Rhea hadn't realized it.
Not the shirt.
Not the way it hung loose on her mid-thighs, soft and familiar in a way she never allowed outside these walls. She wore it only around two people—her mother, and Ling.
Tonight, it hadn't registered.
The laughter, the cake, the warmth—everything had blurred that line.
Roin clapped his hands together. "Come on, let's cut it."
Kane and Rhea stood up together. Kane gestured casually, polite but firm. "Roin, you join too."
Roin didn't hesitate.
He stepped closer, close enough that his shoulder brushed Rhea's arm. As they reached for the knife together, his hand slid over hers—fingers curling, deliberate, lingering.
Rhea stiffened for half a second.
Didn't pull away.
Didn't notice why.
Zifa entered her camera capturing all.
Ling saw it.
The hall.
The decorations.
The cake.
Rhea—bare legs, loose shirt, smiling softly.
And Roin's hand.
On Rhea's.
Ling's jaw locked.
Something colder passed through her eyes—a precise, cutting awareness. The seed planted earlier shifted again, watered now by sight.
Zifa stopped walking.
Rhea looked up.
Her eyes widened. "Zifa?"
She smiled instantly, bright, unguarded. "You came?"
Then she noticed the phone.
The angle.
The screen.
Her smile faltered.
Ling was looking at her.
Direct.
Alive.
Watching.
Rhea's breath caught.
Her gaze dropped—to her own shirt.
Bare legs.
Roin's hand.
Everything crashed into place at once.
She pulled her hand back sharply, too fast to be casual.
"Zifa—" Rhea started, flustered, stepping back. "You didn't tell me—"
Ling said nothing.
Not a word.
The silence was louder than any shout.
Rhea took a step forward instinctively, eyes searching the screen. "Ling, I—"
Ling ended the call.
The screen went black.
Zifa cursed under her breath.
Rhea stood frozen, heart pounding, heat rushing to her face—not embarrassment, not guilt alone, but something sharper.
Fear.
Not of Ling's anger.
Of her distance.
Outside, Ling lowered the phone slowly.
She didn't throw it.
Didn't slam the car.
Didn't say a word.
Rina, Jian, and Rowen watched her carefully.
Zifa stepped back out moments later, breath uneven.
"She saw," Zifa said quietly. "Everything."
Ling nodded once.
"I know."
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
She got into the driver's seat.
The engine purred.
Ling didn't look back at the mansion.
Didn't wait.
Didn't hesitate.
She drove away—not fast, not reckless—perfectly controlled, leaving behind a birthday hall full of lights…
…and a girl who had just realized how much damage silence could do.
Rhea ran out.
Bare feet hit the cold stone steps, breath uneven, eyes scanning the road wildly.
The car was gone.
No headlights.
No taillights.
Nothing.
For a moment she just stood there, chest tight, disbelief giving way to something sharp and ugly. Her fingers curled into the hem of her shirt unconsciously, as if holding onto the last trace of comfort.
"Ling—" she whispered, too late.
"She left." said Zifa.
Rhea turned on her instantly. "She didn't even try to talk to me."
Her voice cracked—not loud, not dramatic, just raw. "She should've cleared things. How can she decide everything in her head like that? How can she assume?"
Zifa watched her carefully. "Rhea… she prepared everything for your birthday."
Rhea froze. "What? III-I-- "
"All of it," Zifa said quietly. "The apartment. The decorations. Cake. Music. She waited. She kept calling you."
Rhea's throat tightened. "Then why didn't she come in?"
"Because of your mother," Zifa replied. "Because she didn't want to disrespect boundaries. Because she trusted me to bring you."
Rhea looked away, frustration spilling over. "Then why leave like this?"
Zifa exhaled slowly, then lifted her hand—gesturing deliberately.
"To you."
Rhea frowned. "What?"
Zifa's eyes dropped pointedly to Rhea's shirt. To her bare thighs. To the way the fabric clung, intimate, familiar.
"Anyone would misunderstand," Zifa said bluntly. "Rhea, you never come out like this. Not in front of friends. Not ever."
Rhea opened her mouth, then stopped.
Zifa continued, softer but firmer. "You wear this only around two people. Your mom… and Ling."
Rhea's chest tightened painfully now.
"And tonight," Zifa added, "you were like that in front of Roin."
Rhea snapped back, defensive. "I didn't even notice—"
"That's the problem," Zifa cut in. "You didn't notice. But Ling did."
Rhea's anger faltered, twisting into something heavier.
"You know she hates him," Zifa went on. "You know what he's tried before. And you didn't pull away immediately. Rhea."
Rhea's hands shook now. "I wasn't thinking."
"I know," Zifa said. "But Ling doesn't see intentions. She sees actions."
Rhea laughed bitterly, running a hand through her hair. "So she just… leaves?"
Zifa met her eyes. "She left because if she stayed another second, she wouldn't have trusted herself."
Silence stretched between them.
Inside the mansion, laughter still echoed faintly. Cake was being cut without her.
Rhea swallowed hard, eyes burning. "I should've gone earlier. I should've checked my phone."
Zifa nodded. "Yeah."
"She thinks I'm slipping away," Rhea whispered. "Doesn't she?"
Zifa didn't lie. "She thinks she's already losing you."
Rhea's breath hitched.
For the first time that night, the weight of Ling's silence crushed down fully—the discipline, the control, the way she chose distance over chaos.
Rhea hugged her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the lights.
"I never meant to hurt her," she said, voice breaking. "I just wanted her to say something."
Zifa placed a hand on her shoulder. "You wanted reassurance."
Rhea nodded.
"And she wanted certainty," Zifa finished softly.
They stood there, the road empty, the night thick with what-ifs.
Somewhere across the city, a woman who loved in preparation and restraint was driving through the dark.
And here, a girl who loved in impulse and fire finally understood—
Silence didn't mean absence.
Sometimes it meant walking away before everything shattered.