Rhea left her arm.
"You're not staying," Rhea says flatly. "You're going. The way you came. Through the window."
Ling's brows lift, all mock innocence.
"I'll fall," she says dramatically.
Rhea rolls her eyes hard. "You won't. Stop acting."
Ling grins, unrepentant. She turns—deliberately—toward the door.
Rhea snaps forward and grabs her arm.
"Not from hereeeee," she hisses, anger sharp and quiet. "Are you out of your mind?"
Ling stops. Looks back over her shoulder.
That smile again. Slow. Knowing.
"You look too good when you're angry," Ling says lightly. "I might fall again."
Rhea shoves her toward the window. "Go. Now."
Ling plants a hand on the sill, leans close, eyes glinting.
"Say it properly."
Rhea glares. "Ling. Go."
Ling considers her like a puzzle she's already solved.
Then, easy as breath, she swings one leg up, balanced, controlled—never once losing eye contact.
She pauses.
"Lock your window," Ling says, amused. "Your security really is blind."
Rhea scoffs. "You climbed. Don't flatter yourself."
Ling's smile softens—just a notch. Dangerous.
"I didn't flatter myself," she says. "I came because you needed me."
She paused halfway out the window.
One hand on the frame. One leg already outside.
She looks back over her shoulder, eyes amused, voice infuriatingly calm.
"I'll go," Ling says. Then tilts her head. "One condition."
Rhea's shoulders stiffen. "No."
Ling smiles. "I didn't say it yet."
Rhea turns fully now, fists clenched at her sides. "You're not negotiating."
Ling's eyes flick to her hands. To the tension in her jaw.
"One kiss," Ling says lightly. "Maybe."
Rhea's fists tighten harder.
"You're pushing it," she warns, voice low, dangerous.
Ling studies her for a long second — then deliberately swings her leg back inside, landing smoothly on the floor.
"Then I'm not going," Ling says simply.
Before Rhea can react, Ling crosses the room and drops onto the bed, sprawling back casually, legs swinging off the edge like she owns the place.
Rhea stares at her. Disbelief first. Then fury.
"Get up," Rhea snaps.
Ling hums. "Comfortable here."
Rhea turns her back sharply, hands coming up to her face, fingers pressing hard against her eyes.
"You're impossible," she mutters, anger vibrating in every word.
Behind her, Ling's voice shifts — not softer, just intent.
"Don't turn your back on me," Ling says. "I want to see you."
"I won't," Rhea says immediately.
A beat.
Ling, infuriatingly casual: "Okay. I was just saying."
Rhea exhales sharply.
Then Ling adds, almost as an afterthought—
"Your back isn't covered. I mean your thighs uff too distracting."
Rhea freezes.
Her eyes widen.
Slowly, she turns.
Ling is still on the bed, propped on her elbows now, gaze pointedly fixed on the back of Rhea's shirt where it's ridden up, Ling's own shirt wrapped only at the front.
Rhea's anger detonates.
In two strides, she's there.
She pinned Ling flat against the mattress, knees sinking into the bed on either side, hair falling loose around her face.
"What do you think of yourself?" Rhea demands, breath sharp, furious. "Do you think you can say whatever you want and I'll just—"
She stops.
Because Ling isn't startled.
Ling isn't resisting.
Ling is watching her — eyes dark, focused, completely unrepentant.
"Careful," Ling says quietly. "You climbed on me."
Rhea's hands curl tighter in the sports bra straps. "You provoked me."
"Yes," Ling agrees. No denial. No apology. "I did. And I would love to do it again."
Rhea's chest rises fast. "You're impossible."
Ling's gaze flicks briefly to Rhea's lips. Then back to her eyes.
"And you didn't tell me to go," Ling says.
Rhea swallows. "I told you twice."
Ling smiles faintly. "You pushed me onto the bed instead."
Silence stretches — thick, charged, dangerous.
Rhea straightens slightly, still pinning her. "You're leaving. Now."
Ling doesn't move.
"Say it properly," Ling murmurs. "Without shaking."
Rhea's jaw tightens. "Ling. Leave."
Ling says. "But next time—"
"There is no next time."
Ling smiles like she doesn't believe her.
"Get off me," Ling adds calmly.
Rhea blinks. "What?"
Ling's tone remains even. Controlled. "If you don't want the kiss, don't sit like you do."
Rhea flushes — furious — and shoves off her, stepping back immediately.
Ling sits up, smooth, unhurried.
She stands, walks back toward the window, pauses once more.
"You still owe me," Ling says lightly.
"I owe you nothing."
Ling looks back, eyes sharp, pleased.
"That's what you keep telling yourself."
Ling pauses, eyes bright with mischief that has teeth.
"You know what," Ling says thoughtfully, like an idea just bloomed. "I was thinking—"
Rhea exhales sharply. "Don't."
Ling ignores it.
"I should impress my future mother-in-law," Ling continues, perfectly calm. "Make a good first impression."
She turns toward the door again.
Rhea's breath punches out of her.
"No—" She lunges forward and grabs Ling's arm, fingers digging in hard. "Ling, I'll kill you."
Ling stops instantly.
Looks down at the hand on her arm.
Then up at Rhea's face.
Her smile is slow. Intimate. Unhinged in the quietest way.
"I want to be killed," Ling says softly. "Again and again. If it's you, baby."
Rhea groans in pure frustration and turns away, dragging a hand down her face.
"Ughhh," she mutters. "You're unbearable."
Ling takes that as permission.
She twists the handle.
The door opens.
Rhea turns back just in time to see Ling step out into the hallway like she belongs there.
Rhea's eyes go wide.
"Ling—" she whispers harshly, panic spiking now, real and sharp. "What are you doing?"
Ling glances back over her shoulder, utterly relaxed.
"Relax," she murmurs. "I'm just saying hello."
Then she's gone.
Rhea stands frozen for half a second.
Then—
"Idiot," she hisses, and rushes after her, bare feet silent on the floor.
Ling walks downstairs unhurried, hands in her pockets, posture easy. Like this is a visit she planned days ago.
Rhea catches up at the top of the stairs and grabs her arm again.
"Are you insane?" Rhea whispers furiously. "She's downstairs. If she sees you—"
Ling leans closer without stopping, voice low enough to brush Rhea's ear.
"She won't eat me," Ling says. "Probably."
Rhea glares. "This is not funny."
Ling glances sideways. "You didn't tell me to stop."
"I'm telling you now."
Ling pauses on the step.
Looks at Rhea fully.
"You're shaking," Ling says. Not teasing this time. Observant. Certain.
Rhea clenches her jaw. "Because you don't listen."
Ling nods once, accepting it.
Then resumes walking.
Rhea swears under her breath and follows, heart hammering so loud it feels like it might give them away.
At the bottom of the stairs, voices drift from the living room.
Rhea's pulse spikes.
Ling stops just before the last step.
Turns back.
"If you tell me to leave," Ling says quietly, "I will."
Rhea opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Ling watches her for a beat longer.
Then she steps forward.
Into the light.
Rhea's eyes widen as the realization hits—too late.
Ling Kwong is downstairs.
And Rhea's night just crossed a line she can't pull back from.