The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Ling walked fast — too fast — her boots echoing sharply against the polished floor, drawing glances she didn't notice. Her hair was still damp from the gym, knuckles wrapped, jaw locked so tightly it hurt.
She didn't ask for directions.
She already knew.
ICU.
She reached the glass wall and stopped abruptly.
Rhea lay on the bed — motionless, pale, wires tracing her body like restraints. An oxygen mask covered her lips. Her curls were spread messily across the pillow, darker against the white. Her waist was wrapped thickly in bandages.
Ling's breath left her in a broken sound.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that single sight.
She's not moving.
Ling took one step forward.
Then another.
Her fingers lifted — as if the glass wasn't there, as if she could touch her through it.
That's when the voice came.
"Don't."
Ling froze.
She turned slowly.
Kane Nior stood behind her — immaculate as ever. Black silk. Hair perfect. Eyes sharp, watching Ling like prey that had already been caught.
Ling straightened instinctively. "Move," she said hoarsely. "I'm seeing her."
Kane smiled — small, cold.
"You already did," Kane replied. "This."
She gestured toward the bed.
"This is what you did to her."
Ling's throat tightened. "She was bleeding. I didn't know it was that bad."
"But you knew she was hurting," Kane said calmly. "And you still walked away."
Ling flinched.
"I came back," Ling said, voice breaking despite herself. "The moment I knew—"
"You came back too late," Kane cut in.
Ling swallowed hard. Her eyes went back to Rhea, chest aching with every shallow rise and fall she saw.
"I won't touch her," Ling said quietly. "I won't say anything. I just— let me stay until she wakes."
Kane stepped closer.
Her presence was suffocating.
"If you stay," Kane said softly, dangerously, "you will break her more."
Ling looked at her, disbelief flashing briefly through the pain. "You think I want to hurt her?"
"I think you already did," Kane replied without hesitation.
Ling's fists clenched.
"You raised her to lie," Ling said bitterly. "You raised her to play games with hearts. And now you're blaming me because I reacted."
Kane's eyes darkened instantly.
She grabbed Ling's collar and pulled her closer — hard.
"You don't get to speak about how I raised my daughter," Kane said in a low voice. "You don't get to stand here and pretend you're the victim."
Ling didn't resist.
She didn't even move Kane's hand away.
Her voice came out hollow. "I never pretended."
Kane released her abruptly.
"Leave," Kane said flatly. "Now."
Ling looked past her again — at Rhea's face, so still it terrified her.
"She hasn't even woken up," Ling whispered. "She doesn't know I'm here."
"And she won't," Kane said. "Because if she wakes and sees you, she will bleed again — just not from her body."
Ling closed her eyes.
Her shoulders sagged — not in defeat, but in exhaustion so deep it hollowed her out.
"If she asks for me," Ling said quietly, "tell her I came."
Kane's lips curved faintly.
"She won't ask," Kane replied. "And even if she does — I won't tell her."
Ling opened her eyes.
Something in them died completely.
She nodded once.
"Then this is goodbye," Ling said, voice barely above a breath. "Not because I don't care. Because I care too much."
She took one last look at Rhea.
Memorized her.
The curve of her lips.
The rise of her chest.
The life she wasn't allowed to touch anymore.
Ling turned and walked away.
Each step felt like tearing something out of her chest.
Behind her, machines continued to beep steadily.
Ahead of her, there was nothing.
Rhea stirred faintly on the bed just as Ling disappeared down the corridor — a soft frown forming, lips parting as if to speak.
But she didn't wake.
And Ling Kwong was already gone.
Rhea woke slowly.
Not all at once — not like before.
This time it was fragments.
A dull ache in her body.
The weight of bandages around her waist.
The mechanical beeping somewhere close.
The taste of metal at the back of her throat.
Her lashes fluttered.
White ceiling.
Hospital.
Her breath hitched instinctively.
"Ling—"
The name slipped out before she was even fully conscious.
Her fingers twitched weakly, searching the empty air beside her bed.
Nothing.
Her heart began to pound — slow at first, then faster, uneven.
She turned her head with effort.
The chair beside the bed was empty.
No blazer thrown carelessly over it.
No familiar boots on the floor.
No quiet presence pretending not to care.
Just silence.
"Ling?" Rhea whispered again, voice raw.
The door opened softly.
Kane walked in.
Perfect. Composed. Untouched by exhaustion or fear. She looked at Rhea the way one looks at a problem that has finally resolved itself.
"You're awake," Kane said calmly. "Good."
Rhea swallowed painfully. "Where is she?"
Kane paused — just long enough to calculate.
"Who?" she asked lightly.
Rhea's eyes burned. "Don't do this. Where is Ling?"
Kane walked closer, heels clicking deliberately, and stopped beside the bed.
"She didn't come," Kane said.
The words didn't land at first.
Rhea frowned faintly. "What?"
"Zifa called her," Kane continued evenly. "Told her you were in the hospital."
Rhea's chest tightened. "And?"
Kane tilted her head slightly. "Ling said she didn't care."
Silence crashed into the room.
Rhea stared at her.
Her ears rang.
"That's not—" her voice broke. "She wouldn't say that."
Kane smiled faintly. "You still don't understand her, do you?"
Rhea shook her head weakly, tears pooling instantly. "She came. I know she did. She wouldn't leave me like this."
"She left you much earlier than this," Kane replied coolly. "Tonight was just… proof."
Rhea's breathing became shallow.
"She hurt you," Kane said, her tone sharpening. "You were bleeding. You collapsed. And she chose herself."
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut.
"No," she whispered. "She was angry. She was hurt. But she wouldn't— she wouldn't abandon me."
Kane leaned down, her face inches away.
"She already did," Kane said quietly. "And when she was told you were unconscious, she said she didn't want to be involved anymore."
Tears slipped down Rhea's temples into her hair.
Her hands curled weakly into the sheets.
"She promised," Rhea whispered, more to herself than to Kane. "She promised she wouldn't leave."
Kane straightened.
"People promise many things when they're obsessed," she said. "Very few stay when obsession turns inconvenient."
Rhea turned her face away, sobbing silently now, shoulders trembling despite the pain.
"I ruined everything," she whispered. "I ruined her… and she left."
Kane watched her daughter break without blinking.
"This," Kane said, cold and final, "is why I warned you."
Rhea pressed her face into the pillow, tears soaking the fabric.
"She didn't even come," she murmured, the words cracking her open completely. "I almost died… and she didn't come."
Kane placed a hand on Rhea's head — not gently, not cruelly — just possessively.
"Sleep," Kane ordered softly. "You've lost enough blood for one night."
Rhea didn't argue.
She let her eyes close.
But even as the medication pulled her back under, one thought burned brighter than the pain in her body:
She didn't care.
And somewhere far away, Ling Kwong was destroying herself with the same lie —
while the truth lay trapped between them, unheard, unseen, and bleeding out slowly.