They sat together at the outdoor table.
Tea steamed quietly between porcelain cups.
Rhea's face was still flushed—not from exertion anymore. She kept her gaze fixed on the cup, fingers wrapped tightly around it.
Ling sat opposite her, posture composed, jaw tight.
Dadi looked from one to the other, eyes sharp with curiosity masked as innocence.
"So," Dadi said lightly, stirring her tea, "training was hard?"
Rhea nodded quickly. "Yes."
Rina, never subtle, leaned forward. "Hard is one word. I mean—"
Too quickly.
Ling shot her a brief look.
Ling cut in smoothly. "She's not used to high-intensity drills."
Rina blinked. Then grinned.
"Right," she said, dragging the word. "Very… high intensity."
Dadi hummed. "Did someone fall?"
Rhea stiffened.
Ling's fingers tightened around her cup.
"No," Ling said flatly.
Rina tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Not exactly fall—more like… loss of balance."
Ling shot her a warning glare again.
Rina continued anyway. "You know, when two people are standing too close and gravity suddenly remembers its job."
Rhea's face went even redder.
Dadi's brows lifted slightly. "Oh?"
Ling leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Riiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnna."
"What?" Rina said. "I didn't say anything."
Dadi smiled into her tea. A knowing, satisfied smile.
"Football teaches coordination," Dadi said calmly. "And awareness."
She looked directly at Ling. "Sometimes too much awareness."
Ling said nothing.
Rhea finally looked up, voice tight. "It was an accident."
Dadi nodded. "Of course."
She took a sip, eyes never leaving them.
"But accidents," Dadi added gently, "only happen when people get careless."
Silence settled over the table.
Ling met Rhea's eyes briefly.
Just for a second.
Enough to send Rhea's pulse skidding again.
Dadi set her cup down. "Finish your tea. Both of you."
Her tone left no room for argument.
"And rest," she added. "Tomorrow—training continues."
Ling's lips twitched despite herself.
Rhea looked away.
Dadi's voice softened deliberately.
"So, Rhea," she said, resting her chin on her hand, "tell us about your family."
Rhea paused for half a second.
Just half.
Then she smiled—controlled, practiced.
"I live with my sister," she said evenly. "Shyra. She's married. Has a daughter."
Rina's eyes lit up. "A baby?"
"Yes," Rhea replied. "Amaya. One year old."
Dadi's expression melted instantly. "Ah. A child brings softness to a house."
Ling's gaze flicked to Rhea without permission.
Softness.
Rhea didn't look soft.
But something about the way she said Amaya—something warmed and dangerous—made Ling's chest tighten.
"And your parents?" Victor asked casually, unaware of the landmine.
Rhea's fingers curled slightly around her teacup.
"My mother—" she began.
Before the name could leave her mouth—
"Hello."
Eliza's voice cut in like silk drawn over steel.
All eyes turned.
Eliza Kwong stood there perfectly composed, dressed immaculately, lips curved in a smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Rhea," Eliza said warmly, stepping closer. "Glad to see you here."
Ling's spine straightened instinctively.
Rhea rose slightly from her seat out of respect. "Mrs. Kwong."
Eliza placed a gentle hand on the back of Rhea's chair, the gesture deliberate—possessive in its politeness.
"I heard you're training with Ling," Eliza continued, tone light. "Football, of all things."
Rhea nodded. "Yes."
Eliza chuckled softly. "She's… intense. I hope she's not being too harsh."
Ling's jaw tightened.
"I'm not—"
Eliza shot her a look that silenced her immediately.
Dadi observed quietly, eyes sharp.
Victor smiled, relieved. "It's good she's teaching someone. Ling doesn't usually."
"That's true," Eliza agreed smoothly. "But if this is Ling's decision, I support it."
Rina blinked too.
Dadi's eyes narrowed—just a fraction.
Rhea inclined her head politely. "Thank you."
Eliza's fingers pressed briefly into the chair back—just enough pressure to be felt.
"Family matters," Eliza added, eyes on Rhea now. "They shape us. Make us… careful about who we get close to."
Rhea met her gaze without flinching.
"Yes," she said softly. "They do."
Ling felt it then.
Something wrong.
Not loud. Not visible.
But sharp—like a wire pulled too tight.
Dadi cleared her throat. "You were saying, child. About your mother?"
Rhea inhaled.
Just enough.
"She's… strong," Rhea said finally. "Very disciplined."
Eliza smiled.
"Strength is important," she said. "But so is knowing when to stop before fire spreads."
Ling's fingers twitched.
Rhea smiled back—slow, composed, unreadable.
"Fire," Rhea replied calmly, "only burns what's afraid of it."
Silence.
Victor laughed awkwardly, trying to lighten the moment. "Tea's getting cold."
But Ling didn't hear him.
She was watching her mother and Rhea look at each other—
Both smiling.
Rhea rose from her chair, smoothing her top, composure sliding back into place like armor.
"I should go," she said politely.
Dadi looked up immediately. "So soon? Stay for dinner."
Rhea shook her head with a soft smile. "Another time, Dadi. Thank you."
The way she said it—respectful but closed—left no space to insist.
Ling stood up at once. "I'll drop you."
Rhea turned to her, expression unreadable. "I have my driver."
A pause.
Just long enough to sting.
Ling nodded once. "Okay."
No argument. No push.
That restraint—unnatural for Ling Kwong—didn't go unnoticed.
They walked side by side toward the front gate anyway, the evening air heavy between them.
Neither spoke at first.
The mansion lights glowed behind them, shadows stretching long across the drive.
"You played badly today," Rhea said suddenly, eyes forward.
Ling scoffed lightly. "Liar."
"You were distracted."
Ling glanced at her. "By someone who kept ignoring me."
Rhea stopped walking.
Ling stopped too.
Rhea turned, folding her arms. "Don't flatter yourself."
Ling stepped closer, voice low. "You're terrible at pretending."
Rhea's jaw tightened. "And you're terrible at boundaries."
Silence again.
The car lights appeared at the gate.
Rhea exhaled slowly. "See you tomorrow. Five."
Ling's lips curved faintly. "10, at Uni."
The driver stepped out to open the door.
Rhea moved toward it, then paused—just for a fraction of a second.
Not enough to look back.
Enough to be felt.
Ling watched the car pull away, chest tight, hands clenched in her pockets.
She didn't chase.
Didn't call.
But as the taillights disappeared—
Ling Kwong realized something terrifyingly simple.
Being allowed close wasn't the worst part.
Being kept at arm's length was.