Rhea's car cut through the night like it was running from something alive.
Her hands were tight on the steering wheel—too tight. Her shoulders shook once, then again. She tried to breathe.
It didn't work.
The gate disappeared behind her.
That's when she broke.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself.
"Stop—stop—stop."
Her voice cracked.
The road blurred. She hit the brake hard and pulled over, chest heaving. The engine kept running. The silence inside the car screamed.
She slammed her palm against the steering wheel.
"Damn it!" she shouted.
The sound bounced back at her, trapped.
Tears poured out—hot, furious, unstoppable.
"I felt it," Rhea cried to the empty seat beside her.
"I felt everything."
She laughed hysterically through tears.
"You think I didn't?" she shouted.
"You think I didn't know what you were doing to me?"
Her forehead dropped to the wheel.
"When you touched me," she whispered, voice breaking,
"I forgot."
She inhaled sharply, like the admission hurt physically.
"I forgot my mother."
"I forgot why I came."
"I forgot who I was supposed to be."
She hit the wheel again.
"That scared me," Rhea sobbed.
"That terrified me."
She sat back, wiping her face angrily.
"You looked at me like I mattered," she said aloud, voice shaking.
"Like I was something you'd burn for."
Her lips trembled.
"No one is supposed to look at me like that."
She screamed suddenly, raw and loud.
"I WANTED IT!"
The words tore out of her chest.
"I wanted your hands," she cried.
"I wanted the kiss."
"I wanted—"
Her voice collapsed into sobs.
"I wanted to stay."
She covered her face with both hands.
"But I can't," she whispered.
"I can't fall for you."
Because falling for Ling Kwong didn't just mean losing control.
It meant betraying her mother.
Her past.
Her purpose.
She screamed again, this time quieter, broken.
"I hate you," Rhea whispered into the dark.
"I hate that you made me feel safe."
Her chest ached.
She started the car again with shaking hands.
"I won't look back," she told the empty road.
"I won't."
But her voice wavered.
And as the car disappeared into the night, Rhea Nior cried like someone running from the only place that ever felt like home.
She reached the mansion long past midnight.
The gates opened silently.
The car stopped.
She didn't move.
Kane was already waiting in the living room, posture rigid, eyes sharp the moment Rhea stepped inside. One look—and she knew.
Rhea's face was pale.
Eyes red.
Mascara ruined.
Breath uneven like she had been running for hours instead of driving.
Kane stood immediately. "What happened?"
Rhea shook her head once, small, defensive.
"Rhea." Kane's voice softened despite herself. "Did she do something?"
Rhea walked past her.
"I can't," she said hoarsely.
"Not now."
Kane followed a step. "Did Ling—"
"Please," Rhea snapped suddenly, tears spilling again.
"Not tonight."
She stopped at the stairs, gripping the railing like it was the only thing holding her upright.
"I'll talk tomorrow," Rhea said, voice breaking.
"I promise."
Kane froze.
She had never heard that tone from her daughter.
Not anger.
Not defiance.
Fear.
Rhea turned her face away so her mother wouldn't see it completely fall apart.
"I just… need to sleep," she whispered.
"Please."
Kane nodded slowly.
"Go," she said quietly. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Rhea didn't say goodnight.
She went straight to her room and closed the door behind her—gently, like she didn't have the strength to slam it.
Inside, she leaned against the door and slid down to the floor.
Her hand covered her mouth to stop the sound.
It didn't work.
Tears soaked into her palms as she shook, memories replaying cruelly—
Ling's hands.
Ling's voice.
Ling on her knees.
"I didn't mean to fall," Rhea whispered to the empty room.
"I didn't."
Downstairs, Kane stood alone in the quiet mansion, staring at the staircase long after Rhea disappeared.
Then Shyra knocked softly.
Once.
Then again.
"Rhea?" her voice came gentle, careful.
Rhea wiped her face hurriedly, dragged a breath into her lungs, and opened the door just enough.
Shyra stood there with Amaya in her arms.
One look at Rhea's eyes and Shyra knew.
She didn't say it.
She just walked in.
Rhea sat on the edge of the bed, stiff, hands clenched in her lap. Shyra sat beside her without asking, close but not pressing.
Amaya babbled quietly, tiny fingers playing with Shyra's scarf.
Shyra spoke softly. "What happened?"
Rhea shook her head immediately.
"Nothing."
Shyra looked at her. Really looked.
"Rhea," she said gently, "your voice is lying."
Rhea swallowed. "I'm just tired."
Shyra didn't argue.
She shifted Amaya slightly, then held her out.
"Here."
Rhea hesitated. "Shyra—"
"Take her."
Rhea took Amaya automatically, muscle memory stronger than denial. The baby settled into her arms like she belonged there, small and warm.
Amaya looked up at her with wide eyes.
"Ninna," she said happily.
That was it.
Rhea's face crumpled.
She hugged Amaya to her chest and the sob broke free—loud, ugly, unstoppable. Her shoulders shook as if everything she'd been holding back finally found permission to fall apart.
Shyra's hand came to her back immediately, rubbing slow circles.
"Hey," Shyra murmured.
"It's okay."
"I've got you."
Rhea buried her face in Amaya's soft hair, crying harder.
"I didn't mean to," she choked.
"I didn't mean for any of it."
Shyra didn't ask what.
She already knew who.
Amaya patted Rhea's cheek clumsily, confused by the tears.
"Ninna," she said again, softer this time.
Rhea laughed through sobs and pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, holding her like a lifeline.
"I'm trying," Rhea whispered.
"I swear I'm trying."
Shyra rested her head against Rhea's, eyes closing briefly.
"I know," she said quietly.
"That's why it hurts."
Rhea cried into the silence, holding the one thing that felt innocent and safe, while Shyra stayed beside her—steady, protective, knowing that whatever had happened tonight had changed everything.