University — Main Auditorium
The hall was full.
Not loud — not yet — but buzzing with that restless energy students carried when routine was about to be disrupted. Ling sat where she always did: front row, posture relaxed, expression indifferent, control perfectly reassembled.
Rhea sat three rows away.
They did not look at each other.
The dean stepped onto the stage, microphone tapping once before he spoke.
"Good morning," he said. "I'll keep this brief."
That alone drew attention.
"We've approved a compulsory university trip starting tomorrow morning," the dean continued. "Four days. Academic retreat."
Murmurs spread instantly.
"Attendance," the dean added, "is mandatory."
Ling's jaw tightened — not displeasure, not excitement. Calculation.
Rhea's fingers paused over her notebook.
"Accommodation will be shared," the dean went on.
That did it.
The murmurs rose into something sharper.
Ling finally leaned back in her chair, eyes lifting lazily toward the stage — then, without intention, drifting sideways.
Rhea felt it.
She didn't look up.
"Details will be posted on the portal by evening," the dean finished. "Be prepared to leave by six a.m. tomorrow."
He stepped away.
The room erupted.
Ling stood immediately, bag slung over her shoulder, already moving toward the exit. Her squad followed instinctively.
Rhea rose at the same time — slower, composed, refusing to rush for anyone.
At the aisle, they crossed paths.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
Just close enough for Ling to catch the faint glint of earrings.
Just close enough for Rhea to feel Ling's presence like pressure against her spine.
Kwong Mansion — Ling's Room (Evening)
Suitcases lay open on the bed like quiet challenges.
Ling folded with precision — shirts aligned, jackets measured, boots placed heel-to-heel. Control restored through order. If she packed perfectly, nothing else could intrude.
Dadi sat on the armchair, cane resting against her knee, eyes sharp with mischief.
"A trip," Dadi said lightly. "Shared rooms. Long corridors. Young people pretending not to feel things."
Ling didn't look up. "It's academic."
Dadi hummed. "So was your grandfather's first rebellion. Look how that turned out."
Ling smirked despite herself. "He ran away with you and died early. Inspirational."
Dadi laughed — loud, unapologetic. "Careful. Taunting the dead is a family sport, but he was very handsome."
Ling finally glanced at her, lips curling. "You say that like it excuses everything."
"It explains everything," Dadi shot back. "Men do stupid things for beautiful trouble."
Ling zipped one compartment with unnecessary force. "Irrelevant."
Dadi's eyes twinkled. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
The door opened without knocking.
Rina walked in, dragging her own suitcase, already half-packed chaos spilling out — mismatched shoes, glittering accessories, clothes thrown in without apology.
"Wow," Rina said, surveying Ling's bag. "Did a machine pack this or are you courting perfection again?"
Ling didn't miss a beat. "Unlike you, I don't enjoy looking unprepared."
Rina flopped onto the bed. "Please. Trips are for disasters. If nothing goes wrong, it's boring."
Dadi chuckled. "Listen to her. She's wise in chaos."
Rina grinned at Dadi, then leaned closer to Ling. "So. Four days away. New air. New tension."
Ling shot her a warning look. "Don't."
Rina raised her hands innocently. "I didn't say anything."
"You were about to," Ling replied flatly.
Rina laughed. "Fine. I'll behave."
She didn't.
She rolled onto her side, chin propped on her hand. "You know, shared accommodation can be… educational."
Ling closed her suitcase with a clean click. "Pack your own things."
Rina sighed dramatically. "You're no fun."
Dadi rose slowly, tapping her cane once against the floor. "Fun is overrated. Watching denial work overtime is far more entertaining."
Ling met her gaze. "You see nothing."
Dadi smiled like she'd just won something. "Exactly."
As Dadi left the room, Rina watched Ling for a long moment — quieter now.
"This trip," Rina said, softer, "it's going to be messy."
Ling lifted her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I don't lose control."
Rina smiled faintly. "No. You just pretend you never do."
Ling didn't answer.
Nior Mansion — Rhea's Room
Rhea packed in silence.
Her movements were precise, almost clinical — dresses folded cleanly, heels wrapped, jewellery. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing sentimental.
Kane stood near the door, arms crossed, watching like a general inspecting a weapon before deployment.
"This trip," Kane said coolly, "is not leisure."
Rhea didn't look up. "I know."
"You will not relax," Kane continued. "You will not slip. And you will not forget why you're there."
Rhea slid a zipper shut. "I haven't forgotten."
Kane stepped closer. "Proximity weakens people. Distance strengthens intention."
Rhea finally met her eyes. "Ling Kwong isn't my intention."
"Good," Kane replied. "Because if she becomes it—"
She leaned in, voice dropping to ice.
"I warned you what I'll do."
Rhea's jaw tightened, but she nodded once. Obedient. Controlled.
Satisfied, Kane turned and left the room without another word.
The moment the door closed, another sound followed.
A soft click.
Rhea turned.
Shyra stood just inside, hand still on the handle, guilt written all over her face.
"You heard," Rhea said flatly.
"Enough," Shyra admitted quietly. She walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, watching Rhea with eyes that had known her since childhood. "I want the truth."
"There is no truth," Rhea replied, returning to her bag. "There's a plan."
Shyra shook her head. "Plans don't make you look like this."
Rhea paused. Just for a second.
"Like what?"
"Tired," Shyra said softly. "Cornered."
Rhea laughed once — dry, defensive. "You're projecting."
"I'm worried," Shyra corrected. "Mom isn't asking you to win. She's asking you to disappear into this."
Rhea's fingers tightened around the fabric she was folding. "I can handle it."
Shyra reached out, stopping her hand. "Can you?"
Rhea pulled away immediately. "Don't."
Shyra swallowed. "Tell me you're not hurting yourself to prove something to her."
Rhea stood abruptly, lifting her suitcase onto the bed. "I don't feel anything," she said sharply. "Not fear. Not attachment. Certainly not—"
She stopped.
Shyra watched her carefully. "Not her?"
Rhea's expression hardened like a slammed door. "This trip changes nothing."
Shyra nodded slowly, but her eyes filled anyway. "Just… come back the same."
Rhea zipped the bag shut with finality. "I always do."
Shyra didn't believe her.
And Rhea knew it.
Because somewhere between Kane's warnings and Shyra's quiet fear, the truth sat unspoken, heavy and dangerous:
This trip wasn't going to test loyalty.
It was going to expose it.