Nior Mansion — Evening
The gates closed behind Rhea with a muted clang.
She stepped inside to a house already braced for her.
Kane was standing near the living room window, arms crossed, posture immaculate, eyes sharp enough to dissect truth from breath alone. Shyra sat on the sofa, tension drawn tight across her shoulders.
Rhea didn't slow.
She slipped off her heels, placed them neatly aside, then crossed the room and lifted Amaya from Shyra's arms without a word. The baby stirred once, then settled against Rhea's shoulder, fingers curling into her dress like instinct recognized safety.
"Ninna," Shyra whispered softly.
Rhea pressed a kiss to Amaya's hair.
Only then did she look up.
Kane's gaze was already locked on her.
"You are quiet," Kane said.
Rhea didn't answer.
She swayed slightly, gently rocking Amaya, her hand firm and protective at the child's back. It was the only softness she allowed herself.
"University drama?" Kane continued coolly. "Or did Ling Kwong embarrass you again?"
Rhea's jaw tightened.
"She can't," Rhea said flatly.
Kane stepped closer. "And yet she control your moods."
Shyra looked up sharply. "Mom—"
"I handled her," Rhea cut in.
Kane studied her daughter — the controlled posture, the pride intact, the tension barely leashed.
"And?" Kane asked. "Did she break?"
Rhea's fingers curled slightly into Amaya's blanket.
"No," she said. "She tried not to."
That answer landed heavier than any confession.
Shyra stood. "Rhea, you're exhausted. Come upstairs. Amaya needs to sleep."
Rhea nodded once and turned toward the stairs.
Kane's voice stopped her.
"Remember why you're there," Kane said quietly. "Victor Kwong's daughter doesn't get mercy."
Rhea didn't turn around.
"I never forgot," she said evenly.
Rhea went upstairs to Shyra room Shyra followed her too.
Shyra closed the door quietly behind her.
Rhea sat on the edge of the bed, Amaya finally asleep in the crib nearby. The room was dim, warm — the only place in the mansion that didn't feel like a battlefield.
"You didn't even ask why I call you," Shyra said softly.
Rhea didn't look up. "I know why you're here."
Shyra crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "No. You don't."
Silence stretched.
Then Shyra said the thing Rhea didn't want to hear.
Shyra hesitated. "Kane has… connections. Parents of students. Trustees. Donors. One of the professor's assistants is married to a Nior board member."
Rhea's jaw tightened.
Rhea exhaled slowly. Controlled. Furious.
Shyra stepped closer. "Now tell me the truth. Not Kane's version. Yours."
Rhea laughed once — hollow. "You want honesty?"
"Yes."
"I didn't break," Rhea said. "I didn't confess. I didn't give her anything she could use."
"That's not what I asked," Shyra said gently.
Rhea's fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress. "She stood in front of me today and she cracked for half of a second.
Shyra went very still.
"And you?" she asked.
Rhea's eyes hardened instantly. "I used it."
Shyra's chest ached. "Rhea…"
"I'm not allowed softness," Rhea snapped. "You know that. Mom made sure of it."
Shyra stepped forward. "She's turning you into a weapon."
Rhea looked up sharply. "I am a weapon."
"No," Shyra said, voice breaking just a little. "You're Human."
Rhea swallowed.
"She scares you," Shyra continued. "Not because she's powerful. But because she makes you forget why you're there."
Rhea stood abruptly. "Enough."
Shyra didn't back down. "Ling Kwong isn't Victor Kwong. And you're not Kane."
Rhea turned away, shoulders tight. "You don't understand."
"I understand too well," Shyra whispered. "I see what happens to people who mistake control for survival."
Rhea didn't answer.
Because Shyra was right — and that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Downstairs, Kane checked her phone calmly, already three moves ahead.
Upstairs, Rhea stood in the dark, fists clenched, realizing something she hated:
Ling Kwong wasn't the threat.
The war was inside her.
"Do you feel anything for her?" Shyra said
"I don't feel anything for her."
Rhea's voice was steady. Clean. Final.
Shyra stared at her, searching for the crack that usually followed lies. It didn't come.
"You're lying," Shyra said quietly. "Not to me. To yourself."
Rhea's jaw tightened. "I don't feel," she repeated. "I calculate."
The door opened.
No knock.
Kane stepped in like she owned the air itself.
"And you are not allowed to," Kane said calmly.
Shyra turned sharply. "Mom—"
"Leave," Kane ordered without looking at her.
Shyra hesitated, eyes pleading with Rhea.
Rhea didn't look back.
The door closed.
Kane walked closer, heels soft against the floor, voice low and lethal. "You don't get feelings in this game, Rhea."
"I said I don't have them."
Kane smiled.
"That wasn't reassurance," Kane said. "That was defiance."
She stopped inches away from Rhea. Close enough to remind her who shaped her.
"You must not," Kane continued softly. "And if you do—"
Kane's hand came up — not to strike, but to grip Rhea's jaw, nails biting just enough to hurt.
"Then I will break you," Kane said evenly.
"Before she ever gets the chance."
Rhea didn't flinch.
"You think Ling Kwong is dangerous?" Kane whispered. "She protects what she wants. I destroy what threatens me."
Rhea's eyes burned. "You don't trust me."
"No," Kane agreed. "I do."
Silence thickened.
Then Rhea spoke — slow, precise. "I will finish this. Your way."
Kane released her, satisfied.
"Good," she said. "Because if Ling Kwong ever makes you forget who you belong to—"
She leaned in, voice ice.
"I won't hesitate."
Kane turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Rhea stood alone.
Her hands were steady.
Her heart was not.
Because Kane was wrong about one thing:
Rhea didn't fear Ling Kwong breaking her.
She feared what would happen if Ling never tried.
And that fear?
That was the crack Kane would never see coming.