Ling sat straight.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Eliza watching.
The movie continued, dialogue filling the room, but something else thickened the air—unsaid words pressing close.
Finally, Eliza spoke.
"At least hug me once," she said quietly.
The room went still.
Ling's shoulders stiffened instinctively. She turned her head slowly to look at Eliza. Her mother stood there trying very hard to look composed, eyes shining too brightly.
Ling hesitated.
Then she stood.
She crossed the room in a few steps and stopped in front of Eliza. There was no anger on her face. No softness either. Just acceptance.
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother.
Eliza froze for half a second.
Then she broke.
Her arms came up tight, almost desperate, holding Ling far longer than necessary. Fingers clenched into the fabric of Ling's jacket like she was afraid of losing her again. Eliza's breath shuddered, then failed entirely as tears slipped free.
"I thought," Eliza whispered hoarsely, "I thought you were gone."
Ling closed her eyes.
"I wasn't." she said quietly.
Eliza cried harder, pressing her face against Ling's shoulder, holding her tighter, refusing to let go. Ling stayed still, allowing it, absorbing it without resistance.
No one spoke.
Rina looked away respectfully. Victor turned his gaze to the window. Zifa stared at the screen without seeing it.
After a long moment, Eliza pulled back slightly, wiping her face quickly like she was embarrassed to be seen that way.
"You don't have to disappear to be strong," she said, voice trembling.
Ling met her eyes. "I know."
They separated slowly.
Ling returned to the couch, sitting beside Dadi again. Dadi reached out immediately, patting Ling's thigh with approval.
"Good," Dadi said. "Family drama complete. Now watch the movie."
Ling smirked. "You're enjoying this too much."
Dadi smiled back, victorious.
The television played on. The mansion settled into shared silence—not empty, not tense.
Just together.
Night settled heavily over the Nior mansion.
Roin stood alone near the tall window of the guest wing, phone pressed to his ear, lights kept deliberately low.
Outside, the garden lamps cast long shadows across trimmed hedges and stone paths—everything orderly, controlled, expensive.
The kind of place where nothing ever looked out of place.
Inside him, nothing was aligned.
The call had come without warning.
He hadn't expected tonight.
"Did you complete what I told you to do?" his father's voice cut through the line, sharp and impatient. No greeting. No warmth.
Roin shifted his weight slightly. "I'm working on it," he replied carefully. "You need to stay calm."
A scoff came through the phone. "Calm? I gave you one task."
"I said I'm handling it," Roin repeated, jaw tightening. "Things take time."
"Time?" His father laughed once, humorless. "I didn't send you there to take time."
Roin turned away from the window, pacing slowly across the room. "You can't rush people. Especially her."
There was a pause. Dangerous. Loaded.
"Her," his father echoed coldly.
Roin stopped.
"You think I don't hear things?" his father continued. "You think I don't notice the way you talk now?"
"This isn't—"
"I told you one work," his father snapped, voice rising. "One. Get close. Stay close. Keep her dependent. Gain her trust."
Roin swallowed. "I am close."
"And instead," his father cut in sharply, "you fell in love with her daughter."
The words landed like a slap.
Roin's fingers tightened around the phone. "That's not—"
"Don't insult me," his father said. "You've gone soft."
Silence stretched between them.
"She doesn't trust easily," Roin said finally, quieter now. "If I push too hard, she'll shut me out completely."
"That was not the plan," his father replied. "You were supposed to control the situation, not get emotionally involved."
Roin exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. "You don't understand."
"I don't need to," his father said flatly. "I need results."
Roin's gaze flicked to the door instinctively, as if Rhea might be standing on the other side. She wasn't. She never came here at night. She never came looking for him at all.
"Rhea is attached to her. She's not a tool," Roin said, voice hardening despite himself.
There it was.
A sharp inhale on the other end of the line.
"So you admit it," his father said. "You forgot why you're there."
"I didn't forget," Roin replied quickly. "I just—adjusted."
"Adjusted?" his father repeated incredulously. "You're there to weaken her. To make sure she stays exactly where she belongs."
"You're protecting her because of her daughter," his father said with sudden clarity. "That wasn't part of the deal."
Roin closed his eyes briefly. "I'm protecting the plan."
"You're lying," his father said calmly. "To me. To yourself."
Roin's voice dropped. "Give me more time."
"You've already wasted enough," his father replied. "You were sent to observe. To influence. Not to fall in love."
"I didn't plan this," Roin said through clenched teeth.
"Neither did I," his father shot back. "And yet here we are."
Another pause.
"You're forgetting your place," his father continued. "And hers."
Roin's knuckles went white.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then his father spoke, slow and deliberate. "Remember who gave you everything you have."
Roin's throat tightened. "I remember."
"Good," his father said. "Then remember what you owe."
The line went dead.
Roin lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen. His reflection stared back at him from the glass—eyes tense, expression fractured, nothing like the calm mask he wore during the day.
He exhaled shakily and pressed his forehead against the window.
Outside, the mansion slept.
Inside, Roin stood caught between instruction and obsession, between loyalty and something dangerously close to want.
He straightened after a moment, composure sliding back into place piece by piece.
"I'm working," he muttered to the empty room.
Whether he meant the plan—
Or Rhea—
He didn't know anymore.