Morning came softly.
Rhea woke to warmth.
Not the unfamiliar, dangerous kind—but the childhood kind. Her cheek was pressed against her mother's chest, Kane's arm locked around her waist even in sleep, fingers curled like she was afraid Rhea might disappear.
Rhea didn't move at first.
She studied her mother's face.
The tension was still there—etched deep between Kane's brows, lips slightly parted like she'd been holding words back even in dreams. Kane Nior, the woman who never slept deeply, who never let go.
And for the first time, Rhea understood something that made her chest ache.
That fear…
It was because of her.
Rhea's throat tightened.
Slowly, carefully, she lifted her head and pressed a soft kiss to Kane's forehead.
A promise disguised as affection.
"I won't break," Rhea whispered, voice barely sound. "I won't let anyone do to me what he did to you."
Kane shifted slightly, tightening her hold even in sleep.
Rhea's eyes hardened—not cold, not cruel, but resolved.
"But he will," she continued silently, gaze darkening. "Victor Kwong broke you and walked away stronger."
Her fingers clenched in the fabric of Kane's clothes.
"Now it's his daughter's turn."
Not anger.
Purpose.
She slid out of Kane's arms gently, tucking a blanket around her mother like she used to when she was little. Kane stirred, murmured something unintelligible—but didn't wake.
Rhea stood there for a moment longer.
Watching.
Then she turned away.
She dressed for university with deliberate care.
Fitted top. High-waisted skirt. Waist chain glinting faintly. Hair brushed smooth, makeup minimal but precise—soft enough to invite, sharp enough to wound.
The mirror reflected a girl who looked calm.
Untouched.
Rhea met her own gaze.
"I will make Ling Kwong fall," she told her reflection quietly.
"Not with words. Not with promises."
She adjusted her nose ring.
"With herself."
Ling Kwong—the untouchable, disciplined, controlled heir.
Rhea would let her feel safe.
Let her feel chosen.
Let her believe control could coexist with closeness.
And then—
She would take it away.
Slowly. Carefully.
So Ling would never rise the way her father had.
Rhea picked up her bag and walked out of the room.
Behind her, Kane slept on—unaware that the weapon she had forged was already sharpening itself with devotion, love, and something far more dangerous.
Kwong Mansion
Ling woke before the alarm.
She always did.
The room was quiet, sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting clean lines across the floor—order restored, at least on the surface. She dressed in tailored black, hair pulled back with practiced precision, every movement controlled.
If something inside her was still unsettled, she didn't allow it to show.
When Ling entered the dining room, everyone was already there.
Victor sat at the head of the table, newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. Eliza was across from him, posture perfect, tea untouched. Rina leaned back casually, one leg hooked around the chair, while Dadi occupied her usual place—commanding without effort.
All eyes lifted.
Dadi's gaze softened instantly.
"There she is," Dadi said. "Alive. I was beginning to think you'd turned into mist."
Ling inclined her head slightly. "Good morning."
Victor studied her for a brief second longer than necessary. "You're up early."
"Routine," Ling replied, taking her seat.
Eliza passed a cup of tea toward her. "You slept?"
"Yes."
It wasn't a lie.
Just incomplete.
Rina smirked faintly. "You look like you're going to conquer something."
Ling took a sip of tea. "I usually am."
Dadi chuckled. "Ah. Confidence returned. Good."
Breakfast began.
Cutlery moved. Cups clinked. Conversation hovered safely above anything sharp.
Victor finally spoke, voice measured. "The trip went well?"
"Yes," Ling said calmly.
Dadi raised an eyebrow. "That's not what Rina told me last night."
Ling shot her cousin a look.
Rina grinned innocently. "What? I gave highlights."
Victor's gaze sharpened slightly. "Injuries?"
Ling paused for half a beat. "Minor."
Eliza's eyes flicked to Ling's hand—just once.
"Be careful," Eliza said quietly. "You push yourself too hard."
Ling met her mother's gaze. Respect. Love. Resistance—all balanced perfectly.
"I know my limits," Ling said.
Dadi hummed. "Do you?"
Ling didn't answer.
Victor folded his hands. "University resumes today."
"Yes."
Eliza nodded. "I expect no distractions."
Ling set her cup down gently. "There won't be."
Rina's smile faded just a little.
Dadi watched Ling closely—too closely to miss the tension behind her calm.
As breakfast ended, Ling stood, adjusting her blazer.
"I'll be leaving," she said.
Victor nodded. "Drive safely."
Eliza added softly, "Remember who you are."
Ling paused at that.
"I always do," she replied.
But as she walked out of the room, Dadi's gaze followed her—knowing, worried.
Because Ling Kwong had never forgotten who she was.
What worried Dadi was who Ling might become once she reached the university—
And saw Rhea Nior again.
The car ride to university was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ling sat by the window, gaze fixed outward, jaw set, hands resting neatly in her lap. Every part of her screamed composure—no cracks, no tells.
Rina noticed anyway.
She always did.
"So," Rina said lightly, breaking the silence, "jungle survivor. Any reflections? Trauma? Near-death epiphanies?"
Ling didn't look at her. "No."
Rina sighed. "You know, when you deny things this hard, it starts looking suspicious."
"There's nothing to open," Ling replied calmly.
Rina tilted her head. "Nothing at all?"
Ling's eyes flicked briefly toward her. Sharp. Warning.
"Drop it."
Rina raised her hands in surrender. "Alright. Cold queen remains frozen."
But her eyes softened. "Just remember—you don't have to carry everything alone."
Ling turned back to the window.
She didn't respond.
The university gates opened without ceremony.
No ragging.
No spectacle.
Just routine.
Ling stepped out of the car, presence alone enough to quiet the space around her. Students straightened instinctively. Whispers followed, but she didn't acknowledge them.
She went straight to class.
Lecture had already begun.
Ling took her place at the front, movements precise, posture flawless. The professor paused briefly—then continued, slightly sharper now, as if order had returned to the room.