Rhea stood just outside the mansion, night air brushing her bare legs, heart still racing from everything Zifa had said.
"Don't go," Rhea said suddenly, gripping Zifa's wrist. "I'm just changing. I'll come."
Zifa looked at her for a second—really looked—then nodded once. "Fast."
They went back inside.
Rhea didn't waste a second. She moved through the hallway quickly, almost running up the stairs, her mind loud and chaotic. Ling's face kept flashing in front of her eyes—angry, hurt, controlled to the point of breaking.
She shut her bedroom door and stripped out of the loose mid-thigh shirt without thinking, hands shaking slightly. This time she chose deliberately.
Jeans.
A simple top.
Closed. Covered. Safe.
She changed fast, fingers clumsy, breath uneven, as if speed alone could undo what had already happened. When she tied her hair back, her reflection caught her eye—eyes red, lips pressed tight, jaw set in stubborn frustration and regret.
"I'm coming," she muttered to herself. "I am."
She stepped back into the hall with Zifa, already moving toward the stairs.
They didn't make it far.
Kane's voice stopped them—calm, measured, carrying authority without raising volume.
"Where are you going?"
Rhea stiffened slightly. "Out. With friends."
Kane turned fully now, gaze sharp, assessing. She took in Rhea's changed clothes, the urgency, the tension still clinging to her daughter like static.
"At this hour?" Kane asked coolly.
Zifa smiled easily, stepping in before Rhea could snap. "Just a small friends' party, aunty. For Rhea's birthday."
Kane studied Zifa for a long moment, then shifted her gaze back to Rhea.
"You'll take Roin," Kane said matter-of-factly.
Rhea blinked. "What?"
"I'll be less worried," Kane continued, tone final. "It's late. He's reliable."
The word felt like a slap.
Rhea's chest tightened. "Mom, I—"
Zifa cut in smoothly, before things could escalate. "Okay," she said lightly. "That's fine."
Rhea turned to her sharply. "Zifa—"
Zifa leaned in just enough to whisper, "Don't fight this now."
Kane nodded once, satisfied. "I'll tell him."
Rhea stood there, fists clenched at her sides, anger and helplessness tangling painfully in her chest. She wasn't a child—but tonight, she was being handled like one.
She had changed clothes to protect something.
And still, the condition came attached.
As they walked toward the door again, Rhea's jaw tightened, eyes burning with frustration.
She didn't want Roin beside her.
She wanted the woman who had driven away bleeding, breaking, loving too hard and too silently.
But permission had been given.
And it hadn't been given freely.
Outside, the night waited—
unaware that every step Rhea took away from the mansion felt like one more step away from fixing what was already slipping through her fingers.
They reached the place.
The moment Rhea stepped inside, everything inside her stilled—and then shattered.
The apartment was glowing.
Not loudly. Not messily.
Soft golden lights wrapped around the space like intent. Candles lined the edges of the room in perfect symmetry. White and red balloons floated near the ceiling, restrained, elegant. Fresh flowers—her favorites—were arranged everywhere, not decorative but deliberate, like someone had memorized her preferences and translated them into space.
There was a cake.
Massive. Tastefully extravagant. Her name written in careful script.
Rhea.
Her breath caught painfully.
"She did all this," Zifa murmured under her breath.
Rhea didn't reply.
She walked forward slowly, like she was afraid the illusion would disappear if she moved too fast. Her fingers brushed a ribbon. Real. Cold glass under her palm. Music hummed faintly in the background—something Ling had once said reminded her of Rhea's laugh.
Her chest tightened.
"Ling?" Rhea called out instinctively.
No answer.
The room stayed quiet. Too quiet.
Rhea turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning corners, hallway, bedroom door. Nothing. No Ling leaning against a wall. No teasing smirk. No low voice saying you're late.
"She should be here," Rhea said, confusion creeping into her voice. "She wouldn't just—"
Zifa was already pulling her phone out. "I'll call."
Call after call went unanswered.
Rhea tried next.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
Her irritation from earlier evaporated completely, replaced by something colder, sharper.
Worry.
"She always answers," Rhea said quietly, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. "Even when she's angry."
Zifa looked around again, more carefully this time. The servants gone. The squad nowhere in sight.
"This was finished hours ago," Zifa said slowly. "She planned this in advance."
Rhea's stomach dropped.
She walked toward the balcony and pushed the glass door open. Cool air rushed in, lifting the hem of her jacket. The city spread below them—beautiful, indifferent.
"Ling," Rhea whispered, this time not calling out but pleading into the night.
Her phone vibrated suddenly.
She jolted, hope flashing—
It wasn't Ling.
Rhea's fingers trembled now. She pressed her palm to her chest, breathing uneven.
"I didn't mean all that." she asked, voice breaking despite herself.
Zifa didn't answer immediately.
Rhea's eyes burned. "She thought I chose him."
"She thought she was already too late," Zifa replied softly.
Rhea shook her head, panic rising fast now. "No—she wouldn't just disappear. She's not like that."
Zifa met her eyes. "She is when she thinks she's lost."
Rhea grabbed her phone again, typing rapidly.
Rhea:Where are you?
Rhea:Please answer.
Rhea:I'm here. I came.
Rhea:Ling, stop.
No response.
Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling into fists. Tears welled up, this time unstoppable.
"This isn't fair," Rhea whispered, voice cracking. "She always leaves without letting me explain."
"And you always assume she'll come back," Zifa said gently.
Rhea sank onto the couch slowly, staring at the decorations she hadn't seen being made, at the love she hadn't shown up in time to receive.
The cake candles flickered softly, still unlit.
For the first time that night, Rhea felt something shift completely inside her.
Not anger.
Not pride.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because the room proved one terrifying truth—
Ling hadn't stopped loving her.
Ling had simply walked away believing she wasn't wanted.
Rhea covered her face with her hands, tears slipping through her fingers.
"Zifa," she whispered shakily. "What if she doesn't come back this time?"
Zifa didn't sugarcoat it.
"She might not," she said quietly. "Not unless you go to her."
Rhea looked up sharply, eyes wet and wide.
"Where?" she asked.
Zifa hesitated, then answered honestly.
"When Ling disappears like this… she goes where no one can reach her."
The lights continued to glow.
The cake waited.
And somewhere beyond the city, a woman who had built all of this with obsessive devotion was alone—breaking quietly, convinced the celebration had already ended.
While Rhea sat in the proof of love she hadn't answered in time, realizing too late:
This wasn't a misunderstanding anymore.
It was a race against distance.