Rhea reached Zifa's mansion just in time.
The gate slid open, security recognizing her instantly. She didn't slow down, didn't breathe properly until the door shut behind her.
Zifa was already awake—hair a mess, oversized tee, murder in her eyes.
"You're insane," Zifa hissed the second Rhea stepped in. "Do you know what time it is?"
Rhea grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside the room. "We don't have time. My mom is coming."
Zifa froze. "Aunt?"
"Yes. Personally. To pick me up." Rhea exhaled sharply. "So listen carefully. I stayed here last night. We talked. Watched trash reels. Slept. Nothing suspicious."
Zifa stared. "You look like you just committed a felony."
"Act like I didn't," Rhea snapped. "Help me."
Zifa groaned but moved instantly—because despite the complaints, she always did.
They messed the room fast.
Rhea kicked off her shoes near the bed, threw her bag on the chair. Zifa grabbed blankets, half-pulled them off the bed like someone had slept there badly.
Rhea picked up a pillow and tossed it. "No—make it look like fun, not depression."
Zifa smirked. "So chaos. Got it."
She opened drawers, scattered makeup, knocked over a cushion. Rhea climbed onto the bed and messed her hair with both hands, then grabbed Zifa's hoodie from the chair and threw it on herself.
"Perfect," Zifa said. "You look annoying enough to be believable."
Rhea flopped back dramatically. "Say we stayed up gossiping. You complained about work. I complained about life."
"And boys?" Zifa added.
Rhea shot her a look. "Don't push your luck."
Zifa laughed. "Fine. No boys. Just trauma."
They were still when the doorbell rang.
Rhea's spine went rigid.
Zifa held up a finger. "Breathe. I've got this."
Footsteps echoed through the house. Voices downstairs—Zifa's mother greeting Kane politely.
Rhea sat on the bed, heart hammering, forcing herself to look bored instead of hunted.
A knock.
Zifa opened the door wide. "Auntie! You came early."
Kane entered the room, sharp eyes scanning everything in one sweep—the messy bed, the hoodie, the makeup scattered, Rhea sitting cross-legged like she owned the place.
"Rhea," Kane said coolly. "You didn't answer my calls."
Rhea shrugged lazily. "Phone died."
Kane looked at Zifa. "You didn't think to inform me?"
Zifa smiled, easy, careless. "We decided last minute. She was already half asleep."
Kane's gaze returned to Rhea—lingering, measuring. "You look tired."
Rhea leaned back on her palms. "We watched nonsense till 3 a.m. Zifa wouldn't shut up."
Zifa gasped. "Lies."
Kane watched them for a long moment.
Then, finally, she nodded. "Get your things. We're leaving."
As Kane turned away, Rhea let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Zifa leaned close and whispered, "You owe me."
Rhea murmured back, "I know."
And as she followed her mother out, her phone vibrated silently in her pocket.
No message.
Just Ling's name at the top of the screen—unanswered, waiting.
Rhea didn't look back.
But she didn't forget either.
She slowed the moment they stepped outside.
"My car is here," she said casually, pointing toward the driveway. "I'll take it."
Kane didn't even look in that direction. She gestured once, sharp. "The driver will take it back."
Rhea's jaw tightened for half a second—gone before Kane could call it out. She nodded and walked toward the other car.
Inside, the door shut with a soft, final thud.
Silence.
The driver started the engine and pulled away.
Kane didn't look at Rhea immediately. She adjusted her coat, her posture immaculate, controlled—like nothing in the world ever surprised her.
"You didn't answer your phone," Kane said at last.
Rhea stared out the window. "I told you. Battery died."
Kane hummed faintly, noncommittal. "You sat comfortably enough for someone who supposedly stayed up gossiping."
Rhea smiled without humor. "You saw everything. I was with Zifa."
"I did," Kane replied. "That's why I didn't ask where you were."
Her eyes shifted then—sharp, cutting sideways. "I asked because I know you."
Rhea met her gaze this time. "Know what?"
Kane's lips curved slightly. Not warmth. Assessment.
"You hate mess," Kane said. "You hate disorder. You don't scatter clothes unless you're forced or pretending."
Rhea's fingers curled in her lap.
"People change," she said lightly. "Maybe I was having fun."
Kane watched her for a long moment, then looked forward again. "Fun doesn't make you careless."
Rhea's heartbeat ticked louder in her ears.
The car moved smoothly through the gates.
Kane spoke again, quieter now. "Did you enjoy your night?"
Rhea didn't answer immediately. She shrugged. "It was fine."
"That wasn't my question."
Rhea turned, irritation flickering. "What do you want me to say?"
Kane finally faced her fully. "I want to hear you say you remember why you're there."
Rhea swallowed. Her voice came out controlled—but not soft. "I remember."
Kane studied her face, searching for cracks. "Then don't get sloppy," she said. "Sloppiness costs people everything."
Rhea looked away again, jaw clenched. "I'm not sloppy."
Kane's tone cooled. "Good. Because you don't get second chances."
The rest of the drive passed in tense quiet.
Rhea stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass—eyes distant, thoughts nowhere near Zifa's messy room anymore.
And despite herself, despite the warning still ringing in her ears, one thought wouldn't leave:
Ling's arms around her.
Ling's voice breaking.
Ling asking her not to leave.
Rhea pressed her lips together hard.
She didn't cry.
She just sat there—still pretending, still lying, still holding onto something she was supposed to destroy.