Ling was in her own world — lights bleeding into color, music vibrating through bone, alcohol dulling the edges just enough that she doesn't feel herself cracking apart completely.
She doesn't see the phone raised across the room.
She felt none of it.
She was leaning against the bar now, eyes unfocused, fingers tight around the glass.
For a split second, her reflection in the mirror catches her attention.
She barely recognizes herself.
"Pathetic," she murmurs — but she doesn't know if she means the girl in the glass or the one who believed in love.
Somewhere behind her, a phone vibrates again.
Notifications stack.
Shares multiply.
The damage is already done.
Ling leaves the club alone later — unsteady, head pounding, heart numb.
She doesn't know that by the time she gets into her car, her name is already being whispered in places far colder than this club.
Boardrooms.
Enemies.
People waiting for her to fall.
She drives off into the night unaware —
still crying for Rhea,
still drowning herself,
while the world quietly sharpens its knives.
The road blurs.
Streetlights streak like wounds across the windshield as Ling drives too fast, one hand loose on the wheel, the other shaking despite everything she's taken to silence it.
Her phone keeps vibrating on the passenger seat.
She doesn't look.
She laughs suddenly — hollow, broken — then slams her palm against the steering wheel.
"Idiot," she mutters. "You deserved it."
Red and blue lights explode behind her.
Sirens.
She doesn't brake immediately.
Not because she wants to run — but because for a second she genuinely doesn't care if she crashes.
The police car pulls closer. Louder.
She finally slows, pulls over with careless precision.
The engine dies.
Silence rushes in.
Two officers approach, cautious. They recognize her face instantly — everyone does.
"Ma'am, license and registration."
Ling looks up slowly.
Her eyes are red, unfocused — but her posture is still straight.
Kwong blood doesn't slump, even shattered.
She hands over the documents without a word.
The officer smells alcohol immediately.
"Have you been drinking tonight?"
Ling smiles.
Not nervous.
Not guilty.
Almost amused.
"Yes."
The honesty catches them off guard.
"Step out of the vehicle, please."
She does — heels hitting the asphalt too sharply, balance slightly off but pride holding her upright. She fails the breath test without protest.
They ask her to empty her pockets.
Ling doesn't hesitate.
Keys.
Phone.
Wallet.
Then — the small packet, 'Drugs'.
The officer's face hardens.
"This is illegal possession."
Ling tilts her head, watching him like she's detached from her own body.
"So?" she says softly. "Add it to the list."
Handcuffs click around her wrists.
Cold metal. Final. Loud.
A camera flashes from somewhere across the road.
Then another.
Someone was already waiting.
By the time she's placed in the back of the police car, phones are out, whispers spreading, names being typed.
KWONG HEIRESS ARRESTED — DUI & POSSESSION.
Ling leans her head back against the seat, eyes burning.
A tear slips out despite her effort.
She laughs again — this time broken, shaking.
"Good," she whispers to no one.
"Let it all burn."
She doesn't know yet that Rhea is still clutching the bouquet in her room.
That Kane is watching the news with satisfaction.
That her mother's phone is ringing unanswered.
All Ling knows —
is that tonight didn't just break her heart.
It ended the version of herself that ever believed she could be loved.
The backseat of the police car is cold.
Ling's wrists ache where the cuffs sit too tight, skin already red. Her head lolls once, then steadies — pride forcing her spine straight even now.
The officer in the front receives a call.
His expression changes instantly.
"Yes, sir… understood, sir."
Another call follows. Then another.
The car doesn't move.
Minutes stretch — tense, silent.
The senior officer arrives himself, breath held a little too carefully. His eyes flick to Ling through the glass.
Kwong.
Of course.
He steps aside, answers his phone again — voice lowered, deferential.
"Mr. Kwong… yes… immediately."
The door opens.
The cuffs come off.
"Ms. Kwong," the officer says, tone completely different now, almost apologetic, "there's been a… clarification."
Ling sways slightly as she steps out.
She laughs under her breath.
"Clarification," she repeats. "Right."
Victor Kwong's car arrives like a shadow swallowing the scene.
No sirens. No rush.
Just authority.
Victor steps out — calm, lethal, controlled. He doesn't look at the officers first.
He looks at his daughter.
For half a second, something cracks in his eyes.
Then it's gone.
"Get in the car, Ling."
She does — stumbling once before steadying herself.
The senior officer clears his throat. "Sir, we apologize for the inconvenience. There will be no formal charges."
Victor's gaze slices through him.
"Inconvenience?" he asks quietly.
"My daughter was filmed. Handcuffed. Paraded."
The officer swallows. "The footage is already… circulating."
Victor nods once.
"I know."
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't threaten.
He doesn't have to.
The car door closes.
Inside the silence is unbearable.
Ling stares straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.
Victor speaks without looking at her.
"She did this to you?"
Ling laughs — a harsh, broken sound.
"You," she says softly. "Her. Me. Everyone."
Victor's hands tighten on the steering wheel.
The city lights blur past again as they pull away — but this time, the damage isn't theoretical.
Headlines explode in real time.
KWONG HEIRESS DETAINED FOR DUI — RELEASED AFTER INTERVENTION.
VIDEO SHOWS LING KWONG INTOXICATED, UNSTABLE.
IS THE UNTOUCHABLE FALLING?
Victor's phone doesn't stop vibrating.
Neither does Ling's.
She finally closes her eyes, whispering like a confession meant for no one:
"She ruined me."
Victor doesn't reply.
Because for the first time since she was born,
he doesn't know how to protect her from this kind of wound.