Rhea waited until the mansion went quiet.
She lay on her bed, phone held above her face, Ling's black shirt still warm against her skin.
She didn't open Ling's chat.
She opened Rina's.
> Rhea:
hey
can i ask u something serious
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
> Rina:
if this is about Ling i charge
Rhea exhaled through her nose despite herself.
> Rhea:
not joking
pls don't tell anyone i asked
especially ling
A pause.
Longer this time.
> Rina:
…
what do you want to know
Rhea stared at the ceiling before typing.
> Rhea:
the clown thing
her phobia
i messed up
i need to understand
The typing bubble disappeared.
Then came a single message.
> Rina:
ok
but once i tell you
you don't get to tell her i told u.
Rhea swallowed.
> Rhea:
i won't
i swear
There was no reply for almost a minute.
Then Rina sent a voice note.
Rhea pressed play.
Rina's voice was quieter than usual. No teasing. No edge.
"Ling was eight.
Big birthday. Huge. Kwong-style. Garden, lights, guests, a clown show because she loved magic back then."
EIGHT YEARS OLD
Ling's laughter echoed through the garden.
She sat cross-legged on the grass, eyes wide, hands clapping too hard as the clown pulled ribbons from nowhere, coins from ears, flowers from sleeves.
Her grandfather watched from his chair, smiling softly.
"Magic," Ling whispered, awed.
The clown bowed to her.
Later—cake finished, guests drifting—the clown leaned down.
"Want to see real magic?" he asked.
Ling nodded without hesitation.
He led her inside.
Rina (voice):
"Her grandfather went to his room to rest. Ling followed. She trusted everyone back then."
The room smelled like old books and sandalwood.
Her grandfather lay on the bed, eyes closed.
The clown stood near the wardrobe.
"Watch," he said softly.
He moved.
Too fast.
Ling didn't understand the sound. Or the way her grandfather's body went still—wrong still.
"Daduu?" she whispered.
The clown turned to her.
Smiling.
"Magic," he said again.
Ling stepped forward, tugged at her grandfather's sleeve.
"Wake up. Please."
He didn't.
The clown laughed—not loud. Almost curious.
Ling backed away.
Rina:
"She thought he'd wake up. She waited."
The lights went out.
The door slammed.
The lock clicked.
Ling screamed.
No answer.
Dark. Thick. Endless.
She clawed at the door until her nails split. She screamed until her throat burned. She curled into the corner, knees to chest, whispering apologies to someone who couldn't hear her.
Hours later, they found her unconscious.
Rina's voice cracked slightly at the end.
"That's it," she finished. "No one says his name. No one brings clowns into the house. Ever."
The voice note ended.
Rhea stared at her phone.
Her chest felt hollow.
She typed with shaking fingers.
> Rhea:
thank you
i didn't know
i swear i didn't
Rina replied almost instantly.
> Rina:
i know
but now you do
Rhea closed her eyes.
The image wouldn't leave—eight-year-old Ling waiting in the dark, believing someone would wake up.
And Rhea had laughed.
Had smeared paint.
Had turned trauma into a joke without knowing.
Her phone buzzed once more.
> Rina:
don't tell her you know
just… make her feel safe.
Rhea pressed the phone to her chest.
"I won't," she whispered to the empty room.
And for the first time since Kane's words, the guilt didn't sharpen—
It settled.
Heavy. Permanent.
Thursday evening settled heavy over the Nior mansion.
Rhea dropped her bag near the stairs, kicked off her shoes without care, and walked straight toward the study where Shyra sat surrounded by invitation cards, envelopes, and her tablet propped open with a guest list glowing on-screen.
Shyra didn't look up.
"You're late," she said mildly. "Ling distracted you or did you finally learn how to take your time walking?"
Rhea leaned against the desk, arms folding.
"I have a surprise planned."
That made Shyra pause.
She lifted her head slowly, eyes narrowing with interest.
"For who?"
Rhea didn't hesitate.
"Mom."
Shyra's brows rose—not dramatically, but enough to show surprise.
"Kane Nior," she said. "Surprises are usually landmines with her."
Rhea shrugged, lips pressing together.
"It's her birthday. I wanted to do something… right. Something she won't expect."
Shyra studied her sister for a long second, sharp and assessing.
"And this has nothing to do with Ling?"
Rhea's jaw tightened instantly.
"Don't start."
Shyra smirked.
"That's not a no."
Rhea ignored it, reaching out to flip one of the invitation cards.
"You're inviting everyone she wants to impress."
"Of course," Shyra said, picking up a pen again. "Ministers, investors, wives who smile too hard. Mom's natural habitat."
Rhea hesitated, then said quietly,
"My surprise isn't for the crowd."
Shyra stopped writing.
She looked at Rhea again—this time slower, more serious.
"Rhea," she warned, "whatever you're planning—if it's emotional, don't."
Rhea met her eyes.
"I'm not stupid."
Shyra exhaled, unconvinced.
She tapped her pen against the desk, then spoke as if remembering something logistical.
"By the way—tomorrow, after the party, my husband's coming."
Rhea blinked.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes." Shyra's tone turned casual again. "His flight lands late. He'll come straight here."
Rhea straightened.
"You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't need to," Shyra replied calmly. "I'll leave with him afterward. We'll stay out of your way."
That made Rhea's chest tighten.
"You're leaving the same night?"
Shyra nodded.
"Mom prefers it that way anyway. Less witnesses once the guests are gone."
Rhea looked away.
There it was again—that quiet, sharp awareness that after the celebration, the house would close back in. Just her. Just Kane.
Shyra watched her carefully.
"You okay?"
Rhea forced a shrug.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Shyra didn't push. She never did when Rhea used that tone.
Instead, she leaned back, crossing her arms.
"Your surprise," she said. "Does it involve money, power, or obedience?"
Rhea answered softly,
"No."
Shyra's expression hardened—not angry, but wary.
"Then be careful," she said. "Mom doesn't know how to receive anything that doesn't come with control."
Rhea nodded once.
"I know."
A silence stretched between them—thick, loaded with things neither of them said.
Shyra broke it first, lighter now.
"Just don't wear Ling's shirt to the party."
Rhea shot her a look.
"Shyra."
"I'm serious," she grinned. "Mom will either kill you or recruit her on the spot."
Rhea turned to leave, pausing at the doorway.
"She won't be there," Rhea said.
Shyra tilted her head.
"Are you sure?"
Rhea didn't answer.
She walked out, fingers curling unconsciously at her side, already calculating tomorrow—
the party,
the absence,
the weight of what she planned to give Kane,
and what it might cost her.