Ling descended the stairs.
Not hurried.
Not hesitant.
Each step measured, controlled—the red blazer catching the light, the black shirt beneath grounding the color, the red vest adding depth only those who looked closely would notice. The tie sat perfectly loose, the lapel jewelry gleaming subtly. Power without noise.
The room stilled.
Eliza looked up first.
For a brief moment—just a breath—she forgot to mask it.
Her daughter looked… dangerous.
Beautiful in a way that didn't ask permission.
Eliza smiled instantly, crossing the room. She reached up, straightened Ling's lapel with practiced fingers, then leaned in and kissed her forehead.
"You look too good," Eliza said softly. "I might fall for you myself."
Ling's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "Behave, Mom."
Victor laughed from behind them. "Careful, Ling. If you keep dressing like that, you'll start scandals before dinner."
Ling glanced at him coolly. "I already win on the field. Let me have this too."
Victor shook his head, amused. "That poor girl doesn't stand a chance."
Eliza's hand lingered on Ling's arm—warm, affectionate, proud.
No one could have guessed that beneath her smile, her thoughts were already calculating.
Because as stunning as Ling looked—
Eliza didn't like how far this had gone.
But for now, she smiled.
Victor tilted his head, eyes still amused—but his tone sharpened just enough to sting.
"Don't you think this is a little… extra?" he asked deliberately. "I mean—what will Rhea think when she sees all this?"
Ling's spine stiffened.
Before she could answer, her gaze snapped to Dadi—sharp, warning, almost accusing.
"Is this over?" Ling said coolly. "I told you to choose wisely."
Dadi blinked, hand flying to her chest in mock offense. "Aiii—" she exclaimed. "I tried. I didn't know this much. You never tell me anything."
"That's exactly the problem," Ling shot back. "You did too much."
Rina bit her lip, already enjoying the drama.
Ling took a step back, jaw tight. "Enough. I'm going to—"
She turned.
And froze.
A servant stood near the entrance, head slightly bowed, voice careful.
"Miss Kwong," she said, "the guest… has arrived."
Time stopped.
Ling's breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.
Her heart slammed once—hard. Then again, faster. Too fast.
She didn't turn.
Didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
Behind her, Dadi's teasing expression softened instantly. Rina straightened. Victor's smile faded into something more observant. Even Eliza's fingers tightened imperceptibly at her side.
Ling swallowed.
She's here.
"Ling," Victor said gently, sensing it, "breathe."
Ling exhaled through her nose, slow, deliberate. She adjusted her red tie once—not because it needed it, but because she did.
"Send her in," Ling said.
Her voice was steady.
Her pulse was not.
Somewhere beyond the doorway, footsteps approached—unhurried, confident.
And Ling Kwong, who never waited for anyone, stood still.
Ling lifted her chin, forcing control back into her spine.
"I'm coming," she said curtly.
Then, without waiting for anyone's reaction, she turned and walked upstairs.
Rina blinked. "She—"
"She ran," Dadi finished, amused. "Interesting."
Victor frowned slightly. Eliza said nothing.
Rhea entered the mansion moments later.
She walked in like she owned silence.
The red dress clung to her curves without begging for attention—high slit along one thigh, the fabric soft but structured, moving with her like it obeyed her body. Long sleeves balanced the cut, elegance restraining temptation.
A thin gold chain rested at her collarbone, disappearing into the neckline—minimal, deliberate.
Small diamond studs caught the light when she turned her head, sharp flashes against her dark hair.
Her nose ring—delicate, gold—sat like a signature, unapologetic.
On her wrist, a slim bracelet, nothing loud, just enough weight to remind you she was not fragile.
As she walked, the slit shifted—and there it was.
The waist chain.
Gold. Fine. Resting low on her hips, glinting faintly with each step. Not meant to be obvious. Not meant to be hidden.
And beneath the fabric—something only a knowing eye would sense—
Her navel piercing.
A small, elegant stud, silver with a dark red stone at its center. It pressed faintly against the dress when she moved, an intimate detail she neither flaunted nor concealed.
Fire didn't need permission.
Eliza noticed everything.
The balance.
The restraint.
The danger.
Eliza stepped forward first, warm and composed. "Rhea. Welcome."
Rhea inclined her head politely. "Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Kwong."
Victor smiled, extending his hand. "Victor Kwong. It's good to finally meet you properly."
Rhea shook his hand firmly. "Likewise, sir."
Rina watched closely, eyes sharp. Elegant, she thought. Dangerous in a quiet way.
Dadi circled her slowly, cane tapping once. "So you're the fire."
Rhea met her gaze without flinching. "People exaggerate."
Dadi laughed delightedly. "Oh, I like her."
Eliza's smile didn't falter, but her eyes studied everything—posture, tone, restraint. Not loud, she noted. That's worse.
"Jewelry chosen with intention," Dadi remarked. "Good."
Rhea met her gaze calmly. "I don't wear things without reason."
Dadi laughed. "Oh, I knew it."
"And Ling?" Rhea asked casually, as if she didn't care.
Eliza answered smoothly. "She'll join us shortly."
She sat when offered, crossing her legs effortlessly—the slit revealing just enough to remind everyone she was aware of her effect.
And yet—
She looked up the staircase once.
Just once.
Ling Kwong wasn't there.
Upstairs, Ling stood in front of the mirror.
Her room glowed in controlled red—curtains heavy and dark, candlelight low and warm, roses arranged with deliberate excess across the bed. The air smelled like wine and intention.
Ling adjusted the lapel jewelry again.
Too straight?
Too obvious?
She paced once. Twice.
Checked the wine glasses. The table. The candles. The distance between chairs.
Her reflection stared back at her—composed, powerful, dressed like a decision.
And yet—
She pressed her palm briefly to her chest.
Get it together.
She hadn't seen Rhea yet.
That was the problem.
She smoothed her blazer, inhaled slowly, and forced her expression back into cool dominance.
Downstairs, laughter drifted faintly upward—Rhea's voice among them.
It tightened something sharp and unwanted in Ling's ribs.
She turned toward the door.
Downstairs, Rhea adjusted the bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly, unaware that every ornament she wore was already writing a reaction into Ling's blood.
Fire had entered the house—
adorned, controlled, lethal—
and the one person it was meant for
still hadn't seen it.