Ling's message came without softness.
Tonight. 10 p.m. Don't forget.
Rhea stared at the screen longer than she should have.
Her thumb hovered, pride itching to reply with something sharp—something dismissive.
She didn't.
She locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed as if it had burned her.
Her room was scattered with dresses.
Black. Red. Ivory. Silk. Satin. Structured. Dangerous.
Rhea stood in the middle of it all in a simple camisole and shorts, arms crossed, jaw tight.
She hated this.
Not the dinner.
Not the kiss.
The anticipation.
"You're late," Kane said coolly.
Rhea turned.
Her mother was already there—seated on the velvet chair near the window, legs crossed, posture elegant, eyes sharp and observant. She hadn't announced herself. She never did.
"I know," Rhea replied flatly. "I didn't ask for help."
Kane's gaze swept over the bed. "Clearly."
Rhea sighed. "It's just dinner."
Kane rose slowly, heels clicking as she approached the dresses. She lifted one.
"This," Kane said.
Rhea frowned immediately. "No."
Kane raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because it looks like I care."
Kane smiled faintly. "You do."
Rhea's jaw clenched. "About the plan."
"Of course," Kane agreed easily. Then she stepped closer, voice lowering. "You lost the deal. You owe her a kiss."
Rhea's fingers curled into fists. "For a minute."
"Yes," Kane said calmly. "So you will give it. Controlled. Measured."
Rhea laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You're enjoying this."
"No," Kane said. "I'm watching you."
She reached out, straightened the strap of Rhea's camisole. "You said you'd break her."
"I will," Rhea snapped. "Slowly."
Kane studied her face. The tension. The anger layered over something else.
"Then dress like someone who knows she already has power," Kane said. "Not like someone trying to prove she doesn't feel."
She picked up another dress—red, fitted, elegant. High slit. Long sleeves. Regal. Controlled fire.
Rhea hesitated.
"That one," Kane said. "It says you're untouchable."
Rhea took it reluctantly. "And if she touches me?"
Kane's eyes darkened. "Then you remember why you're there."
She leaned in, pressing her forehead briefly against Rhea's temple—rare, intimate. "Do not break yourself for this."
Rhea swallowed. "I won't."
"You can make her fall," Kane said softly. "Just don't fall with her."
Rhea closed her eyes for half a second.
When she opened them, her expression was sharp again.
"She's already falling," Rhea said. "She doesn't even know it."
Kane smiled. But there was fear beneath it.
As Rhea walked toward the mirror with the dress in her hands, her phone buzzed again—just once.
No new message.
Still, her pulse jumped.
Ten p.m.
Fire was going to walk into a house prepared to burn.
And neither mother truly knew
which daughter would walk out unchanged.
Ling stood in the middle of her room, surrounded by dresses laid out with military precision—yet her mind was anything but disciplined.
Black.
Charcoal.
Deep red.
Ivory silk.
Tailored velvet.
She stared at them as if they were enemies.
Rina lay sprawled across the sofa, one leg hanging over the armrest, watching with open disbelief. Dadi sat in her chair, cane resting against her knee, eyes sharp and entertained.
An hour passed.
Then another ten minutes.
Rina groaned dramatically. "I'm getting bored."
Ling didn't respond. She picked up a black dress, held it against herself, turned slightly toward the mirror—
"No," Dadi said instantly.
Ling paused. Normally, she would've snapped back. Normally, she would've said black is enough.
Instead, she silently put it down.
Rina sat up. "Wait. Did you just—"
Ling reached for the red one.
Dadi tilted her head. "Too aggressive. This is dinner, not war."
Ling frowned, hesitated… and changed again.
Rina's eyes widened. "Oh my god."
Ling tried a dark emerald next.
Dadi clicked her tongue. "Makes you look distant."
Ling exhaled sharply and changed again.
Rina jumped to her feet. "I'm getting sick. Physically sick. I've never seen this woman change outfits more than once in her life."
Ling shot her a glare. "Be quiet."
But her hands weren't steady.
She picked up another dress—deep wine, soft fabric, structured shoulders. She slipped it on, stood before the mirror.
Dadi leaned forward. Studied. "Hmm."
Ling's breath caught. "What?"
"It's close," Dadi said slowly. "But you're still hiding."
Ling stiffened. "I'm not hiding."
Rina laughed. "You're terrified."
Ling turned sharply. "I am not."
"Then why," Rina said, gesturing at the pile of rejected dresses, "are there more outfits on the floor than you've worn in the last year combined?"
Ling opened her mouth—then closed it.
She turned back to the mirror, eyes scanning herself critically. Too formal? Too soft? Too revealing? Too obvious?
"I don't want her to think I planned too much," Ling muttered.
Dadi smiled knowingly. "And yet you planned everything."
Ling didn't deny it.
She reached for another outfit—sleek, dark, with subtle red detailing at the collar. She changed again.
Rina collapsed back onto the sofa. "This is torture."
Ling stepped in front of the mirror once more.
Dadi nodded. "Better."
Ling's shoulders loosened slightly. "Better… or right?"
Dadi's eyes softened. "Better."
Ling swallowed.
For the first time, she didn't argue. Didn't deflect. Didn't dominate the moment.
She just stood there, heart racing, realizing that power had never scared her.
But wanting someone—
That did.
Rina peeked at her from the sofa and smirked. "You're doomed."
Ling didn't deny that either.
Dadi finally rose from her chair.
"Enough," she said.
Ling turned instantly. When Dadi spoke like that, even Ling Kwong listened.
Dadi walked toward the clothing rack, fingers brushing past fabric with practiced ease—rejecting without words. Then she stopped.
"This," Dadi said.
Ling followed her gaze.
A deep red blazer—not loud, not glossy. Matte. Rich. The kind of red that didn't scream but commanded. Structured shoulders, sharp tailoring, waist subtly cinched. Power stitched into every seam.
Ling hesitated. "Red again?"
Dadi shot her a look. "You invited fire. Don't dress like smoke."
Rina muttered, "She's right. Annoyingly."
Dadi lifted the blazer, then turned back to the rack. "But not alone."
She pulled out a black shirt, silk-cotton blend, smooth enough to catch candlelight but dark enough to anchor the red. Clean collar. No softness. Control.
Then—
A red vest.
Beneath blazer.
The vest was tailored close to the body, subtle jacquard texture woven into the fabric—almost invisible unless light hit it right. It added depth, intention. Layers.
"This goes under the blazer," Dadi said firmly, as if correcting the universe itself. "You don't skip structure."
Ling swallowed and nodded.
Dadi wasn't done.
She selected a red tie, slightly darker than the blazer, with a faint printed pattern—something abstract, dangerous, not obvious. The kind of detail only noticed up close.
"Loose knot," Dadi instructed. "Not careless. Inviting."
Rina made a face. "You're enjoying this too much."
"I've waited years," Dadi replied sweetly.
Then came the trousers.
Black trousers, perfectly cut, sitting high on the waist, long lines, fluid fall. Not matching the blazer exactly—but harmonizing. Intentional mismatch. Confidence.
Ling stepped into them, watching herself in the mirror as the look came together.
Finally, Dadi reached for the jewelry tray.
She chose lapel jewelry—not flashy, but unmistakably expensive. A fine gold-and-onyx pin shaped like a minimal crest, clipped to the blazer's lapel. Old money. Quiet dominance.
Then cufflinks, black with red stone centers.
A thin chain barely visible at the collarbone, catching light when Ling moved.
"No rings," Dadi said. "Your hands must be honest."
Ling exhaled slowly as Dadi adjusted the blazer on her shoulders, smoothing the fabric, aligning the lapel perfectly.
Rina stared. "You look illegal."
Ling met her own reflection.
Red framed her sharpness. Black grounded her cold. The vest beneath the blazer added depth—layers within layers, like her control barely containing what burned underneath.
Dadi stepped back, satisfied. "Now," she said softly, "when she looks at you—she won't know whether to fight you or lean in."
Ling's jaw tightened. "I'm not trying to—"
Dadi raised a finger. "You already did."
Rina smirked. "She's done for."
Ling adjusted the red tie once, just once.
And for the first time all evening, she didn't change again.
Because this—
This was exactly who she was walking in as.