After a while, Ling pushed the blanket aside and sat up.
Her head still throbbed, her body heavy, but something inside her needed to see it for herself.
She walked to her room.
The door opened.
And—
Nothing.
No roses.
No candles.
No petals.
No wine glasses.
No red curtains, no soft lights, no trace of the night that had torn her open.
The room was exactly as it had always been.
Cold.
Controlled.
Perfect.
Ling stood there, unmoving, heart sinking in a way she hadn't expected. It felt like someone had erased proof that she'd ever been brave enough to want something.
She walked to her dresser slowly and opened the drawer she never opened unless she was alone.
Inside—
Rhea's jewelry.
The delicate chain from the elevator malfunction day. The one Ling had removed herself, hands shaking, afraid the metal would hurt Rhea while she was unconscious. She had kept it without knowing why. Or maybe knowing too well.
Ling lifted it carefully.
The chain felt warm against her palm, like it still remembered skin.
Her throat tightened.
"You forgot this," Ling whispered to the empty room.
"And I kept it like a secret."
She closed her fingers around it, pressing it to her chest.
No one had to know.
No one ever would.
Ling slid down onto the edge of the bed, the room too quiet, too clean, too empty.
Last night had been erased.
Except for this.
And the ache that refused to leave.
Ling sat there for a long time.
Too long.
The chain lay in her palm, cool now, no warmth left to borrow. Her fingers curled around it, then loosened again, like she didn't know whether to keep holding or finally let go.
"What am I supposed to do now?" she whispered.
The room didn't answer.
She stood, then sat again. Walked two steps, stopped. Her mind kept circling the same broken paths—go to her, don't go to her, wait, don't wait, speak, stay silent.
For the first time in her life, Ling Kwong had no plan.
No strategy.
No calculation.
No control.
She pressed her knuckles to her forehead, eyes squeezing shut.
"I don't chase," she muttered.
"I don't beg."
But her chest ached like it wanted to do both.
If she went to Rhea, she might be rejected again.
If she didn't, someone else might step in.
If she spoke, she might shatter.
If she stayed silent, she might never breathe properly again.
Her phone buzzed once.
She froze.
Then—nothing.
Just a notification from a sports page.
Ling laughed under her breath, bitter and empty.
"Pathetic," she told herself.
"Absolutely pathetic."
She stood again, pacing now, restless energy clawing at her skin.
"I said I'd give you a choice," she murmured.
"And now I don't know how to live with that."
She glanced at the drawer once more, at the place where Rhea's jewelry belonged.
Then she closed it.
Slowly.
As if shutting a door she wasn't ready to lock.
Ling leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the dresser and stayed there, breathing unevenly, completely lost—
a ruler without a map,
a fighter without a match,
a girl who had finally felt something and had no idea what came next.
Nior-Mansion
Rhea sat on the couch with Amaya in her arms, holding her close like everything was normal.
Like nothing had happened.
Amaya babbled softly, small fingers curling into Rhea's shirt, warm and trusting. Rhea rocked her gently, smiling when she was supposed to, humming when Shyra glanced over.
"I'm okay," Rhea said lightly when Shyra looked at her for the third time.
"See?"
But her mind was nowhere in that room.
It was back in a dimly lit bedroom.
At a locked door.
At hands that had held her like she might disappear.
Ling's voice echoed without permission.
I'm losing my breath…
Don't walk away like it's nothing.
Rhea's arms tightened around Amaya before she realized it.
"Hey," Shyra said softly.
"Easy."
"Sorry," Rhea murmured.
Amaya looked up at her, big eyes blinking, then reached up and touched Rhea's cheek, as if sensing something wrong.
"Ninna," she said again, soft and sleepy.
Rhea's throat closed.
She pressed her face into Amaya's hair, breathing her in, using the warmth to anchor herself.
"I'm fine," Rhea whispered—this time not to Shyra, but to herself.
"I'm fine."
But the lie wouldn't settle.
Every time Amaya shifted, Rhea remembered how Ling had held her—careful and desperate at the same time. Every time Amaya sighed, Rhea remembered the way Ling had gone silent when Rhea pushed her away.
She rocked Amaya slowly, tears stinging but not falling.
"Don't think," Rhea told herself.
"Just hold."
Amaya yawned and curled closer, completely safe, completely unaware.
Rhea held her tighter—
pretending she wasn't breaking all over again.
Kwong-Mansion
Eliza stood alone in her study, curtains half-drawn, the city muted beyond the glass. Her phone rested in her hand for a moment before she dialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kwong," the professor said carefully.
"I won't take much of your time."she said, voice calm, composed.
"Of course."
Eliza looked at Ling's reflection faintly caught in the glass—somewhere upstairs, sleeping at last. Her jaw tightened.
"There's a student," Eliza said evenly.
"Rhea Nior."
A pause.
"Yes," the professor replied.
"She's… impressive."
Eliza smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Then make sure she doesn't take a sigh of peace," she said softly.
"No favors. No soft corners."
Another pause—longer this time.
"Academically?" the professor asked.
"In every way that is fair," Eliza answered.
"And loud enough to be felt."
"I understand," he said cautiously.
Eliza continued, unhurried.
"No one will connect this to my daughter. Especially not Her."
"Of course not."
"If she's deserving," Eliza added, voice sharpening just slightly,
"then test her until she proves it. Again. And again."
The professor swallowed.
"And the students?"
Eliza's gaze hardened.
"No professor will miss a chance," she said.
"And neither will students—if they're capable."
Silence.
Then, carefully:
"Understood."
Eliza ended the call without another word.
She set the phone down and rested her palms on the desk, shoulders squared.
"I won't touch you directly," she murmured to the empty room.
"But I will make sure you never forget where you're standing."
Upstairs, Ling slept.
Downstairs, power moved quietly into place.
And Rhea Nior—without knowing it—had just stepped onto a battlefield owned entirely by the Kwongs.