In one sharp movement, Rhea grabbed Ling by the collar and pinned her back against the lockers, metal clanging softly behind Ling's shoulders. The sound echoed in the empty room.
Ling froze.
Didn't resist.
Didn't push back.
That alone said too much.
Rhea leaned in, eyes blazing — not with rage now, but something colder. Sharper.
"So," Rhea said quietly, dangerously calm, "you became a saint in seconds?"
Ling swallowed.
"Or is this just for now?" Rhea continued. "Until you feel powerful again?"
Ling turned her face slightly away, jaw tight. She refused to meet Rhea's eyes.
That silence — from Ling Kwong — was louder than any shout.
Rhea noticed.
Her grip didn't loosen, but her tone shifted, almost mocking.
"Want the ring?"
Ling's fingers twitched once.
She didn't reply.
Her eyes stayed lowered.
Rhea's lips curved slowly.
A smile of happiness.
There she was.
The Ling she knew too well.
The one who went quiet when she was cornered.
The one who looked dangerous to the world but terrified when her emotions were exposed.
Rhea tilted her head, studying her face closely. "Look at you," she murmured. "So loud outside. So cruel with words."
She leaned closer, voice dropping. "And here… you can't even answer."
Ling's breath came shallow. "Don't do this."
Rhea chuckled softly. "Do what? Talk?"
She loosened her grip just enough to slide her thumb along Ling's collarbone — not affectionate, cruel. Testing.
"You called me senseless," Rhea said. "A goon. Said I don't think."
Ling flinched.
Rhea noticed that too.
"But right now," Rhea whispered, "I'm thinking very clearly."
Ling finally spoke, voice low and strained. "Then let me go."
Rhea didn't.
Instead, she leaned in until her lips were near Ling's ear.
"You don't get to touch me in public, humiliate me, steal from me… and then decide you're done."
Ling's hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She still didn't push Rhea away.
Rhea still didn't let her go.
Her forearm stayed braced beside Ling's shoulder, body blocking every possible escape. The locker room felt smaller, tighter, the air heavy with unfinished words and shared damage.
"Look at me," Rhea said.
Ling's jaw clenched. Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere near Rhea's collarbone — anywhere but her face.
Rhea's voice sharpened. "I said look at me."
Silence.
Then, slowly, unwillingly, Ling lifted her gaze.
Their eyes met.
Rhea inhaled sharply. For a second, the anger wavered — not gone, just strained under something more raw. Hurt. Confusion. Want that refused to die.
Rhea's voice dropped, controlled but trembling at the edges.
"Where is the new ring you showed me this morning?"
Ling didn't answer immediately. Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Rhea waited.
No rushing. No shouting.
Power sat quietly between them now — and for once, it wasn't Ling's.
Ling reached into her pocket, movements stiff, deliberate. She pulled out the small velvet box, opened it, and held it up without a word.
There it was.
Untouched. Perfect. Cold.
Rhea stared at it, then back at Ling's face.
"So," Rhea said softly, dangerously, "you can show me this… but you couldn't tell me the truth?"
Ling's fingers tightened around the box. "That's not—"
"Don't," Rhea cut in immediately. "Don't explain. I didn't ask for explanations."
She reached out and closed the box herself, pushing it back into Ling's hand. Her fingers brushed Ling's skin — brief, electric, deliberate.
"I didn't want a replacement," Rhea said. "I wanted to know why you wanted the broken one."
Ling's lips parted. No words came.
Rhea's eyes searched her face relentlessly. "Say it."
Ling shook her head once. "You already know."
Rhea laughed under her breath — bitter, almost amused.
"That's the problem, Ling. I know too much. And you still treat me like I'm stupid."
Ling finally snapped, voice low, rough. "I never thought you were stupid."
"Then why do you lie?" Rhea shot back. "Why steal? Why touch me like you own me and then pretend you don't care?"
Ling's control cracked — just enough to show the fracture underneath.
"Because if I admit why," Ling said quietly, "I lose."
Rhea leaned closer again, foreheads nearly touching. "You already did."
Ling closed her eyes.
That hurt more than any insult.
"Keep the new ring," Rhea said. "I don't want it."
She paused, then added, voice steady but final,
"And don't touch what's broken again unless you're ready to tell me why."
She took Ling's wrist — firm, deliberate — and guided her hand down, pressing it flat against her own stomach. Right over the navel. Right over the place that still remembered pain.
Ling stiffened instantly.
"Don't," Ling said, voice rough, breath already uneven. She tried to pull back.
Rhea didn't let her.
"Or make me wear it yourself," Rhea said quietly.
Ling shook her head, jaw tight. "You know what you're doing."
"Yes," Rhea replied. "I always do."
Ling's fingers curled reflexively, then stilled, as if she was fighting her own body. "If I do that," Ling said, low, dangerous, "I won't stop where you want me to."
Rhea leaned closer, her forehead brushing Ling's temple. Not pleading. Not soft.
Certain.
"That's why I asked you," she said.
Ling swallowed hard. Her control trembled — not cracked, but strained to the edge. "You don't trust me," Ling said. "You just want to see if I'll fall."
Rhea smiled faintly and tilted her head, lips brushing Ling's cheek in a slow, intentional kiss, not innocent. A promise. A trigger.
"I trust you," Rhea whispered.
Then, softer — the word that hit hardest:
"Baby."
Ling's breath broke.
Her hand pressed more firmly before she caught herself, fingers flexing once against warm skin, memory flashing too fast — blood, pain, her own rage.