Morning crept in quietly.
Rhea woke late, head heavy, eyes swollen but dry. Dawn had barely faded when she finally slept, and now the house felt normal again—too normal, like nothing had cracked open the night before.
She washed her face, tied her hair, erased every trace she could.
When she went downstairs, Kane was already there. So was Shyra.
"Morning," Rhea said, voice even.
Kane looked up from her tea, assessing in a single glance. Then she smiled—soft, satisfied.
Shyra studied Rhea more carefully.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
"How are you feeling?"
Rhea pulled out a chair and sat.
"Normal," she said.
"Good."
Shyra frowned slightly.
"You don't have to pretend."
Rhea's jaw tightened just a fraction.
"Last night was a mistake, Sheruu," she said quickly.
"Don't talk about it."
Shyra opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Kane lifted her cup, eyes never leaving Rhea.
"That's right," she said calmly.
"Some things are better left behind."
She took a slow sip, the smile still there.
Rhea stared at her plate.
Inside, everything was anything but normal—but on the surface, she played her role perfectly.
Just like she promised.
Kwong-Mansion
Eliza hadn't slept.
Not even for a moment.
She stayed upright against the headboard all night, arms wrapped around Ling, feeling every uneven breath, every small twitch, every sound that escaped her daughter in sleep. Each time Ling stirred, Eliza tightened her hold as if the world itself might take her away if she loosened even a little.
Dawn crept through the curtains.
Ling shifted.
Her brows knitted first, then her lashes fluttered. A soft, confused sound left her throat as she woke—disoriented, heavy, head resting against a warmth she didn't immediately recognize.
"Mom…?" Ling murmured hoarsely.
Eliza's arms tightened instantly.
"I'm here," she whispered.
"I'm right here."
Ling blinked, eyes unfocused, then memory crashed in all at once. Her chest rose sharply. Her fingers curled into Eliza's sleeve like a child afraid of being left alone.
"Did I…" Ling's voice broke.
"Did I say something stupid last night?"
Eliza shook her head immediately.
"No. You cried. That's all."
Ling swallowed. Her eyes burned.
"I didn't scare you?" she asked quietly.
"I wasn't… too much?"
Eliza's throat tightened.
She cupped Ling's face, forcing her to look up.
"Never," she said firmly.
"Do you hear me? Never."
Ling's lips trembled.
"Then why does it feel like I lost everything?" she whispered.
Eliza pulled her closer, pressing Ling's head into her chest, rocking her gently.
"Because you felt," she said softly.
"And you've never been allowed to before."
Ling shut her eyes.
Tears slipped out anyway.
"I tried to be good," Ling said, voice muffled.
"I tried not to want her."
Eliza closed her eyes, her own tears finally falling after a night of restraint.
"I know," she whispered.
"I know you did."
Ling's shoulders shook once—twice—then she gave in, crying silently while Eliza held her, absorbing every sob like it was her duty.
"I'm still here," Eliza kept saying.
"I didn't go anywhere."
And she meant it—
even as something dark and determined settled quietly behind her grief.
Eliza brushed Ling's hair back gently.
"Go freshen up," she said softly.
Ling nodded without lifting her eyes and slid off the bed, movements slow, drained.
She was about to turn toward her own room when Eliza's hand closed around her wrist.
"No," Eliza said quickly, keeping her voice calm.
"Use my bathroom."
Ling looked at her, confused, but nodded again.
"Okay."
She turned and went inside.
Eliza stood still for a second after the door closed, listening to the faint sound of running water. Then her face changed—softness replaced by sharp, controlled urgency.
She moved fast.
Eliza crossed the room went to Ling's, opened Ling's wardrobe, and pulled out fresh clothes herself—nothing loud, nothing that would remind Ling of last night. Comfortable. Safe. Familiar.
Then she stepped into the hallway.
"Clean her room," Eliza ordered quietly but firmly.
"Now."
The servants froze for half a second, then moved.
"And listen carefully," Eliza added.
"Remove everything. Petals. Candles. Glasses. Curtains. All of it."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Make it exactly how it was before," she said.
"As if none of it ever existed."
The servants rushed away.
Eliza exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers to her temple.
If Ling saw that room like that—
the roses,
the dim lights,
the night that had torn her open—
she would break all over again.
Eliza leaned against the wall, steadying herself.
"Not today," she whispered.
"Not again."
When she heard the shower turn off, Eliza straightened, clothes folded neatly in her arms, her face already softening—
ready to be a mother first,
and everything else later.
Ling tied the robe around herself with unsteady fingers.
The knot slipped once. She retied it, slower this time.
As she stepped forward, her head throbbed sharply—pain blooming behind her eyes. The room tilted. The floor seemed to slide away beneath her feet.
"Ah—"
She grabbed the edge of the sink, breath hitching.
Her vision blurred, dark spots swimming at the corners. A cold wave rolled through her, sudden and violent.
"Mom…" Ling whispered.
Her knees weakened.
"Mom—!"
The second call was louder, cracked with panic.
The door flew open almost instantly.
Eliza rushed in, dropping everything in her hands.
"Ling!"
She caught her just in time, arms wrapping around her daughter's shaking body before she could collapse.
Ling clutched at Eliza's shoulders, nails digging in.
"My head… it hurts," she breathed.
"I can't— I can't see properly."
Eliza held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of Ling's head, the other steadying her waist.
"It's okay," Eliza said urgently but gently.
"I've got you. I've got you."
Ling's forehead pressed into Eliza's shoulder, her breathing uneven, tears leaking without permission.
"I'm here," Eliza repeated, rocking her slowly.
"You're safe. You're not falling."
She kissed Ling's damp hair, over and over, panic burning behind her calm voice.
And this time, she didn't let go at all.
Eliza guided Ling back to the bed carefully, every step measured, one arm firm around her waist.
"Slowly," she murmured.
"I've got you."
Ling didn't argue. She let herself be placed on the mattress, the strength gone from her body. Eliza pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, tucking it in like she used to when Ling was younger—secure, protective, deliberate.
"Stay still," Eliza said softly.
She reached for a towel and knelt beside the bed, gently drying behind Ling's ears, along her neck, careful not to let the cool air touch her skin too suddenly. Ling shivered faintly.
"I know," Eliza whispered.
"It'll pass."
Eliza warmed a little lotion between her palms and began to apply it herself—slow strokes at Ling's temples, behind her ears, down the sides of her neck. Her touch was practiced, soothing, meant to ground rather than overwhelm.
Ling closed her eyes, breathing uneven but calming.
"Mom…" she murmured, voice small.
"I'm here," Eliza replied immediately.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She massaged gently, thumbs easing the tension at Ling's scalp, her movements steady, almost rhythmic. Each touch said the same thing—rest, you don't have to be strong right now.
When Ling's breathing finally evened out, Eliza adjusted the blanket again, pressing a soft kiss to her daughter's forehead.
"Sleep," she whispered.
"I'll watch."
And she did—sitting there, hand still resting against Ling's hair, guarding her as the morning light crept in.