Rhea reached the mansion long after the noise of the university had faded, but the weight of it followed her inside.
The moment she stepped in, Kane saw her.
Her eyes narrowed instantly — taking in the wet dress, the stiffness in Rhea's posture, the way she avoided looking up.
"So," Kane said coolly, setting her glass down. "You're tolerating all this now?"
Rhea didn't answer.
Kane stood, heels clicking slowly as she approached. "She's taking advantage of you. Again."
Still nothing.
Rhea walked past her without a word, each step heavier than the last.
Kane's voice sharpened. "I asked you something."
Rhea stopped for half a second, her back still turned. Her fingers curled slightly, nails digging into her palm.
"I'm tired," she said flatly. "Not interested in explanations. Not interested in lessons."
She continued toward the stairs.
Kane followed, her tone smooth but cutting. "Look at you. Wet clothes. Public humiliation. And you say nothing? That girl destroys you and you still protect her by staying silent."
Rhea paused at her bedroom door.
"She didn't destroy me," Rhea said quietly. "I'm already ruined."
Kane's lips curved faintly. "Good. Then stop letting her play with what's left."
Rhea opened the door and stepped inside.
Kane added, just loud enough to reach her, "Remember, Rhea — people like Ling don't love. They control."
Rhea didn't respond.
The door closed softly, but the sound echoed like a final decision.
—
Inside her room, Rhea leaned against the door as soon as it shut.
Her legs gave out.
She slid down slowly until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her wet dress still clung to her skin, cold and uncomfortable, but she didn't bother changing.
Her mind replayed everything — the locker room, the laughter, the cameras, the blazer hitting the ground.
And Ling's eyes.
Not cruel.
Not satisfied.
Furious.
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut.
"Stop," she whispered to herself. "Stop thinking about her."
She pressed her forehead into her knees, breathing unevenly.
Kane's words echoed — she's taking advantage — but they didn't fit the way Ling had looked.
That contradiction hurt more than either version alone.
Rhea stayed there for a long time, unmoving, letting the silence swallow her.
Upstairs, the mansion returned to its usual cold stillness.
University
Ling locked herself inside her private room.
The moment the door shut, the control she wore in public finally collapsed.
She stood there for a second, breathing hard, fists clenched, jaw tight — and then her vision blurred.
Her knees hit the floor.
Ling pressed her palm over her mouth as a sound tore out of her anyway — broken, raw, nothing like the cold authority everyone feared. Tears spilled despite her hatred for them, hot and uncontrollable.
Her mind replayed it again and again.
Rhea stepping out in that soaked dress.
The way the fabric clung to her.
The phones lifting.
The laughter.
And then — Rhea's eyes.
Not angry.
Not pleading.
Ashamed.
That was what shattered her.
Ling dragged a hand through her hair violently. "I did this," she whispered, voice cracking. "I did this to you."
Her chest hurt like it was being crushed from the inside.
She slammed her fist against the floor once, then again, rage mixing with guilt until she couldn't tell them apart.
"I wanted you to hurt," Ling choked out, tears streaking down her face. "Not like that. Not like that."
She curled forward, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands.
The humiliation hadn't been just Rhea's.
It was Ling's too — knowing her name, her rules, her silence had allowed it to happen. Knowing she had been standing right there and still been too late.
Ling's breath shook as another sob broke free.
"I saw your eyes," she whispered hoarsely. "You looked like the whole world saw something they weren't meant to. I am sorry."
Her teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
The rage returned, sharp and vicious — not playful, not performative.
Protective.
Feral.
Ling wiped her face roughly, eyes burning now with something darker than tears.
"No one gets to see you like that," she muttered. "No one."
She stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal, hands trembling.
"If they think this is a game," she said under her breath, "they're about to learn what humiliation actually means."
But when she finally stopped, alone in the silence, her shoulders sagged.
Because beneath the rage, beneath the vows of destruction, there was one truth she couldn't escape:
She had hurt the one person she still couldn't stop protecting.
And that realization hurt more than anything anyone else could ever do to her.
The tears stopped — not because the pain ended, but because it hardened.
She straightened, jaw setting into that familiar cold line, and reached for her phone.
Her fingers moved fast.
Ling: "Rowen."
Rowen picked up immediately. "Yes, boss."
Ling: "Auditorium. Now. Full attendance."
A pause. "All students?"
Ling's voice dropped, lethal. "Did I stutter?"
"No. I'll do it."
She disconnected and dialed again.
Ling: "Jian."
"Yes."
Ling: "Make the announcement. Mandatory. Anyone missing will regret it."
Jian swallowed audibly. "Understood."
The calls ended.
Ling stood there for a second longer, staring at her own reflection in the dark glass — eyes red, expression empty.
"Humiliation," she muttered. "You think you understand it."
She grabbed her jacket and walked out.
The announcement echoed across campus seconds later.
"All students are required to report to the main auditorium immediately. This is a direct order."
Confusion spread fast.
Whispers followed.
Phones buzzed.
Everyone knew that tone.
Everyone knew that name.
Students poured in — nervous, curious, terrified. The auditorium filled fast, rows creaking under the weight of bodies and fear.
Rowen stood near the stage, arms crossed. Jian checked the doors personally, making sure no one slipped out.