Ling's arms stay around Rhea — but the way she holds her has changed.
It isn't comfort.
It's mourning.
She presses her face into Rhea's shoulder, breath shuddering, then slowly pulls back just enough to look at her. Her hands remain at Rhea's waist, but looser now, like she already knows she'll have to let go.
"I loved you," Ling says again, quieter, heavier.
"I loved you enough to betray myself."
Rhea shakes her head desperately, tears streaking down her face.
"No," she whispers. "You were never a mistake. I never betrayed you. I swear—"
Ling's lips curve into the faintest smile — the kind that hurts more than anger.
"You don't even hear it," Ling says softly.
"That's how I know."
Rhea grips Ling's arms tightly.
"I lied to my mother, not to you," Rhea says, voice breaking.
"I never meant to hurt you. Everything I did was to keep you—"
Ling gently interrupts, resting her forehead against Rhea's.
"Love doesn't need strategy," she murmurs.
"And it doesn't need an audience."
Rhea's breath stutters.
"I chose you," Rhea insists.
"Every time. Even tonight."
Ling's eyes fill again, but she doesn't look away.
"No," she says.
"You chose the version of me you could control."
The words land like a blade.
Rhea freezes.
Ling continues, voice trembling but certain.
"You let me fall harder because it made your lie believable," Ling says.
"And I let myself fall because I thought being loved meant being owned."
Rhea sobs openly now.
"I never owned you," she cries.
"I worshipped you."
Ling exhales shakily.
"That's worse," she whispers.
"Because worship doesn't stop when it starts hurting."
Her hands slide from Rhea's waist to her sides — still touching, but barely.
"I defended you when my mother begged me to walk away," Ling says.
"I told myself she was cruel. Paranoid. Wrong."
She lets out a broken laugh.
"She saw what I refused to."
Rhea cups Ling's face urgently.
"Look at me," Rhea begs.
"Please. I'm right here. I'm not your enemy."
Ling leans into her touch for half a second — eyes closing, breath hitching.
Then she opens them.
"You don't betray someone by leaving," Ling says quietly.
"You betray them by staying and lying."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"I was going to tell you—"
Ling nods slowly.
"I know," she says.
"And that's the tragedy."
Her voice breaks at last.
"You were always about to tell me," Ling whispers.
"And I was always already ruined."
Rhea presses her forehead against Ling's, crying uncontrollably.
"I love you," she says desperately.
"I love you. I love you."
Ling's eyes close again. Her voice comes out barely above a breath.
"I can't believe that you believe it."
That sentence destroys the room.
Rhea collapses against her.
Ling holds her — not because she believes her, not because things are fixed — but because this is the last place her love still knows how to exist.
"I'm not angry anymore," Ling says softly.
"I'm just… finished believing."
Her arms tighten once more, briefly, like muscle memory.
Then loosen.
She stays.
But something essential in her has already left.
Ling's hands tremble as they slide up Rhea's back.
Not desperate now.
Not clinging.
Resigned.
She leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of Rhea's head — slow, reverent, like a goodbye she never planned.
"You won," Ling whispers.
Rhea stiffens violently.
Ling's voice is calm, exhausted, stripped of fight.
"I'm weak," Ling continues.
"Destroyed. For life."
Rhea pulls back, sobbing. "Don't say that—please—"
Ling cups Rhea's face before she can finish.
Her thumbs brush away tears automatically, instinctively — the same way she always did.
"I'm sorry," Ling says quietly.
"Not to you."
Her voice breaks just enough to betray her.
"To myself."
She leans in and kisses Rhea's lips.
It isn't hungry.
It isn't possessive.
It's empty and final, like muscle memory acting after the heart has already died.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against Rhea's.
"You killed me tonight," Ling whispers.
"So I guess this is what I am now."
Her lips curve faintly — not a smile.
"A living dead body."
Rhea shakes her head, choking on her breath.
"No… no, Ling, I didn't—"
Ling silences her with another gentle kiss — brief, tender, devastating.
"Be happy," Ling says softly.
"Always."
Her eyes shine, but her face is eerily still.
"Because I'll never be."
The words aren't said with accusation.
They're said like a fact she's already accepted.
Rhea collapses into her, crying uncontrollably.
Ling holds her one last time — not tightly, not desperately.
Just enough to remember the shape of her.
Her chin rests on Rhea's head.
Her eyes stare at nothing.
Rhea clutches Ling desperately when she hears that distance in her breath.
"Listen to me," Rhea begs, voice breaking apart.
"Just once. Please."
She presses her forehead to Ling's neck, gripping her like she's afraid Ling will disappear if she loosens her hands.
"Everything will be alright," Rhea whispers through sobs.
"I promise. I'll fix it. I'll fix everything."
For a moment — just a moment — Ling doesn't move.
Her body reacts before her heart can stop it.
Then she gently, carefully removes Rhea's hands from her waist.
Not forceful.
Not cruel.
Final.
Rhea looks up, panic flooding her face.
"Ling—"
Ling steps back.
Her eyes are empty now — not cold, not angry — vacant.
"You still don't understand," Ling says quietly.
"Promises don't reach dead things."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"You're not dead. You're right here. You're breathing—"
Ling interrupts softly.
"My body is," she says.
"But the part of me that believed you isn't."
She stared at her emerald blazer slowly, mechanically — the same one she chose for Rhea.
"I waited for 'alright'," Ling continues.
"I waited through warnings. Through lies. Through humiliation."
Her voice doesn't rise.
"And tonight," she says,
"I ran out of waiting."
Rhea steps forward again, tears streaming.
"I need you," she cries.
"I love you."
Ling pauses at the door.
Her hand rests on the handle, but she doesn't turn around.
Rhea sinks to her knees.
"Please don't go," she sobs.
"I can't survive this without you."
Ling closes her eyes.
For one terrifying second, it looks like she might come back.
Instead, she exhales.
"You already did," Ling says.
She opens the door.
Before stepping out, she adds — voice barely audible:
"Take care of the life you chose."
Then she leaves.
The door closes without a sound.
Rhea is left on the floor, shaking, surrounded by candles burned too low and flowers meant for a future that never arrived.
And somewhere down the hallway, Ling walks forward without stopping —
not because she's strong,
but because staying would mean believing again.
And that's the one thing she can no longer do.
The obsession was still there.
The love was still there.
But belief — the thing that kept her alive — was gone.
A heart already buried.
And Rhea realizes too late:
She didn't lose Ling's love.
She lost Ling herself.