The main doors open quietly.
Too quietly.
Ling steps in, jaw tight, posture controlled to the point of strain. Her hoodie sleeve hangs longer on one side.
Eliza looks up instantly.
She doesn't smile.
She doesn't ask gently.
"Where were you."
Ling doesn't stop walking. "I don't want to talk right now."
That alone is an answer.
Eliza's eyes drop.
To Ling's hand.
Swollen. Red. Wrong.
Ling takes one more step before Eliza's voice sharpens.
"Ling."
Ling stops.
Eliza stands slowly, every movement deliberate. She walks closer, reaches out, and grips Ling's wrist before Ling can pull away.
Ling flinches—just once.
Eliza's breath catches. "You're hurt."
Ling exhales through her nose. "It's nothing."
Eliza's fingers tighten. "Don't lie to me."
She lifts the sleeve herself.
The swelling is ugly now. Bruised. Already darkening.
Eliza's face hardens with concern first, then calculation.
"I knew it," she says coldly. "You were with her."
Ling jerks her hand back. "Let go."
Eliza doesn't. "You climbed again, didn't you."
Ling's voice is flat. "Drop it."
Eliza turns sharply toward the staff hallway. "Call the doctor. Now."
Ling snaps, "Mom."
Too late.
A servant is already moving.
Dadi, seated nearby with her tea untouched, has gone very still. Rina straightens slowly, eyes narrowing. Victor lowers his tablet, gaze sharp.
Rina speaks first. "What happened."
Ling doesn't answer.
Eliza pulls Ling toward the couch. "Sit."
"I said I don't want—"
"Sit," Eliza repeats, this time steel underneath.
Ling sits.
Not obedient. Just tired.
The doctor arrives quickly. Kneels. Gently takes Ling's hand.
"This should've been iced immediately," he says.
Ling stares at the floor.
Rina crosses her arms. "You want to explain why you're sneaking out like a teenager and coming back injured."
Ling says nothing.
The doctor starts cleaning the area. Ling's jaw tightens but she doesn't make a sound.
Eliza watches her face, searching for cracks.
"You were with her," Eliza says again, quieter now. "Weren't you."
Ling finally looks up.
Her eyes are cold.
"Yes."
The room shifts.
Victor exhales slowly. "Ling—"
"She hurt you," Eliza says instantly.
Ling's gaze snaps to her. "No."
Eliza scoffs. "Then who did."
Ling's voice is controlled, deliberate. "I fell."
Rina lets out a short laugh. "That's the lie you're going with?"
Ling turns to her. "Do you want the truth or a version you can handle."
Rina stops smiling.
Dadi finally speaks. Soft, but firm. "Ling, look at me."
Ling does.
Dadi studies her face, the tension, the restraint, the way she's holding herself together with sheer will.
"You're not reckless," Dadi says. "You're hurting."
Ling swallows.
Eliza steps closer. "You went to her at dinner time."
Ling doesn't deny it.
"You climbed walls for her," Eliza continues. "You risked security, reputation—your hand—"
Ling interrupts sharply, "Enough."
Eliza stiffens. "You think this is nothing?"
"I think," Ling says quietly, "that my feelings don't require permission."
Eliza laughs without humor. "Your feelings are making you bleed."
Ling looks at her. "So did discipline. So did expectations. I survived those too."
The doctor finishes bandaging. "She needs rest. And no strain for at least a week."
Eliza nods tightly. "Thank you."
As the doctor leaves, Eliza turns back to Ling, lowering her voice.
"She knows how dangerous you are when you're like this," Eliza says. "And she still let you come."
Ling's eyes darken. "She didn't let me do anything."
Eliza tilts her head. "Then why did you go."
Ling stands slowly despite the bandage. "Because I wanted to."
Dadi rises as well. "And now?"
Ling's shoulders tense. "Now I leave it alone."
Rina frowns. "That's new."
Ling's mouth curves bitterly. "She asked me to."
Eliza's eyes sharpen. "She rejected you."
Ling doesn't answer immediately.
Then, honestly: "She was afraid."
Victor speaks carefully. "And you?"
Ling looks at her bandaged hand.
"I was hurt," she says. "Not by her words. By realizing I scared her."
Silence stretches.
Eliza steps closer, lowering her voice to something intimate and dangerous.
"You won't stop," she says. "You never do."
Ling meets her gaze steadily. "I will stop being careless."
"That's not what I asked."
Ling steps past her. "Good."
She heads toward the stairs.
She disappears upstairs.
Eliza stands frozen, fingers curling slowly.
Dadi exhales. "This is no longer a crush."
Rina nods. "It's worse."
Victor murmurs, "Or real."
Eliza's jaw tightens.
"No," she says quietly.
"It's a liability."
Nior Mansion
The door closes behind her with a dull click.
Rhea doesn't turn on the lights.
She leans her back against the wood for a second—just a second—then her knees give out and she slides down onto the floor.
Her chest hurts.
Not sharp. Not dramatic.
Heavy.
Stupidly heavy.
"…Idiot," she whispers, dragging a hand through her hair. "Why did you say that."
Her phone is already in her hand before she realizes it.
Text — Rhea:
Did you reach safely?
Seen.
No reply.
Her throat tightens.
She stares at the screen, thumb hovering.
Text — Rhea:
Ling, I didn't mean it like that.
Seen.
Still nothing.
Her jaw clenches. "Don't do this," she mutters. "Don't shut me out."
She stands abruptly, pacing the room, phone pressed tight in her palm.
She hits call.
Ring.
Once.
Twice.
Disconnected.
She freezes.
"…You blocked me?" Her voice cracks despite herself. "No. You wouldn't."
She tries again.
Disconnected.
Her breath stutters.
Rhea presses her forehead against the wall, eyes squeezing shut.
"I didn't call you a pervert," she whispers into the empty room. "I was scared. I was angry. I was—"
Her voice breaks.
Tears spill over before she can stop them. Silent at first. Then messier.
She slides onto the bed, curling in on herself, phone clutched to her chest like it might burn a hole through her ribs.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she says aloud now, raw. "I just didn't want you to risk yourself like that. Why don't you understand that?"
Her phone buzzes.
Her heart leaps so violently it hurts.
She unlocks it with shaking fingers.
Nothing.
Just her own messages sitting there—seen, unanswered.
She wipes her face roughly. "Fine," she mutters, angry now. "Fine. Be mad."
She opens the chat again anyway.
Types.
Deletes.
Types again.
Text — Rhea:
You don't get to decide you're nothing to me and walk away. Idiot.
She doesn't send it.
Her hands tremble too much.
She throws the phone onto the bed and turns her face into the pillow, breathing hard.
"…This is my fault," she whispers. "I pushed too far."
Downstairs, faint sounds of the house settling drift up—distant voices, clinking dishes—but none of it reaches her properly.
She sits up suddenly, eyes red, resolve flickering beneath the guilt.
"No," she says softly. "You don't disappear like this."
She grabs her phone again.
Tries calling one more time.
Disconnected.
Her chest tightens, fear crawling in deeper now.
"What if you're hurt," she whispers. "What if—"
Her thoughts spiral, images of Ling's hand, the fall, the way she looked up at her afterward—too still, too quiet.
Rhea presses her palm to her mouth, breathing fast.
"I shouldn't have said that," she admits to the dark. "I should've said stay."
She stares at the ceiling, tears sliding into her hair.
"…Please," she murmurs, not typing it this time. "Just answer."
The phone stays silent.
And for the first time since all of this began, Rhea feels something close to panic—not about revenge, not about Kane—
But about losing control over Ling.