Eliza didn't ask again.
She stood, smoothing her dress with deliberate calm, eyes already moving toward the hallway.
"We'll go ourselves," she said. "If your mother is busy, we won't burden her. A brief greeting is enough."
Rhea's breath stalled.
"Auntie—" she stepped forward instinctively, then stopped herself. Too fast would look suspicious. She corrected, softer, "She'll come shortly. Please—"
Too late.
Before Eliza could take another step—
A voice floated in first.
Low.
Even.
Familiar in a way that hurt old bones.
"Who says I'm busy?"
The room went silent.
Rhea's head snapped toward the hall.
Shyra froze mid-step.
Victor stiffened.
Then Kane Nior appeared.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
She wore deep wine silk, hair swept back, posture immaculate. Her presence didn't announce itself—it claimed the space.
Her eyes landed on the Kwongs.
One by one.
Victor.
Eliza.
Dadi.
And she smiled.
A slow, composed smile that carried decades in it.
"Well," Kane said pleasantly. "This is unexpected."
Victor's face drained of color.
Eliza's fingers curled.
Dadi's cane tapped once against the floor—sharp, involuntary.
"Kane," Victor said.
Just her name.
Nothing else came.
Kane inclined her head slightly.
"Victor."
Her gaze slid to Eliza.
"Eliza Kwong. Still standing beside him, I see."
Eliza lifted her chin.
"As are you."
Rhea stood rooted between them, heart hammering so hard she thought it might show through emerald silk. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Ling wasn't here. She hadn't told her yet. This was wrong.
Dadi broke the silence with a dry chuckle that cut too close to grief.
"Didn't expect ghosts to host birthday parties," she said.
Kane's smile never faltered.
"I learned long ago not to die when people expect it."
The air thickened.
Victor swallowed.
"You invited us, intentionally?"
Kane turned her head slightly, as if noticing Rhea for the first time.
"My daughter did," she said. "And then I thought—why not make it… complete."
Rhea's stomach dropped.
Dadi's eyes narrowed, memory sharpening.
"It's been years," Dadi said slowly. "Long enough for blood to dry."
Kane's gaze flicked to her.
"Blood dries. Stories don't."
Eliza stepped forward half a step.
"We didn't come for this."
"No," Kane agreed softly. "You came because your daughter is in love."
Rhea flinched.
Victor's head snapped up.
"What do you mean?"
Kane finally looked at Rhea then—really looked.
And for the briefest second, something unreadable crossed her face.
Then it was gone.
"I'm hosting a party," Kane continued calmly. "You are my guests. Old history doesn't need to bleed onto new floors."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"You think we forget what happened?"
Kane tilted her head.
"I think you remember only what you needed to survive."
Silence.
Heavy. Unforgiving.
Rhea's pulse roared in her ears.
She knew only fragments. That Victor betrayed Kane. That he left. That she was abandoned.
She didn't know why Eliza's eyes looked like knives.
She didn't know why Victor looked like a man seeing a grave reopen.
She only knew this was bigger than her.
Bigger than Ling.
Kane turned toward Shyra then, voice light again.
"Sweetheart, make sure our guests are comfortable."
Shyra nodded automatically, face pale.
Kane's eyes returned to the Kwongs.
"Enjoy the evening," she said. "Ling will arrive soon, won't she?"
Rhea's breath caught.
Kane smiled wider.
"I once loved a man," she continued, voice even, conversational. "Loved him enough to believe safety could exist inside another person."
Victor's jaw tightened.
Rhea felt the floor tilt—not from shock, but from recognition. This wasn't a story. This was a weapon wrapped in nostalgia.
Kane went on.
"He promised me permanence," she said. "Stability. Protection." A pause. "Then he walked away the moment it became inconvenient."
Victor said.
"Kane—"
She lifted a finger—not commanding, just precise.
"I'm not accusing," she said. "I'm remembering."
Dadi's grip tightened on her cane.
Kane turned slightly, gaze drifting toward the hallway—toward the direction Ling would eventually come from.
"You know," Kane said softly, "when someone is built on control, they don't break loudly."
Her eyes flicked back to Victor.
"They break slowly."
Eliza's lips pressed thin.
"And what does that have to do with tonight?"
Kane's smile sharpened—not cruel, not kind.
"Everything," she replied.
Rhea's chest constricted.
Kane continued, voice lowering, more intimate now.
"When a person like that gives their heart, they don't know how to survive without it. So when it's taken away—"
She shrugged gently.
"They collapse inward."
Victor's voice came rough.
"You're talking about the past."
Kane tilted her head.
"I'm talking about patterns."
Rhea's nails bit into her palm.
Eliza took a step forward.
"You're implying—"
"I'm implying nothing," Kane interrupted calmly. "I'm stating what happens when powerful people mistake attachment for invincibility."
She glanced at Rhea then.
Just a glance.
Just enough.
"And when their daughters," Kane added softly, "learn from them."
Rhea's breath caught.
Shyra moved instinctively, stepping closer to her sister.
Dadi spoke then, sharp and dangerous.
"Careful, Kane. You're walking a line."
Kane met her gaze unflinchingly.
"I walked off a terrace once," she said evenly. "Lines don't scare me."
Silence slammed down.
Victor looked like he'd been struck.
Eliza's face went cold.
Rhea's mind screamed—terrace?—but she said nothing. She couldn't. The words lodged somewhere painful and unfinished.
Kane straightened, smoothing the sleeve of her dress as if the moment bored her now.
"But don't worry," she said lightly. "I won't interfere with the next generation."
She smiled at Eliza.
"Children choose their own endings."
Then—almost gently—
"Just as we did."
She turned and walked away.
The room exhaled—shallow, shaken.
Victor went still.
Eliza's nails dug into her palm.
Dadi stared at the hallway Kane had disappeared into, eyes sharp with something dangerously close to regret.
Rhea stood there, emerald-clad, heart splitting—
Because the truth she was supposed to tell tonight had already started telling itself.
Without her.
And Ling still wasn't here.