"Music," Ling snapped without looking.
Rowen reacted instantly, signaling someone. A slow, humiliating beat started playing from the speakers — absurd, intimate, wrong.
Ling loosened her hold just enough to pull Rhea forward.
Her hand slid to Rhea's lower back — claiming, controlling, familiar in a way that hurt worse than violence.
"Arms up," Ling ordered softly.
Rhea hesitated.
Ling's eyes flashed.
Rhea lifted her arms.
Ling placed them where she wanted — one around her neck, the other trapped between their bodies. She stepped in, closing the space completely.
They began to sway.
Not romantic.
Not gentle.
It was domination dressed as intimacy.
Ling's lips brushed Rhea's ear as they moved.
"You should've let me leave broken," Ling whispered. "This version of me doesn't forgive."
Rhea whispered back, shattered, "I never stopped loving you."
Ling's jaw clenched.
She didn't respond.
She just tightened her hold and kept dancing —
slow, punishing, intimate —
making sure everyone saw exactly how power looked when love turned feral.
The music kept crawling.
Slow. Suffocating.
Ling's body moved on instinct, but her mind betrayed her.
Every step pulled up memories she hadn't buried deep enough —
Rhea laughing in Kane's presence,
Rhea's voice on that recording,
Rhea watching her fall and calling it revenge.
Ling's jaw tightened.
Her hand, already at Rhea's waist, slid lower without thought — not desire, not tenderness — muscle memory. Familiar territory. A place she once loved without fear.
Her fingers brushed the navel piercing.
For half a second, something old flickered in her chest —
how she used to trace it lazily,
how Rhea used to smile and tease her for it.
That flicker died instantly.
Ling's hand closed.
Not hard.
Not brutal.
Just enough.
A sharp pull.
Rhea's breath caught, a silent gasp trapped in her throat. Pain flashed — quick, controlled — the kind that hurt more because it came from someone who once knew how to protect her.
The tiny metallic sound was almost lost under the music.
Clink.
The piercing hit the ground.
Ling didn't register it.
Rhea didn't make a sound. Not a cry. Not a word. Her body went still — trained, terrified, unwilling to give Ling another reason to hate herself later.
Ling straightened.
Her voice turned cold, public, absolute.
"Enough."
The music stopped.
She looked at the line of students as if nothing had happened.
"Class dismissed," Ling said flatly.
"Anyone who speaks about today will regret being born."
No one moved.
Ling's gaze flicked once — just once — toward Rhea.
Rhea stood there, pale, shaking slightly, one hand pressed instinctively to her abdomen.
Ling looked away first.
"Get out," Ling said to everyone.
The crowd scattered.
Ling turned on her heel and walked back, posture perfect, expression unreadable —
oblivious of damage.
Rhea remained where she was.
Bleeding.
Silent.
Watching the woman she loved walk away like nothing inside her mattered anymore.
And Ling — standing there, cold and composed — didn't realize she had crossed a line she would never forgive herself for later.
Not yet.
Rhea walked fast.
Not running. Not dramatic.
Just fast enough that no one would stop her.
She locked herself inside the nearest bathroom stall and collapsed against the door the moment it shut.
Her knees gave out.
She slid down to the floor, breath breaking, hands shaking as she lifted her shirt with trembling fingers.
Blood.
Not pouring — but steady. Stubborn. Refusing to stop.
Rhea pressed tissue after tissue, then paper towels, then her own trembling palm — nothing worked.
Her chest heaved.
Not from the pain.
From the realization.
She didn't even know.
That hurt worse than the pull. Worse than the humiliation. Worse than the blood soaking into her clothes.
Rhea let out a broken sound — half laugh, half sob — as tears blurred her vision.
"I deserved it," she whispered to herself, voice cracking.
"I deserve worse."
She leaned her forehead against the cold tile wall, shoulders shaking as sobs finally escaped.
Her body hurt.
Her pride was gone.
But her heart — her heart was shredded.
"She didn't even look back," Rhea cried softly.
"She doesn't care anymore."
She bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing herself not to scream. Not here. Not now.
Her hands shook as she tried to clean herself, smearing red instead of stopping it. Tears dropped onto the floor, mixing with the mess, her breathing turning uneven.
"I broke her," she whispered.
"And now she's breaking me… without even trying."
She hugged herself tightly, as if that could replace the arms she once felt safest in.
Outside, laughter echoed faintly. Life went on.
Inside the stall, Rhea cried until her throat burned and her chest ached —
crying not because Ling hurt her —
but because Ling didn't feel her at all anymore.
And that was the punishment she could never escape.