Ling pointed at another boy.
"You," she said. "Read your caption."
The boy's lips trembled. "I—I deleted it."
Ling smiled faintly. "I didn't ask."
Rowen stepped forward, phone already open. He held it up so everyone could see the screenshot.
The words glared back at them.
Ling waited until the shame fully landed.
"Read it," she repeated.
The boy choked through the words. Laughter emojis. A cruel line about addiction. A hashtag with her name.
When he finished, Ling nodded slowly.
"Good," she said. "Now kneel."
He dropped instantly.
Ling didn't even look down at him.
She turned, voice calm, surgical.
"This is result," she reminded them. "Since some of you seem confused about what power looks like."
She stopped near the front again.
"You don't get punished for hating me," Ling said. "You get punished for being sloppy."
Her eyes swept the line.
"You wanted to feel important," she continued. "You wanted proximity to my fall."
She paused deliberately.
"You're welcome."
A sob broke somewhere.
Ling's gaze flicked — warning enough to silence it.
She glanced briefly toward Rhea then — not directly, just enough to let Rhea feel it.
Then she looked away again.
Not yet.
Ling turned back to the others.
"Stand straight," she ordered. "Spines. Chins up. If I see weakness, I'll assume you're asking for more."
They obeyed.
Ling stepped back toward her car, reclaiming the space, the height, the dominance.
She sat on the hood again — slow, deliberate — crossing one ankle over the other.
"This continues," Ling said coolly, "until I get bored."
Her gaze drifted lazily across the line.
"And trust me," she added, voice lowering, "I get bored very slowly."
Rina exhaled under her breath. "You're terrifying."
Ling didn't look at her.
Ling stayed still on the hood for a long second longer.
Then she slid down.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The entire line stiffened because they felt it — the shift. This wasn't for them anymore.
Ling walked past the students she'd already broken, her boots echoing like a countdown. She stopped only when she stood directly in front of Rhea.
Close.
Too close.
Publicly.
The courtyard held its breath.
Rhea lifted her chin, pride bruised but not dead. Her eyes were red, lashes wet, but she didn't look away.
Ling studied her like a stranger studies a familiar scar.
Then she spoke — low enough that only Rhea could hear, loud enough that silence carried it.
"So," Ling said calmly, "this is how it ends."
Rhea swallowed. "Ling—"
Ling raised a finger.
"No," she said softly. "You don't get to start conversations anymore. You finish them."
Rhea's hands curled at her sides. "I didn't come here for this."
Ling tilted her head. "That's funny."
Her voice dropped, razor-quiet.
"Because drama follows you like a habit."
Rhea flinched.
Ling leaned in just enough that her breath brushed Rhea's cheek — intimate, invasive, intentional.
"You know what hurts the most?" Ling murmured. "Not the betrayal."
Rhea's breath shook.
Ling's eyes hardened.
"The planning," she said. "The rehearsal. The way you smiled while deciding when I'd bleed."
Rhea whispered urgently, "I was going to tell you—"
Ling laughed.
Once.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't hysterical.
It was empty.
"Everyone is always about to tell the truth," Ling said. "Right before they're caught."
Rhea shook her head. "You don't understand—"
Ling straightened suddenly, voice rising just enough for the line to hear fragments.
"I understand perfectly," she said coldly. "You stood where you stand now and watched me fall apart."
She stepped closer again.
"You watched me choose you over my blood," Ling continued. "Over my mother. Over my name."
Her voice softened — not kind, but controlled.
"And you let me."
Rhea's eyes filled again. "I never wanted to destroy you."
Ling's gaze flicked briefly to Rhea's mouth — a reflex she didn't correct — then away.
"But you did," Ling replied. "Efficiently."
She circled Rhea once, slow, predatory, like the rest of the line didn't exist.
"You know why I didn't look at you earlier?" Ling asked quietly.
Rhea didn't answer.
Ling stopped behind her shoulder.
"Because if I had," Ling said, "I would've touched you."
Rhea's breath hitched.
"And if I touched you," Ling continued, voice dangerously low, "I might've remembered the version of myself you killed."
She stepped back in front of Rhea again, eyes merciless now.
"So stand straight," Ling ordered softly. "You wanted equality."
Her gaze swept the line, then returned to Rhea.
"Today," Ling said, "you get it."
For half a second — just half — something cracked behind her eyes.
Then it sealed.
Back to control.
Behind her, Rhea stood frozen in line, chest heaving, tears spilling silently — because the worst part wasn't the punishment.
It was knowing Ling had spoken to her like a possession already discarded.
And Ling Kwong never reclaimed what she'd decided was broken.
Ling didn't turn back to the line.
She didn't raise her voice.
She spoke as if announcing something ordinary.
"Rhea," Ling said calmly.
"Come here."
Rhea stiffened. The students sensed it — this wasn't another command. This was personal.
"For what?" Rhea asked hoarsely.
Ling glanced over her shoulder, eyes cold. "Dance with me."
A murmur rippled through the courtyard. Rina's head snapped up. Jian shifted. Even the line forgot to breathe.
Rhea stared at Ling like she hadn't heard right. "Are you out of your mind?"
Ling turned fully now.
Her expression changed — not rage yet, but the warning before it.
"I said come here," Ling repeated.
Rhea shook her head. "You want to humiliate me? Fine. But I won't—"
Ling moved.
Fast.
One second she was standing by the hood.
The next, Rhea's back slammed against the cold metal of the Rolls-Royce.
Gasps exploded around them.
Ling's hand fisted into Rhea's waist, hard, possessive, fingers digging like she needed to anchor herself. Her other hand slammed beside Rhea's head, caging her in.
Rhea's eyes went wide.
Ling's face was inches away — fury stripped bare, control cracking but not gone.
"I don't ask," Ling said through clenched teeth.
Her voice was low. Deadly. Shaking with restraint.
"I command."
Rhea's breath stuttered. "Ling—people are watching—"
Ling laughed sharply, bitter. "You noticed now?"
She leaned in further, forehead almost touching Rhea's, her voice dropping so low it cut.
"You danced with my life in private," Ling whispered.
"So don't pretend you're shy in public."
Rhea's hands trembled against Ling's chest. "This isn't you."
Ling's grip tightened.
"No," Ling said. "This is me after you."
Her eyes burned. "Move your feet."
Rhea swallowed hard. "Or what?"
Ling's lips curved — not a smile.
"Or I'll show them exactly how weak I became for you," Ling said quietly. "And trust me — you don't want that kind of honesty."
Rhea's throat bobbed. Tears spilled despite her will.
Ling inhaled once, sharply, like she was forcing herself not to do something worse.