Ling steps slowed by a fraction before resuming. She walked to the podium, placing her folder down with controlled precision.
Haris noticed her stare.
He swallowed.
His fingers tightened around his pen. He leaned toward Rhea, whispering nervously, "I—I think I should move."
He started to stand.
Rhea's hand shot out.
She grabbed his wrist.
Firm.
Unapologetic.
"No," she said clearly.
The word cut through the silence.
Haris froze halfway up, eyes wide. "Rhea—"
"Sit," she repeated, not even looking at him. Her gaze was forward now. Calm. Defiant.
Ling saw it all.
The grip.
The command.
The complete dismissal of her presence.
Ling's fingers curled slowly against the podium.
She inhaled once.
Deep. Controlled.
"Everyone seated," Ling said coolly. "This is not a marketplace."
Haris dropped back into his chair immediately, flustered, cheeks burning.
Rhea didn't move.
Ling's eyes flicked to her.
"Miss Nior," Ling said, voice even, sharp. "Is there a reason you're creating a disturbance?"
Rhea finally looked up.
Lazy. Unbothered.
"I stopped one," she replied. "Is that against the rules too?"
A murmur ran through the class.
Ling's gaze sharpened. "Keep your commentary to yourself."
Rhea tilted her head slightly. "Then maybe stop staring."
That did it.
The room went dead silent.
Ling stepped away from the podium slowly, heels clicking once—twice—until she stood beside Rhea's desk.
She looked down at Haris.
Cold. Measuring.
"You," Ling said.
Haris swallowed hard. "Y-yes, ma'am."
Ling nodded once. "You seem very comfortable."
Haris opened his mouth, panicked. "I—she—"
Rhea interrupted immediately. "He didn't do anything."
Ling's eyes snapped to her.
"And I didn't ask you," Ling said quietly.
Rhea leaned back in her chair. "You didn't need to. You already decided."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Stand up, Haris."
Haris obeyed instantly.
Ling looked at him. "Change seats. Now."
Rhea's hand tightened on Haris's wrist again.
"No," she said flatly.
Ling looked at Rhea slowly.
"You are testing me," Ling said, voice dangerously calm.
Rhea met her gaze without flinching. "No. I'm ignoring you."
A sharp inhale passed through Ling's nose.
The class didn't breathe.
"Fine," Ling said suddenly, stepping back. "Sit wherever you like."
Rhea's brows lifted slightly—surprised.
Ling turned back to the board. "But don't mistake my restraint for permission."
She began writing, marker striking hard against the board.
Haris slowly sat back down, shaken, whispering, "You didn't have to do that."
Rhea didn't look at him.
"Yes," she said under her breath. "I did."
At the front of the room, Ling continued the lecture flawlessly.
Her voice steady.
Her explanations precise.
But her jaw stayed tight the entire time.
And every few minutes—
Her eyes flicked back.
To Rhea.
To Haris.
To the space Rhea had chosen to protect.
Not because she cared.
But because she wanted Ling to feel it.
And Ling did.
Every second of it.
The lecture dragged on, heavy and tense.
Ling's voice remained smooth, controlled—too controlled. She moved through slides, with surgical precision.
Then she stopped.
Her gaze landed on Haris again.
"Mr. Haris," Ling said coolly. "Since you seem so engaged today, perhaps you can answer."
Haris straightened instantly. "Y-yes, ma'am."
Ling folded her arms. "Explain the mechanism of atrial remodeling in chronic ischemia. From memory."
A pause.
Haris blinked. His mouth opened—closed. His hands trembled slightly.
"I—I'm not sure I understand which part—"
Ling's eyes sharpened. "That wasn't the question."
The room went still.
Haris swallowed. "I… I didn't revise that section fully."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Ling tilted her head, faintly amused. "Interesting. You seem to have plenty of time for distractions."
Rhea's spine went rigid.
"That's not fair," Rhea said sharply, standing halfway. "You didn't ask anyone else—"
"Miss Nior," Ling snapped.
The word cracked like a whip.
Rhea froze.
"Sit. Down."
The authority in Ling's voice slammed into the room. Even the walls seemed to obey.
Rhea clenched her jaw but slowly sat, fists tight on her desk.
Ling turned back to Haris.
"Medical school is not a place for students who confuse attention with competence," Ling said coldly. "If you cannot prioritize, you will fail—not because of bias, but because you deserve it."
Haris's eyes burned.
He nodded quickly, throat tight. "I understand."
His voice cracked on the last word.
Ling didn't stop.
"You may find another seat," she said dismissively. "Preferably one that helps you remember why you're here."
Haris gathered his things in silence. His hands shook as he stood. His eyes shimmered, wet and humiliated, but he didn't look at anyone.
Especially not Rhea.
He walked to the back row and sat alone, head down.
The room felt wrong.
Rhea stood again, unable to stop herself. "That was unnecessary."
Ling turned slowly.
Her eyes met Rhea's.
Sharp. Dark. Commanding.
"I did not ask for your opinion," Ling said, voice raised now—cutting, absolute. "And if you speak again without permission, you will leave this class."
Rhea opened her mouth.
Ling raised her voice.
"Enough."
The word echoed.
Rhea stopped.
For the first time, she looked shaken—not scared, but hurt.
Ling turned back to the board as if nothing had happened.
The lecture resumed.
But something had broken.
Haris sat silent, shoulders hunched, eyes wet.
Rhea stared at Ling's back, chest tight, anger and guilt twisting together.
The lecture ended.
Chairs scraped softly. Students stood, gathering their things with careful movements, eyes down, voices hushed. No one wanted to be noticed now.
Ling closed her folder.
She turned to leave.
That's when Rhea moved.
She grabbed Ling's wrist—hard.
"What was the need?" Rhea demanded, voice low but shaking. "What did he do to deserve that?"
The room froze.
A few students pretended not to see. Most hurried out.
Ling stopped mid-step.
Slowly—deliberately—she turned back.
Her hand came up instantly, fingers wrapping around Rhea's wrist. Not gentle. Controlled, but too tight to ignore.
Rhea inhaled sharply.
Ling leaned in just enough for only Rhea to hear.
"Don't forget," Ling said quietly, dangerously calm, "I'm your professor, Miss Nior."
Her grip tightened a fraction more.
"Or I'll have to remind you," she continued, eyes dark, unblinking, "that I'm not blind."
Rhea's breath hitched.
"Blind to what?" she shot back, refusing to pull away. "To your jealousy? To the fact you were cruel for no reason?"
Ling's jaw flexed.
"Careful," Ling warned, voice dropping even lower. "You're already crossing a line."
Rhea stepped closer instead of backing away. Their faces were inches apart now.
"You crossed it first," Rhea said bitterly. "You humiliated him because of me."
Ling's eyes flickered.
Just once.
Then steel.
"You think this is about you?" Ling said coldly. "You overestimate your importance."
Rhea laughed sharply, hurt bleeding through the sound. "Then why were you staring the entire class?"
Ling released her wrist abruptly.
Rhea's hand fell back to her side, tingling.
Ling straightened, mask sliding back into place with surgical precision.
"Go," Ling said. "Before you say something you'll regret."
Rhea didn't move.
"Say it," Rhea challenged softly. "Say you didn't do it because I sat with him."
Silence.
Ling's eyes hardened.
"This conversation is over," Ling said. "You will address me properly, or you will leave."
Rhea's voice broke despite herself. "You didn't have to destroy him."
Ling's expression finally cracked—just barely.
"I don't destroy people," Ling said. "I expose weaknesses."
She stepped past Rhea, shoulder brushing hers on purpose.
"And if you don't like watching that," Ling added quietly as she walked away, "stop putting people in my line of sight."
Rhea stood there, chest tight, fists clenched.
Ling didn't look back.
But her steps were too fast.
And her hand—
the one that had held Rhea's wrist—
was trembling.
The mansion was warm that evening—lights low, the long dining table set with familiar precision. The kind of quiet that only existed with family.
Ling arrived already changed, coat gone, sleeves rolled just enough to look human again.
Dinner had started when she sat.
Dadi noticed immediately.
"Well," Dadi said, eyes twinkling over her glasses, "either someone finally learned how to breathe… or my granddaughter has been up to mischief."
Ling scoffed lightly. "You give yourself too much credit."
Dadi leaned closer. "Mm. No. That smile? That's not work. That's… trouble."
Rina snorted into her drink.
Ling shot Dadi a look. "You're imagining things."
Dadi tapped her spoon against her bowl. "Am I? Or did someone make my terrifying cardiologist forget how to scowl?"
Ling lifted her glass calmly. "I scowl professionally."
Dadi laughed. "Ah yes. A certified scowler."
Ling's lips curved despite herself. "You taught me."
Dadi gasped dramatically. "Excuse you. I taught you manners, not how to look at people like you're about to ruin their lives."
Victor hid a smile behind his napkin.
Eliza watched quietly, eyes soft but heavy.
Ling glanced at Dadi. "Careful. You're getting bold."
Dadi wagged a finger. "Careful? Me? You're the one who came home glowing like a teenager."
Ling rolled her eyes. "I'm glowing because I survived students."
Dadi leaned back, pleased. "Mm. And here I thought it was because someone likes it when you lose control."
Ling choked slightly on her drink.
Rina burst out laughing.
Ling shot Dadi a warning look. "Dadi."
Dadi smiled sweetly. "What? I didn't name anyone."
Ling composed herself quickly, clearing her throat. "Eat your food."
Dadi picked up her spoon obediently. "Yes, Professor Kwong."
Ling smirked.
Dadi smirked right back.
For a moment, the tension of the day softened—
replaced by warmth, teasing, and the fragile illusion that nothing dark was waiting beneath the surface.
But Eliza's hand tightened slowly around her fork.
And Dadi watched Ling a little too closely—
As if counting time.
Eliza set her fork down.
"Ling," she said quietly. "I want to talk to you."
Ling glanced up, still relaxed, still smiling faintly from Dadi's teasing. She nodded. "Alright."
Eliza took a breath. "It's about your marriage."
Ling laughed.
Not softly—genuinely amused, as if Eliza had told a joke that almost landed.
"Marriage?" Ling said, incredulous. "Mom, come on."
Eliza didn't smile.
The table went still.
"I'm not joking," Eliza said. "I'm serious. You have to marry."
Ling blinked once.
Then she laughed again—mocking this time.
"Wow," she said, standing up, pushing her chair back. "Who's the unlucky person who'll have to deal with me?"
She shook her head, already half turned away. "This isn't funny, Mom."
"Ling."
Eliza's voice sharpened.
Ling stopped but didn't turn back.
Eliza continued, calm now. Too calm.
"With Mira."
The name hit the room like a dropped plate.
Ling turned slowly.
Her smile was gone.