Outside, voices rose—worried, urgent, pleading.
"Ling, open the door."
"Ling, please."
"Love—talk to us.
Ling breath broke.
Then she laughed.
A sharp, ugly sound—half sob, half mockery.
"Wow," she whispered to herself.
"So dramatic."
Her hands shook as she reached for the wine bottle on the table. She didn't bother with a glass this time. Just lifted it and drank, the liquid burning all the way down.
She coughed, then laughed again.
"Look at you," she said aloud, staring at her reflection in the dark mirror.
"Ling Kwong."
"The one who controls everything."
Her laugh cracked and turned into a sob.
She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand, smearing tears.
"Pinned her to the door," she whispered.
"Begged."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"Pathetic."
Another swallow. Too fast.
Her vision blurred—not just from the wine.
"I promised," she said shakily.
"I promised I wouldn't cross a line."
She pressed her forehead to the mirror.
"And still you ran."
She slid to the floor completely now, bottle clutched to her chest like an accusation.
Outside, a knock turned desperate.
"Ling!"
"Open up right now!"
She screamed back, voice raw.
"GO AWAY!"
Silence fell for a moment.
Then softer—almost breaking.
"Please."
Ling laughed again, louder this time, tears streaming freely.
"Don't say please," she cried.
"I already used that word tonight."
She took another drink, winced, then threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, red splashing like blood across white marble.
She flinched—but didn't move.
"I dressed the room," she whispered.
"Changed everything."
"Thought love could be staged like an event."
She covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking violently.
"I scared her," she sobbed.
"I scared myself."
Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps.
" I would've waited," she said to the empty room.
"Years, if she asked."
She laughed weakly again.
"One minute," she murmured.
"I couldn't even survive one minute."
Outside, the family called again, softer now, afraid.
Ling didn't answer.
She curled in on herself on the cold floor, surrounded by broken glass, roses torn apart, silk curtains ripped from their hooks.
The room smelled like wine and regret.
"I love you," she whispered into the silence—
to someone who wasn't there,
to someone who had already driven away.
Her laughter dissolved completely then.
Only crying remained.
The lock splintered.
The door flew inward with a crack so loud it shook the corridor.
Victor stood there, chest heaving.
"Ling—"
They rushed in.
The room smelled of wine, shattered roses, torn silk, broken glass.
Ling was on the floor.
Sitting amid the mess like she belonged to it.
Her blazer lay ripped near the bed, vest flung aside, tie tangled around a chair leg. Her hair was loose, eyes red, face streaked with tears that hadn't stopped even as she laughed.
Not happy.
Broken.
She looked up when she saw them—and laughed again.
"Oh," she said hoarsely.
"You broke it."
"Guess I'm not worth doors either."
Eliza froze.
Then ran.
She dropped to her knees and pulled Ling into her arms, clutching her like a child who'd almost slipped out of reach.
"Oh my baby," Eliza sobbed.
"Oh God—what did she do to you?"
Ling tried to pull away, laughing weakly.
"Don't," she slurred.
"I'm fine."
"I just… drank a little truth."
Her head fell against Eliza's shoulder.
And then she cried.
Hard.
Ugly.
Uncontrolled.
"I tried," Ling gasped between sobs.
"I tried to be good."
"I tried not to scare her."
Eliza's tears soaked into Ling's hair as she held her tighter.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Eliza whispered fiercely.
"You hear me?"
"Nothing."
Victor stood frozen, fists clenched, jaw tight as stone.
Ling's fingers clutched Eliza's sleeve desperately.
"She looked at me like I was poison," Ling cried.
"Like I ruined everything."
Eliza's face changed.
The softness vanished.
In its place—fury.
Pure.
Cold.
Protective.
Her tears kept falling, but her eyes hardened as she looked at the destroyed room, at her daughter shaking in her arms.
Rhea's name burned silently in her chest.
She stroked Ling's hair again, voice low, controlled, dangerous.
"No one," Eliza said,
"gets to reduce my daughter to this."
Ling laughed weakly again, eyes closing as exhaustion hit.
"She left," she whispered.
"Didn't even look back."
Eliza held her tighter.
"She won't hurt you again," she promised quietly—
a vow, not comfort.
Victor finally moved, kneeling beside them, placing a hand on Ling's shoulder.
"We've got you," he said.
Ling didn't answer.
She'd gone limp against Eliza's chest, tears still slipping free even in half-sleep.
Eliza looked down at her daughter, broken and defenseless in her arms—
and whatever mercy she might have had left for Rhea died right there.
Ling stirred in Eliza's arms.
Slowly.
Like moving hurt.
Her fingers curled into Eliza's dress, knuckles white. Her voice came out small—nothing like the captain, nothing like the woman who owned stadiums with her presence.
"Mom…" Ling whispered.
Eliza immediately leaned down.
"Yes, baby. I'm here."
Ling swallowed. Her lips trembled.
"Am I…"
she paused, breath hitching,
"that bad?"
Eliza froze.
Ling forced herself to continue, eyes glossy.
"Am I scary?"
"Did I look like… something she needed to run from?"
Eliza shook her head instantly, almost violently.
"No," she said, voice breaking.
"No, Ling. Never."
"You are not scary."
"You are not bad."
Ling didn't seem convinced.
She turned her head slightly, searching.
"Dad?" she asked quietly.
Victor flinched like the word struck him.
He knelt closer, meeting her eyes.
"No," he said firmly.
"You're not frightening."
"You're intense because you feel deeply."
"That's not a flaw."
Ling's eyes filled again.
She shifted, looking past him.
"Dadi?"
Dadi was already crying.
Tears streamed freely down her face; she didn't even try to wipe them. She stepped closer and crouched beside Ling, taking her hand gently.
"My mad girl," Dadi sobbed.
"You're fire, yes."
"But fire warms before it burns."
She pressed Ling's hand to her own cheek.
"If she ran," Dadi said softly,
"it's because she was afraid of herself—not you."
Ling's breath broke.
She turned one last time.
"Rina?"
Rina's eyes were red, nose flushed, lips trembling. She forced a smile that didn't quite work.
"No," Rina said, shaking her head.
"You're not scary."
"You're… stupidly sincere."
She laughed weakly through tears.
"And people don't know what to do with that."
Ling closed her eyes.
Her chest rose sharply, then fell.
"So why," she whispered,
"did she look at me like I hurt her…
when all I did was feel too much?"
No one answered.
Because no one had one.
Eliza tightened her arms around Ling again, rocking her slightly, pressing her cheek to Ling's hair.
"You didn't hurt her," Eliza said softly—but something sharp lived beneath her words.
"You loved honestly."
"And sometimes honesty scares people who are not worth it."
Ling's tears soaked into Eliza's shoulder again.
"I don't want to scare anyone ever again," Ling murmured.
"I just wanted her to stay."
Dadi reached out and kissed Ling's forehead.
"Rest," she whispered.
"Let your heart breathe tonight."
Ling nodded faintly.
Her grip loosened.
Her breathing slowed—still shaky, but steadier.
And as she drifted there, surrounded by people who loved her without conditions—
Eliza lifted her eyes over Ling's shoulder.
That earlier fury returned.
Quiet.
Focused.
Unforgiving.
Because whatever the reason was Rhea had shattered her daughter.
And Eliza would not forget that.