Ling came down dressed for university, movements precise, face composed in the way only her family ever noticed was too controlled. Jacket already on her arm like she might leave at any second if needed.
The dining room was already full.
Victor sat with his newspaper, glasses low on his nose. Dadi was stirring her tea, eyes sharp despite the casual posture. Rina was there too, scrolling on her phone, unusually quiet. And at the head of the table—Eliza.
The moment Ling stepped in, Eliza looked up.
"You're late," Eliza said calmly.
Ling took her seat without comment.
Eliza's gaze lingered, sharp and assessing. "You didn't come home last night."
Ling poured herself tea. "I know."
A pause. Then Eliza tilted her head slightly. "You told me you were with Rina."
Rina looked up immediately. "Yeah she was."
Victor lowered his paper just a fraction.
Ling didn't flinch. "I was with Rhea."
Eliza's spoon clinked sharply against her cup as she set it down. "Of course you were."
Ling met her mother's eyes, calm but cold. "If you have something to say, say it."
Eliza straightened in her chair. "Look at yourself," she said, voice tightening. "You skip home. You lie. You sit here half-asleep and hollow-eyed. All because of her."
"That's enough," Victor said quietly.
Eliza ignored him.
"She's pulling you apart," Eliza continued, turning fully toward Ling now. "You're losing yourself, Ling. Your discipline. Your clarity. Your future. For someone who doesn't even know what she wants."
Ling's jaw tightened. "You don't get to talk about her like that."
Eliza laughed softly. "I absolutely do when I see my daughter unraveling."
Dadi snorted. "Unraveling? She looks exactly like her father did when he fell in love. Miserable and stubborn."
Victor glanced at Dadi but didn't contradict her.
Eliza's eyes flashed. "This isn't a joke."
"No," Ling said, voice low and dangerous. "It's my life."
Eliza leaned forward. "You used to be focused. Untouchable. Now look—sneaking out at dawn, lying to your own family. For what? A girl who leaves you crying and sends you home alone?"
The words hit their mark.
Ling's hand stilled around her cup.
Rina looked up sharply. "Aunt—"
Ling lifted her hand slightly. "It's fine."
She looked back at Eliza, eyes steady despite the ache burning in her chest. "You think this is her doing?" Ling asked. "You think I don't know exactly what I'm choosing?"
Eliza shook her head. "You think you do. But obsession feels like choice when you're inside it."
Silence fell heavy.
Victor cleared his throat. "Ling," he said gently, "eat something."
Ling shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
"You think walking out makes you strong?" Eliza said. "It just proves how far you've fallen. You were never like this. You never let anyone—anyone—shake you."
Ling's hand tightened around her fork.
"You're reckless now," Eliza continued. "Emotional. Distracted. I don't recognize you anymore. This isn't love, Ling. This is self-destruction."
Something inside Ling finally snapped.
Just… tired.
Her breath hitched once. Then twice.
Ling pressed both hands to her face like she was trying to hold herself together, shoulders trembling as the tears finally broke free. Quiet at first—then sharp, uncontrollable breaths she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried.
The room froze.
Rina stood abruptly. "Ling—"
Eliza's face changed instantly. The sharpness vanished, replaced by rigid control. She looked away, jaw tight, like she'd seen something she refused to acknowledge.
"This is pointless," Eliza said flatly. "I won't watch this."
She turned and walked out, heels clicking away, the door shutting firmly behind her—decisive, final.
Dadi was on her feet immediately.
"Oh, come here," she said softly, moving toward Ling. "Enough. Enough now."
Ling shook her head, backing away a step, tears still falling freely. "No—please."
She wiped at her face roughly, voice breaking. "I just… I need space. Nothing more. Just—space."
Victor approached slowly, careful not to crowd her. His voice was calm, grounding, exactly the way it had been when Ling was younger and breaking quietly.
"Ling," he said gently. "Look at me."
She didn't.
"I know you're carrying too much," Victor continued. "But you don't have to carry it alone."
Ling laughed weakly through tears. "Everyone keeps saying that," she whispered. "And then they tell me exactly how wrong I am for feeling anything at all."
Dadi rested a hand over her heart. "Love always looks like madness to people who are afraid of it."
Ling's breath stuttered again. She wiped her eyes, shoulders shaking, control slipping through her fingers for the first time in a long time.
"First Rhea," she murmured, barely audible. "Then the night. And now this. I can't—"
Victor stepped closer, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to decide anything today."
Ling finally nodded, exhaustion written all over her face. "I just need to go."
No one stopped her this time.
She picked up her bag again and walked out—slower now, heavier—leaving behind a room that felt suddenly too quiet.
Dadi sighed deeply, shaking her head. "She's hurting," she said softly. "And pain doesn't disappear just because you scold it."
Victor looked toward the door Ling had left through, worry etched into his calm expression.
And somewhere between pride, fear, and control, Eliza Kwong had just pushed her daughter one step further away—
at the worst possible moment.
Ling didn't speak as she walked out.
The morning air felt too sharp, too awake for how shattered she felt inside. She unlocked the Rolls-Royce on instinct, movements automatic, like her body knew what to do even when her mind didn't.
Before she could close the driver's door—
"Ling."
Rina's voice.
Ling paused.
"I'll come with you," Rina said quickly, already moving. She didn't wait for permission. She slid into the passenger seat, turning toward Ling immediately. "You shouldn't drive alone like this."
Ling didn't argue. She just got in, shut the door, and started the engine.
The car pulled out smoothly, silently, the world outside moving as if nothing had cracked open inside her.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of the road.
Then Ling's hand tightened suddenly on the steering wheel. Her breathing hitched once—twice. Her eyes burned again, the tears she thought she'd spent refusing to stay buried.
Rina noticed immediately.
Without saying a word, she reached across the console and took Ling's free hand, threading their fingers together gently—not possessive, not demanding. Just steady.
Ling didn't pull away.
Her grip trembled, fingers curling around Rina's like she was holding onto the only solid thing left. Her jaw clenched hard, lips pressed together as tears slid down anyway, blurring the road ahead.
"I didn't mean to—" Ling started, then stopped, shaking her head. "I can't even explain it without sounding weak."
Rina squeezed her hand. "You're not weak," she said softly. "You're exhausted."
Ling let out a broken breath. "They all think I'm losing myself."
Rina glanced at her, eyes gentle. "No. You're just not hiding anymore."
Ling swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "I can handle pressure. I can handle rivals, games, expectations. But when it's Rhea… and then home… and everyone keeps pulling—"
Her voice cracked.
"I can't breathe," she admitted.
Rina tightened her grip just a little. "Then don't. Not right now."
Ling nodded faintly.
They drove on, the city slowly waking around them. Sunlight hit the windshield, soft and pale, catching the tears Ling hadn't bothered to wipe away. Her shoulders slowly stopped shaking, breath evening out—not calm, but controlled again.
After a while, Rina spoke carefully. "You love her. That's the real crime here, isn't it?"
Ling didn't answer immediately.
Then, quietly: "Yes."
Rina smiled sadly. "Aunt hates what she can't manage. That's not new."
Ling exhaled. "I know. But today it just… piled on."
Rina rested her head lightly against the seat, still holding Ling's hand. "You don't have to be unbreakable all the time. You're allowed to fall apart."
Ling let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. "Lucky car, then."
They drove the rest of the way like that—hand in hand, silence filled with understanding rather than judgment.
Ling didn't feel fixed.