The car glides through traffic, smooth and silent.
Shyra sits beside Rhea, Amaya asleep , the city lights slipping across the windshield. The driver doesn't speak. He doesn't need to.
Rhea's gaze stays fixed outside.
Shyra studies her sister the way only an elder sister can—quietly, without accusation.
After a moment, she asks, casual but not careless,
"Who was she?"
Rhea doesn't turn. "Who?"
"The girl," Shyra says. "The one who caught you before you fell."
Rhea's fingers tense in her lap.
"She's… from my university."
"That's not what I asked."
A breath. Sharp. Controlled.
"Ling," Rhea says. "Ling Kwong."
The name settles heavily between them.
Shyra's expression changes—not surprise, not shock—recognition.
"So," she says slowly, "she's a Kwong."
Rhea nods once.
Shyra exhales through her nose, looking ahead now. "Then your mother's revenge has finally found a face."
Rhea snaps her head toward her. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?" Shyra asks softly. "Like it isn't real?"
Silence.
The car passes under a streetlight. Rhea's jaw tightens.
"You went there knowing why," Shyra continues, voice calm but firm. "You knew the name mattered. You knew what it meant."
"I didn't plan to—" Rhea stops herself, irritation flaring. "Mom wants that. That's all."
Shyra turns to her then. "Revenge doesn't start with plans, Rhea. It starts with moments."
Rhea looks away again. "You sound like someone who doesn't trust me."
"I sound like someone who doesn't want you dragged into this," Shyra replies. "You've never even seen all this. And already—"
"Already what?" Rhea cuts in sharply.
Shyra doesn't finish the sentence.
She doesn't need to.
The silence answers for her.
Shyra's voice softens. "I don't believe in this revenge. You know that. Our mother carries it—you don't have to."
Rhea's throat tightens.
"She's Victor Kwong's daughter," Rhea says, quieter now. "She didn't look like someone who knows anything."
"That's the most dangerous kind," Shyra replies. "The unaware ones."
The car slows near a signal.
Rhea presses her forehead lightly against the glass, eyes burning—not with tears, but with conflict she refuses to name.
The iron gates slid shut behind the car with a finality that made Rhea's spine straighten on instinct.
The Nior mansion stood exactly as it always had—white stone, cold symmetry, windows like watchful eyes. Nothing here ever bent. Nothing softened.
Kane was already waiting in the main hall.
Shyra slowed first.
Kane's gaze locked onto Rhea the moment she entered.
Not a mother's look.
A commander's assessment.
"You're here finally," Kane said calmly.
Rhea removed her shoes without answering. Each step across the marble echoed too loudly. Her chest felt tight, breath shallow—she hated this house when Kane waited like this. It always meant something had been noticed.
"The trip ended today," Shyra said evenly. "Traffic—"
"I didn't ask you." Kane didn't look at her.
Shyra's jaw tightened.
Rhea stopped three steps away from her mother.
"I'm here," she said coolly. "What's the issue?"
Kane's eyes flicked over her—her posture, her clothes, the faint tiredness under her eyes. Then she turned and walked toward the sitting area, heels clicking once, twice.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request.
Rhea sat. Shyra remained standing.
Silence stretched.
Then Kane spoke, voice smooth as glass.
"You were seen."
Rhea didn't blink. "By whom?"
"By people who matter." Kane turned, finally facing her. "And by people who talk."
Shyra stiffened. "Seen doing what, exactly?"
Kane's gaze sharpened, now slicing toward Shyra. "You're already lying for her. That tells me enough."
Rhea's fingers curled into her palms.
Kane stepped closer. Too close.
"You forgot your purpose," Kane said quietly. "I warned you not to."
Rhea lifted her chin. "I did nothing."
A pause.
Then Kane smiled.
Disappointment.
"You think I don't see the cracks?" Kane asked. "You think distance hides softness?"
Rhea's throat tightened despite herself.
"I followed your instructions," she said. "I enrolled. I stayed close. I observed."
"You attached," Kane snapped suddenly, control cracking just enough to be lethal. "You let her touch you."
Shyra stepped forward. "Enough."
Kane's head turned slowly. "Stay out of this."
"She's not a weapon," Shyra said, voice shaking now. "She's your daughter."
Kane's eyes darkened. "She is both."
Rhea stood abruptly.
"I didn't give her anything," she said, sharp, defensive, too fast. "She doesn't know who I am. She doesn't know about Victor and You. She doesn't know anything."
"That's not what worries me," Kane said.
She reached out—fingers gripping Rhea's wrist.
Not hard.
Possessive.
"What worries me," Kane continued, lowering her voice, "is that you looked safe."
Rhea froze.
The word hit harder than accusation ever could.
"You are not allowed safety with her," Kane said. "Not warmth. Not protection. Not confusion."
Shyra shook her head. "You're destroying her."
Kane released Rhea's wrist abruptly, turning away as if disgusted by the contact.
"She will thank me later," Kane said coldly. "They always do."
Rhea's vision blurred.
She hated that it did.
"I feel nothing," Rhea said, voice tight, rehearsed. "This changes nothing."
Kane turned back. Studied her daughter's face.
"Good," Kane said. "Because the moment you do… I will pull you out myself."
Silence crashed down.
Rhea nodded once.
"Yes, Mom."
Shyra looked at her like she was watching someone walk into fire.
As Rhea turned to leave the room, Kane added one final sentence—casual, surgical:
"And Rhea? If Ling Kwong ever chooses between control and you… she will choose control."
Rhea didn't respond.
But the first tear slid down her cheek only after her bedroom door locked behind her.