Ling's apartment glowed like a private universe.
Crystal chandeliers refracted light into soft gold, hundreds of helium balloons floating in disciplined clusters black, deep red, pearl white each one custom-printed with subtle patterns only Ling would notice.
A private string quartet waited behind glass panels, rehearsing soundlessly. The long dining table was carved from a single slab of rare stone, set with minimalist perfection.
At the far end stood the cake tall, architectural, sculpted like art rather than dessert. Everything was restrained. Everything was excessive.
Everything was ready.
Ling stood near the window, phone in hand.
12:01.
She typed.
Ling:
Where are you.
No reply.
She waited exactly thirty seconds.
Called.
It rang. Rang. Cut.
Her jaw tightened.
She typed again.
Ling:
It's late.
Another call.
No answer.
Ling checked the time again. 12:04.
She scrolled, thumb moving faster now.
Ling:
Answer me.
Still nothing.
Across the apartment, Rina noticed first.
"She's not picking up?" Rina asked carefully.
Ling didn't look at her. She called again.
Voicemail.
The balloons drifted gently as if mocking the stillness.
Ling exhaled through her nose and typed—shorter now.
Ling:
Are you asleep?
Then, after a pause—
Ling:
Say something.
Her phone stayed dark.
Zifa, standing near the kitchen island, frowned and pulled out her own phone. She dialed Rhea.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Zifa's brows drew together. "Her phone's off or on silent."
Ling's eyes flicked up sharply. "She wouldn't."
Zifa didn't argue. She tried calling Rina instead—habit, instinct.
Rina's phone buzzed in her hand. She looked at it, then at Ling.
"It's me," she said quickly, answering. "What's wrong?"
Zifa's voice came tight through the speaker. "Rhea's not answering. Ling's been calling."
Rina glanced at Ling again, who had already turned away, pacing now.
Rina said softly. "Everything's ready."
Zifa swore under her breath. "Try again. Don't stop calling."
Ling didn't hear the rest.
She was already dialing.
Again.
And again.
Each unanswered call pressed deeper, not like panic—but like something colder, heavier. The seed Roin had planted earlier shifted, barely perceptible, but present.
Ling stopped pacing.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees, phone clenched in her hand.
12:09.
She typed one last message.
Ling:
I'm waiting.
The screen stayed blank.
No typing bubble.
No vibration.
No light.
Behind her, the musicians waited. The servants stood frozen, unsure whether to move or disappear. The apartment—worth more than cities—felt suddenly too large.
Ling leaned back, eyes closing for half a second.
She didn't cancel anything.
She didn't rage.
She didn't break a single object.
She simply sat there, perfectly still, obsession contained behind discipline—waiting in a room built for love that had not arrived.
Somewhere else, a phone lay silent.
Ling didn't wait for the clock to move again.
She stood up in one smooth motion, phone already disappearing into her pocket. The lights, the music, the billion-dollar stillness behind her meant nothing now.
She turned to Zifa.
"We're going to her mansion," Ling said, voice low, absolute.
Zifa blinked. "Now?"
Ling was already walking. "I can't enter. Her mother's there."
She stopped once, just once, and looked back at Zifa. "You can."
Zifa understood immediately.
A slow grin spread across her face. "Friends' party," she said. "Late birthday thing. Casual. Harmless."
Ling nodded once. "Good."
Rina grabbed her jacket. "I'm coming."
Jian was already on his feet. "Obviously."
Rowen snorted. "Like we'd let you go alone when you look like that."
Ling didn't argue. She never did when it came to them.
Minutes later, engines came alive in the underground garage.
Ling's car rolled out first—low, silent, predatory. The squad followed in two others, spacing perfect, instinctive. No music. No chatter. Just motion.
Inside Ling's car, Zifa sat in the passenger seat, already typing.
Zifa (texting Kane):
Auntyyy 😭 emergency. Rhea fell asleep on me earlier and now everyone's here. We planned a small friends' birthday thing. Please let her come for an hour? I'll drop her myself.
She hit send and glanced sideways.
Ling's hands were steady on the wheel. Too steady.
Her jaw was set, eyes fixed on the road ahead. City lights slid over her face without touching it.
"She didn't see any of it," Zifa said quietly.
Ling didn't ask what it meant.
"I know," she replied.
They drove fast—but never reckless. Control mattered.
Behind them, Rina leaned out of the window of the second car, watching Ling's taillights.
"She's not angry," Rina muttered. "That's worse."
Jian hummed. "She's decided."
Rowen laughed softly. "Someone's birthday is about to get complicated."
As they neared Rhea's mansion, Zifa's phone buzzed.
She checked the screen.
Kane had replied.
Zifa's smile widened slowly.
"She bought it," Zifa said.
Ling didn't smile.
She only slowed the car, parking just far enough away to stay unseen.
The engine went quiet.
Ling stepped out, shadows swallowing her immediately. She stayed back, leaning against the hood, arms crossed—not impatient, not unsure.
Waiting.
Above them, lights flickered on in Rhea's mansion.
Zifa paused at the entrance, phone already in her hand.
Ling's voice came through low, controlled, unmistakably sharp.
"Video call me," Ling said. "Back camera."
Zifa froze. "Ling—"
"I want to see her reaction when you walk in," Ling repeated. Not louder. Worse—calmer.
Zifa swallowed and tapped the screen.
The video connected.
Ling's face appeared—still, unreadable, eyes dark and focused. Streetlight shadows cut across her cheekbones. The engine behind her was still running.
"Don't turn it yet," Ling added. "Walk."
Zifa did.
The camera stayed pointed ahead as she entered the mansion quietly, slipping past the staff who already knew her. Laughter echoed down the hall.
Cake. Candles. Applause.
Then—
Zifa turned the phone slightly.