude really did a number on you today."
Ling's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Stop."
Rina smirked. "I mean, hypothetically—if someone makes you forget to breathe for half a second, that's impressive."
"I said stop," Ling snapped.
Rina chuckled. "Relax. I'm not judging. Just observing."
Silence stretched.
Then, softer but sharper:
"She scares you."
Ling's eyes stayed on the road. "No."
Rina glanced at her sideways. "She doesn't obey you. That's new."
Ling didn't answer.
Rina smiled to herself. "You're in trouble."
Ling's knuckles whitened.
She said nothing.
But the truth burned quietly between them:
Rina wasn't teasing to be cruel.
She was teasing because she'd never seen Ling Kwong lose footing before.
And now?
She had.