Rhea stepped out of the bathroom because there was no other option left.
The corridor went silent.
Her dress was still clinging to her skin, wet fabric outlining everything she wanted hidden. Her hair dripped slowly onto the floor, each drop sounding louder than it should have. For half a second, no one spoke.
Then whispers started.
Phones came out.
One student laughed under their breath.
Another openly lifted their camera.
"Look at her."
"Is this part of the doll thing?"
"Damn, she looks pathetic."
Rhea walked forward anyway.
Her back was straight. Her face blank. Every step burned, but she refused to slow down.
She told herself she wouldn't cry.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
She felt it before she saw it — a sudden shadow falling over her shoulders.
A familiar weight.
A black blazer wrapped around her from behind.
The smell hit her instantly.
Ling.
Gasps rippled through the corridor.
Ling Kwong stood close, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something dangerous. Without a word, she adjusted the blazer around Rhea's shoulders, shielding her, blocking the cameras with her own body.
"Put your phones down," Ling said coldly.
Her voice wasn't loud — it didn't need to be.
Hands trembled. A phones lowered immediately.
Ling leaned closer to Rhea, her voice dropping.
"Wear it. You're freezing."
For one heartbeat, Rhea almost did.
Almost.
Then her face hardened.
She grabbed the blazer with both hands and shoved it off herself, throwing it back at Ling's chest.
"I don't need this," Rhea snapped.
The corridor froze again.
Ling caught the blazer automatically, stunned.
Rhea turned to face her fully now, eyes blazing, humiliation transforming into rage.
"I didn't ask for your help," Rhea said, voice shaking but loud. "And I don't want your pity."
Ling's jaw tightened. "This isn't pity."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "Everything you do is power. Don't pretend this is kindness."
Ling stepped closer, her shadow towering. "You think I'd let them film you like this?"
"Yes," Rhea shot back instantly. "Because you already let them destroy me."
A sharp inhale passed through Ling's teeth.
"You walked out like this on purpose?" Ling demanded.
"I walked out because you left me no choice," Rhea said. "Because of your doll. Your rules. Your threats."
Students stood frozen, too scared to move, too curious to leave.
Ling's eyes flicked around, catching every phone, every stare. Her voice dropped — lethal calm.
"Get lost," she ordered the crowd.
No one argued.
They scattered quickly, whispers trailing behind them.
When only the two of them remained, the air felt heavier.
Ling held the blazer tighter in her fists. "You're bleeding pride just to prove something."
Rhea stepped back. "At least I'm bleeding for myself. Not pretending I don't care."
Ling's eyes darkened. "You threw this away," she said quietly. "Not me."
Rhea's lips trembled, but she refused to let the tears fall.
"You already destroyed me," she said. "Covering me now doesn't undo it."
Ling swallowed hard. "I wasn't trying to undo anything."
"Then stop," Rhea said. "Stop touching me. Stop controlling the damage you created."
She turned away before Ling could respond.
Every step she took echoed — wet shoes, soaked fabric, shattered dignity.
Ling stood there, blazer hanging uselessly from her hands.
For the first time since she'd returned to power, Ling Kwong felt something crack — not loudly, not visibly — but deep enough to hurt.
And Rhea walked on, knowing she'd chosen humiliation over dependence.
Knowing it hurt worse —
but hurt on her own terms.
Rhea reached her car somehow.
The moment the door shut, everything she had been holding back shattered.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and cried — not silently, not gracefully — but violently, like something had been ripped out of her chest. Her body shook, breath coming in broken gasps, tears blurring everything in front of her.
Her wet dress clung to her skin, cold now, uncomfortable, humiliating.
She hated it.
She hated the stares.
She hated the cameras.
She hated Ling.
"I didn't need her," she whispered to herself, voice cracking. "I didn't need anyone."
But her chest hurt like she was lying.
She slammed her palm against the wheel once, then again, sobbing harder.
"Why does it hurt this much," she cried, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel. "Why won't it stop?"
The car stayed parked there longer than it should have. People passed. Cars moved. Life continued.
Rhea didn't.
—
Back inside the university grounds, Ling stood exactly where Rhea had left her.
The corridor was empty now. Too quiet.
Ling slowly looked down at her own hands.
They were still trembling.
Her mind replayed it against her will — Rhea's soaked dress, the way the fabric had clung to her body, the transparency, the cameras lifting, the laughter starting.
Something inside Ling snapped violently.
Her jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
"She walked out like that," Ling muttered under her breath.
Not because she wanted attention.
Because she had no choice.
Ling's chest rose sharply as realization hit her in full force — how exposed Rhea had been, how everyone had seen her, how Ling's own name, her own doll, her own rule had made it possible.
The anger that followed wasn't cold.
It was explosive.
Ling turned sharply, eyes blazing, and stormed back toward the building.
Rina noticed first.
"Ling?" she called. "What—"
Ling slammed her palm against a locker so hard the metal dented.
"WHO RECORDED," Ling roared.
The sound echoed down the hall.
Students froze in place.
No one answered.
Ling turned slowly, her eyes scanning faces like weapons.
"I asked," she said quietly now, voice far more terrifying, "who recorded her."
A student's phone slipped from trembling fingers and clattered onto the floor.
Ling walked over, picked it up, and looked at the paused frame — Rhea, wet, exposed, eyes empty.
Ling's vision went red.
She crushed the phone under her heel without hesitation.
"Delete everything," she ordered. "Every clip. Every photo."
Someone whispered, "B-but—"
Ling snapped her head toward them.
"If one video survives," she said, calm and deadly, "you will pray I only destroy your academic life."
Silence.
Students scrambled, deleting, shaking, nodding.
Ling straightened, breathing heavy.
Her anger shifted — no longer just outward.
It turned inward.
She saw it clearly now.
Rhea hadn't thrown the blazer because she didn't need warmth.
She'd thrown it because accepting it meant accepting Ling still had power over her.
And Rhea would rather freeze than depend on her again.
Ling dragged a hand through her hair, frustration burning her throat.
"She walked out in wet clothes," Ling muttered, voice tight. "And I let it happen."
The realization hurt worse than any insult Rhea had ever thrown.
Ling turned away sharply, fists clenched.
Anger surged through her veins — not playful cruelty, not calculated revenge.
This was raw.
Protective.
Possessive.
And furious.
Whoever laughed.
Whoever filmed.
Whoever touched that moment with their eyes.
Ling Kwong didn't just want revenge anymore.
She wanted blood — the kind that ruined futures.
And somewhere in a parked car, Rhea cried until her throat burned, unaware that the storm she thought she'd escaped was turning feral behind her.