Eliza sat alone for a long time after Ling left.
Her tears dried.
Her breathing steadied.
Her spine straightened.
Fear didn't leave her.
It transformed.
If Ling cannot step away…
Then I will make her.
Eliza's gaze hardened—not with hatred, but with resolve sharpened by love twisted into control.
I will show her why she has to.
Much later, when the mansion had gone quiet, Eliza stood outside Ling's room.
She adjusted her expression carefully.
Soft eyes.
Gentle mouth.
A mother who had reflected… and yielded.
She knocked.
Ling opened the door, already dressed down for the night, hair loose, eyes tired.
"Yes?" Ling asked cautiously.
Eliza stepped forward without waiting for permission and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
Ling froze.
Eliza hugged her tight.
"I was wrong," Eliza said softly into her shoulder. "I crossed a line."
Ling's body stayed rigid, but her breath stuttered once.
"I shouldn't have decided anything for you," Eliza continued. "You're grown. You know your heart better than anyone."
Ling pulled back slightly, searching her face.
"You… mean that?"
Eliza smiled—the perfect smile.
"I do," she said. "Do what you want. I have no objections anymore."
Ling's chest loosened despite herself.
"Thank you," Ling said quietly. Not relieved—just… less cornered.
Eliza brushed Ling's hair back with familiar tenderness. "I only ever wanted you happy."
Ling nodded, unaware of the calculation already moving behind her mother's eyes.
At that exact moment—
The door swung open dramatically.
"There you are!" Dadi announced, barging in with her usual chaos. "I was wondering where my two drama queens disappeared."
She eyed Eliza and Ling locked together and grinned.
"Oho. Reconciliation? I leave for five minutes and peace treaties are signed?"
Eliza laughed lightly. Too lightly.
"Don't exaggerate," she said. "I was just telling Ling she's free to be happy."
Dadi raised a brow at Ling. "Hear that? Victory."
Ling huffed a small smile. "You always take credit."
Dadi waved a hand dismissively and walked closer, poking Ling's shoulder. "You didn't come complain to me first. I'm offended."
Ling's eyes softened. "I knew you'd come anyway."
Dadi chuckled, then looked at Eliza with mock suspicion. "You behaving now?"
Eliza met her gaze smoothly. "Of course."
Dadi shrugged. "Good. Because the more you push, the harder this one resists."
She pointed at Ling. "Stubborn like her father."
Eliza's smile didn't falter.
But inside, the name father echoed differently.
Victor.
History.
Eliza hugged Ling once more before stepping away. "Sleep well."
"You too," Ling replied.
Eliza left the room composed, affectionate, calm.
Dadi lingered, studying Ling's face.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
Ling nodded. "I think so."
Dadi patted her cheek. "If you say so."
She left.
Ling closed the door and leaned back against it, exhaling.
For the first time that night, she felt… unopposed.
Down the hall, Eliza walked steadily toward her room.
Her expression emptied the moment she was alone.
Support, she thought.
Yes. I'll support you.
Right up until you see the damage yourself.
Because Eliza Kwong didn't believe in stopping fire by force.
She believed in letting it burn—
just enough—
to terrify the one standing too close.
Nior Mansion
Rhea sat on the floor of Shyra's room, her back resting against the bed.
Amaya was in her arms—warm, soft, unaware—tiny fingers curled around Rhea's thumb like it was the safest thing in the world.
Rhea's chest tightened.
She rested her cheek briefly against Amaya's head, inhaling that quiet, innocent scent.
Shyra stood near the window, arms crossed, watching her sister too carefully.
"You're shaking," Shyra said softly.
"I'm not," Rhea replied immediately.
Shyra didn't argue. She never did when Rhea used that tone.
Rhea looked down at Amaya and spoke—slow, measured, as if saying the words out loud would lock them into reality.
"Today," she said, "she caught me when I fell."
Shyra's breath hitched. "Rhea—"
"She held on," Rhea continued, fingers tightening unconsciously around Amaya's tiny back. "Even when people were watching. Even when it would cost her."
Shyra stepped forward. "That doesn't make her the enemy."
Rhea finally looked up, eyes sharp again, walls rebuilt. "It makes her the perfect target."
Shyra's face fell. "You don't mean that."
"I do," Rhea said calmly. "She's already unstable around me. I can finish this."
Shyra knelt in front of her. "Listen to yourself. You're holding my daughter and talking about destroying someone who—"
"—belongs to the man who destroyed our mother," Rhea cut in.
Silence.
Amaya shifted, making a small sound in her sleep. Rhea instinctively rocked her, soothing.
"I told Mom everything," Rhea said. "The terrace. The fall. The way she looked when she thought she lost me."
Shyra's eyes filled. "And you still want to do this?"
Rhea nodded once.
"I will complete it," she said. "I won't break like she did. I won't fall in love. I will make her fall—and then I will walk away. Just like her father did."
Shyra reached out, gripping Rhea's wrist. "Rhea, this isn't revenge anymore. This is—"
"Control," Rhea said. "Justice."
Shyra shook her head. "This will destroy you."
Rhea leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Amaya's forehead.
"I won't break," she whispered—not to Shyra, but to herself. "I promise."
Shyra's voice cracked. "That's what Mom said too."
Rhea froze for half a second.
Then she stood, carefully handing Amaya back to Shyra.
"Protect her," Rhea said quietly. "At least someone should stay untouched."
Shyra held her daughter tightly, tears slipping free. "I can't stop you, can I?"
Rhea adjusted her posture—regal, sealed, untouchable once more.
"No," she said. "And please don't try again."
She walked toward the door, pausing only once.
"I'll finish what she started," Rhea said. "And I'll do it without crying."
The door closed behind her.
Shyra sank onto the bed, clutching Amaya, sobbing silently.
Because she had just watched her sister choose a path their mother had survived—
But at a cost no one had warned her about.
And far away, Ling Kwong lay awake in her room, staring at the ceiling—
Both women moving toward each other, not knowing they were already being guided by hands that loved them enough to ruin them.
None of them realized yet—
The war was no longer between mothers and daughters.
It was being engineered through them.