"What's left?" Ling asks quietly.
Rhea lifts her head, hope flickering despite herself.
Ling steps closer again — not to comfort, not to touch — but to stand inside her space, unavoidable, suffocating.
"Why are you still acting?" Ling continues, voice low, controlled, devastating.
"You already ruined me."
Rhea's lips tremble.
"Ling, please—"
Ling raises a hand slightly. Not to stop her physically — just enough to silence.
"Trust me," Ling says, eyes wet but steady.
"There is nothing left."
She gestures around the room — the candles, the wine, the flowers crushed on the bed.
"You don't need to pretend anymore," Ling says.
"You don't need tears. You don't need explanations."
Her voice cracks for half a second — she swallows it down.
"You won," Ling says softly.
"Finally."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"No—"
"Yes," Ling interrupts, firmer now.
"Be happy."
The words sound wrong coming from her mouth. Like poison she's forcing herself to swallow.
"You took your revenge," Ling continues.
"You broke me exactly the way you wanted."
She presses a hand flat against her own chest, fingers curling slightly — not dramatic, just honest.
"I don't trust myself anymore," Ling admits.
"And that's worse than hating you."
Rhea steps forward instinctively.
Ling doesn't step back.
"Don't," Ling says quietly.
"If you touch me now, I'll believe it again."
That confession hangs heavy.
Ling's eyes shine — not begging, not accusing — just exposed.
"You don't love me," Ling says.
"And I finally understand that."
Rhea's breath comes out in a sob.
"That doesn't mean you get to stay," Rhea whispers.
Ling almost smiles at that.
"Oh," Ling says softly.
"I'm not staying because you want me to."
She looks at Rhea — really looks — memorizing her like something already lost.
"I'm staying because this is where I broke," Ling says.
"And I'm not running from it. I want to make myself believe that you never loved me."
Silence.
Rhea slides down the wall until she's sitting on the floor.
She doesn't look small.
She looks undone.
She lifts her face slowly.
"If you think I'm acting," Rhea says hoarsely, "then look at me."
Ling doesn't move.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Rhea continues, voice shaking but sharp underneath.
"I'm not asking you to understand."
She laughs once — bitter, broken.
"I just didn't think you'd decide everything without even letting me speak."
Ling's jaw tightens.
"Speak?" Ling repeats quietly.
"You already did."
She gestures vaguely, not dramatic — precise.
"I heard you laughing."
"I heard you planning."
"I heard my collapse described like entertainment."
Her voice lowers.
"What exactly were you saving for later, Rhea?"
Rhea presses her palms into the floor, nails biting into skin.
"The part where I stopped lying," she whispers.
Ling lets out a slow breath through her nose.
"That's convenient."
Rhea looks up sharply.
"Don't," Rhea snaps, anger flaring through tears.
"Don't talk to me like I'm Mira."
Ling's eyes flash.
"You don't get to say her name," Ling says coldly.
"You don't get to compare."
Rhea stands abruptly, swaying slightly.
"I know what I said," Rhea says fiercely.
"And I know why I said it."
Ling's laugh is sharp this time.
"Oh? Enlighten me."
Rhea steps closer — close enough that Ling can feel her breath again.
"I was trying to survive my mother," Rhea says.
"I was trying to keep you alive in a way she wouldn't notice."
Ling's eyes harden.
"You think lying to me was protection?"
"Yes," Rhea shouts, then breaks.
"Yes, because the truth would have destroyed you faster."
Ling's voice drops to a whisper.
"You don't get to decide how I break."
She takes one step forward.
Rhea doesn't retreat.
"You took my choice," Ling continues.
"My agency. My trust."
Her hand lifts, trembling — she lets it fall before it can touch Rhea.
"I built my entire world around the idea that you chose me."
Her eyes shine again.
"And you never did."
Rhea shakes her head desperately.
"I chose you every day after that," she says.
"I just didn't know how to undo the first lie."
Ling closes her eyes briefly.
"That's the thing," she says softly.
"Love doesn't come with footnotes."
Rhea's breath stutters.
"You don't know how badly I wanted you to hate me less than her," Rhea whispers.
"I thought if I could just get you to feel safe—"
Ling opens her eyes.
"Safe?" she echoes.
"I handed you every weakness I've ever hidden."
Her voice cracks.
"And you catalogued them."
Rhea reaches out this time — slow, shaking.
Ling doesn't stop her.
Rhea's fingers hover an inch from Ling's wrist.
"I am obsessed with you," Rhea says quietly.
"And obsession doesn't know how to be clean."
Ling swallows hard.
"That's the most dishonest thing you've said tonight."
Rhea nods, tears falling freely now.
"I don't know how to love without destroying something," Rhea admits.
"But I never wanted it to be you."
Ling laughs again — softer, devastated.
"And yet," Ling says,
"here we are."
She grabbed Rhea from the waist and pulled her in hard, like she's afraid distance itself might erase her.
Rhea gasps, hands instinctively clutching Ling's shoulders.
Ling's grip is tight — almost bruising — not possession now, panic.
"I loved you," Ling says, voice breaking completely for the first time.
"I swear I loved you."
Her forehead pressed against Rhea's. She was shaking.
"I loved you enough to ruin myself," Ling said, words tumbling out raw and uncontrolled.
"And I did."
Rhea's breath stutters. She wraps her arms around Ling without thinking, holding her like she's fragile glass.
"My mother kept telling me to leave you," Ling whispers.
"Again and again."
Her fingers dig into Rhea's waist as if anchoring herself.
"I never heard her," Ling says, a broken laugh slipping through tears.
"I chose you every time."
Rhea's chest tightens painfully.
"Ling—"
"I defended you against my own blood," Ling says, pulling back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes are red, devastated, still burning with obsession.
"I told myself they didn't understand you," she says.
"That they were scared of how much I loved you."
Her voice drops.
"I thought love was supposed to hurt like that."
Rhea's tears fall freely now.
"I never wanted you to destroy yourself," Rhea whispers.
Ling smiles faintly — shattered.
"That's the thing," she says.
"You didn't have to. You already did."
She pressed her forehead to Rhea's hard, noses brushing, breath uneven.
"I did it willingly," Ling says.
"I broke every boundary because I trusted you with the pieces."
Her hands loosen slightly, sliding up Rhea's back — not possessive now, desperate.
"And now," Ling continues,
"I don't know what part of me was real — the girl who loved you, or the fool who ignored everything else."
Rhea cups Ling's face gently, thumbs brushing away tears.
"You were real," Rhea says urgently.
"Everything you felt was real."
Ling's eyes close for a moment.
"That's what scares me," she whispers.
She exhaled shakily, still holding Rhea close.
"I loved you so deeply," Ling says,
"that even now… even after everything…"
Her voice falters.
"I can't let go."
They stay like that —
arms locked, foreheads pressed, breathing tangled —
two people bound by love that arrived wrong, grew crooked, and cut too deep.
No forgiveness.
No goodbye.
Just love spoken too late, still burning, still dangerous, still refusing to die.