Night sat heavy over the Kwong mansion.
Ling's room was dark except for the faint city glow slipping through the glass walls. She stood near the window, knuckles wrapped, knuckles split again, staring at her own reflection like it was an enemy she hadn't defeated yet.
The door opened quietly.
Eliza stepped in.
She didn't raise her voice. She never had to.
"I knew this would happen," Eliza said, calm but cutting. "You let her inside you. This was inevitable."
Ling didn't turn.
"It didn't happen," she replied flatly. "I'm not weak."
Eliza walked closer, heels silent against the floor. She stopped a few steps behind Ling, eyes taking in the bruises, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled just slightly.
"You are standing in the dark, bleeding in silence," Eliza said. "That is weakness, Ling."
Ling laughed — short, sharp, almost violent.
"No," she snapped, finally turning around. Her eyes were burning, dry, furious. "Begging would be weakness. Running back would be weakness. Breaking down would be weakness."
She stepped closer to her mother, jaw tight.
"I didn't do any of that."
Eliza held her gaze. "You destroyed yourself for her."
Ling's lips twitched.
"I chose her," she said. "That doesn't make me weak."
Eliza's voice hardened. "It makes you vulnerable."
Ling inhaled deeply, forcing control back into her body.
"I won't be," she said slowly. "Not again."
Eliza crossed her arms. "Then why do you look like this?"
Ling looked away for half a second — just one — then straightened.
"I'm still on it," she said. "I haven't stopped."
Eliza's brow furrowed slightly. "On what?"
"Ending her," Ling replied coldly. "Destroying her."
The word hung in the air.
Then Ling added, lower, restrained:
"But not now."
Eliza studied her carefully. "Why not now?"
Ling's jaw clenched. Her fists tightened.
"Because she's wounded," Ling said. "And I don't fight people who are already bleeding."
Eliza's eyes narrowed. "That mercy will cost you."
Ling shook her head once.
"No. Timing is power," she said. "If I move now, they'll call me cruel. They'll call me heartless."
She stepped past Eliza, pacing like a caged predator.
"I won't give them that satisfaction."
Eliza watched her, voice quiet but sharp. "You're protecting her."
Ling stopped abruptly and turned, eyes flashing.
"No," she said fiercely. "I'm protecting myself."
She stepped closer, voice dropping.
"If I touch her now, I'll remember how it felt. How she looked at me. And that—"
She cut herself off, swallowing hard.
"—that's when people slip."
Eliza was silent for a long moment.
Then softly: "You're still affected."
Ling didn't deny it.
She straightened her shoulders instead.
"Affected doesn't mean defeated," she said. "I won't grieve. I won't beg. I won't go back."
Her voice sharpened, steel returning.
"I'll destroy her when she's whole. When she thinks she's safe. When she believes I've moved on."
Eliza searched her daughter's face, then finally nodded once.
"You're my daughter," Eliza said. "Don't prove me wrong."
Ling met her gaze without flinching.
"I won't," she said.
"I'll prove everyone else wrong."
Eliza turned and left the room.
Ling stood alone again.
Only when the door closed did Ling exhale — slow, controlled — and press her fist lightly against her chest, right over where it still hurt.
Not weak, she told herself.
Not anymore.
But the night didn't answer back.
The next day, the university returned to its usual rhythm —
because Ling Kwong allowed it to.
Her Rolls-Royce arrived precisely on time. Students straightened instinctively. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads lowered. Fear and awe mixed the same way they always had.
Ling stepped out like nothing had touched her.
Perfectly pressed blazer. Controlled stride. Expression carved from stone.
If anyone expected cracks after the headlines, after the scandal, after the whispers — they were disappointed.
Ling ruled as she always had.
She crossed the courtyard without looking at anyone, yet everyone felt seen. Professors nodded too quickly. Administrators smiled nervously. Students moved out of her path like instinct.
In the auditorium, her presence alone reset order.
A boy laughed too loudly — Ling's gaze flicked once.
Silence followed.
Power didn't need noise.
Rhea didn't come.
One day passed.
Ling noticed by the second lecture.
She told herself she didn't care.
Two days passed.
Ling stopped looking at the entrance.
Three days.
A faint irritation crept in — not concern, not worry. That's what she told herself.
"She's avoiding," Ling muttered one evening, tossing her keys on the desk in her private university room. "Coward."
But her eyes lingered on the empty chair longer than necessary.
By the fourth day, Ling had already acted.
She hadn't gone to Rhea.
She hadn't called.
She hadn't broken her own rules.
She had gone to Zifa.
Not publicly. Not directly.
A single message.
Ling:I need information. Not opinions.
You will not tell her.
Zifa stared at her phone for a long time before replying.
Zifa:About her condition?
Ling's jaw tightened.
Ling:Everything.
There was a pause.
Then:
Zifa:I won't tell Rhea.
That was all Ling needed.
Information came in fragments.
Short. Clinical. Controlled.
"She's still weak."
"Blood loss was more than expected."
"She's not attending classes."
"She avoids questions about you."
Ling read each message once.
Never replied.
Never asked follow-ups that sounded emotional.
Only once did she type something — and delete it.
Is she—
Gone.
Ling leaned back in her chair, eyes closing briefly.
"So you chose disappearance," she whispered. "Good."
But her fingers curled slowly into her palm.
A week passed.
Rhea still didn't come.
Whispers started again.
"Isn't she Ling Kwong's—"
"Didn't something happen—"
"I heard she collapsed—"
Ling shut it down publicly with ruthless efficiency.
One warning.
One punishment.
One expulsion threat.
The campus fell silent.
"No one speaks her name," Ling announced coldly in a closed meeting.
"If I hear it again, I'll make examples."
No one doubted her.
Privately, Ling stood by the window of her office one evening, city lights below her like distant stars.
"She's cutting me out," Ling said quietly to herself.
Not anger.
Not grief.
Calculation.
"Fine," she murmured. "Disappear."
She straightened, resolve settling in.
"I can play that game too."
Her phone buzzed again.
Zifa.
Zifa:She asked about you once.
Ling's thumb hovered.
She typed back slowly.
Ling:What did you say?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then:
Zifa:That you were busy.
Ling stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then:
Ling:Good.
She locked her phone.
Busy was safer than cruel.
Busy was easier than absent.
Ling turned away from the window, power sliding back into place like armor.
She would not chase.
She would not soften.
And she would not let anyone — especially Rhea — see that absence was doing something even dominance never had.
It was forcing her to feel.
And that, Ling Kwong decided, was the real danger.