Amy returned from Shanghai. The news barely registered with the company — except for two people:
Sandra and Glenda.
They bulldozed past everyone in their path, dashing dramatically toward the studio. Huffing and puffing in the doorway, they both peeked in, scanning for a glimpse of her.
Amy spotted them and rushed over. "Glenda! Did you come to see me?" she said, voice thick with emotion, pulling her into a hug.
Sandra stood off to the side, watching the rumored couple with narrowed eyes — completely ignored. Amy gave her a small wave from a distance.
"Hi—" Before she could even finish, Glenda was already pulled away. Figures. "As if I care," she muttered, walking over to Greg.
"Hey — how was the Shanghai shoot? Shouldn't you be reporting progress to me?" Sandra said, slapping his back.
Greg side-eyed her. "Treat me to dinner first. Otherwise, no report for you, old woman." He said it in Glenda's exact tone.
Sandra was too stunned to respond — getting roasted by her own employee stung more than she expected. Her mouth opened, then closed, the comeback dying before it formed.
"Why does every single one of my employees act like Glenda Linohour's offspring?" she muttered.
She glanced toward the so-called couple. "Glenda, you promised me dinner — at the airport, remember?" Amy said, clinging to Glenda's arm. Sandra's expression soured, eyeing them like a detective sizing up suspects.
"Ah, so that's where this 'dinner' thing came from," she muttered. Glenda glanced over, confused, caught in the middle of the chaos. Sandra shot her a look and stormed off dramatically.
Tristian: Where are you?
Sandra: At the company.
Tristian: If you're free, come by the café. Kidlathea's waiting for you.
Sandra: Kidlathea?
Sandra: I'm coming right away!
Tristian: You never come this fast for me. (—_—)
Sandra: Same goes for you.
Tristian: As if I care.
Sandra chuckled, slipping her phone into her pocket.
Sandra pulled up outside his café. The bell rang softly as she walked in, announcing her arrival. Tristian glanced over from the counter, then quickly looked away the moment she caught his eye.
She rushed over, playing it up. "You dare ignore me?" He glanced at her and rolled his eyes again, harder. Sandra's jaw dropped, and she smacked his back.
"— Hey."
"Yes?" he replied flatly.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked sweetly, leaning her face right in front of his. He kept his eyes elsewhere. "What do you want?"
"I'm sorry." She wrapped her arms around him from behind, closing the small gap left between them, chin resting on his shoulder. "Please forgive me, handsome," she pleaded.
He glanced sideways. "Don't even try — I'm not falling for your little—" Sandra planted a quick kiss on his cheek. He froze, too stunned to speak, staring at her wide-eyed.
"...What was that?" he said, voice low.
"I didn't know any other way to apologize, Tristian," she said, tense. "But it was just... a friendly thing. That's all."
Tristian held her gaze, searching for something — anything — to settle the doubt creeping in. Her arms slowly slid away from him as she turned to face him fully. His hands landed on her shoulders, gently pushing her back.
"Table four," he said. Sandra's brows lifted, confused. "Kidlathea. She's at table four. And... she's watching us."
She glanced over his shoulder and found Kidlathea staring straight at them. Sandra blinked, turning away fast, embarrassment crawling through her like a fever.
"Ki— Kidlathea." Sandra said quietly, sitting across from her. She kept her eyes down, fixed on Ulan instead of Kidlathea's face. "Sorry you had to see that. Please don't read too much into it — that's just how I am with people I'm close with."
Kidlathea nodded, stroking Ulan's fur. "I see. Did you... find the ring? I looked everywhere and couldn't find it."
Sandra's hand tightened around her sweater pocket — the ring sat heavy against her palm, heavier against her heart.
"Yeah. I found it." The words came out casual. Kidlathea's whole face lit up.
Kidlathea smiled at her — but Sandra's stomach dropped the second she noticed the darkening bruise along her forehead and neck. Her hands trembled as she set the ring down on the table.
Guilt closed around Sandra's throat.
"Ha~ What a relief~ Thank you, Sandra."
Sandra dropped her gaze. Kidlathea slipped the ring on, admiring it, smiling — back to the person Sandra usually knew. But the guilt wouldn't let go.
"What happened to your forehead? Did someone hit you?"
"Oh— no, I just slipped on the stairs chasing after Ulan." The excuse didn't match the bruise at all. Ulan looked up at Sandra and leapt into her arms. She stroked his fur, pressing a kiss to his head.
"Ulan's a well-behaved cat. He doesn't run off unless something scares him."
"You sound like you know him pretty well," Kidlathea said. Something tightened in Sandra's chest as she kept petting him.
Her heart sat heavy with everything she'd been carrying. She wanted to tell her — everything — but her throat closed every time.
"Your boyfriend got him from the pet store I used to work at," Sandra lied. Then, quieter: "Did your boyfriend hit you, Kidlathea?" Her grip on Ulan tightened.
Kidlathea hesitated, thumbs fidgeting, eyes drifting away. Sandra caught every flicker of it — and did nothing but watch, letting her struggle through it alone.
Sandra had expected the silence. She slid a business card across the table. Kidlathea looked at it, confused.
"If you ever feel trapped over in Bugis, you can come by Orchard — the Silvanus residence." Sandra said, "Think of it as a second safe place. Just in case."
"Why would I need a second place, Sandra?" Kidlathea asked, fingers lingering on the card.
"This isn't your home country — you only really know the route to your boyfriend's place. If you ever get lost, or just need somewhere else to go, that address is on the back. It's safe, Kidlathea."
Kidlathea stared at her, something unreadable in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, swallowing down whatever she couldn't say.
"...Can I trust you?" she whispered.
Sandra hesitated, but held steady. "You can. I won't hurt you, Kidlathea."
She handed Ulan back and stood — only to find his paw gripping her shirt, like he was begging her to stay. Her heart cracked, but she gently pried his paw loose, settling him closer against Kidlathea instead.
*I wish too, Ulan. But I need her to come to me on her own. Please — wait a little longer.*
Her mind screamed; her face stayed silent. Sandra didn't linger. She'd seen enough, heard enough — and done nothing.
A hopeless feeling settled in — she couldn't protect the one person she'd promised to. Couldn't say the truth, couldn't even get it past her throat. Everything inside her groaned under the weight of what she'd locked away.
The walk home stretched longer than it should have, heavier with every step. Her eyes stayed on the ground, dim, unfocused.
Then — "Wait." A faint voice, from behind. She turned, slow.
A woman. Tall, dressed entirely in black, a hat held loosely in one hand. Her face was half-swallowed by shadow, lit only by the dim flicker of a broken streetlight.
"Who are you?" Sandra whispered, tension coiling through her, fingers tightening around her phone.
"You don't recognize me?" the woman replied — calm. Familiar.
•••
"Okay, let's get started." Glenda clapped her hands, snapping everyone to attention. "Greg, set up the scene first, then bring the model in." He nodded and got to it.
Her gaze swept from Greg to the makeup artists to the models, covering nearly the whole studio — until it landed on something missing.
"Where's Sandra?" The question hung in the air while her eyes kept searching, scanning every lazy corner of the room. No sign of her.
"Has anyone seen Sandra?" she called out.
Greg glanced over. "Not since this morning."
"You guys?" She turned to the makeup artists. They exchanged glances and shrugged. "Us either."
The answers piled up in her mind, gnawing at her focus. She sat down at the computer, flipping through earlier shots, then pulled out her phone, scrolling to their last messages.
Glenda: Hey, Joker. Where are you?
She hoped for an instant reply. Hoped Sandra was just asleep in bed. Hoped she was off being an idiot somewhere, wasting time in a park.
"Amy, squat down, hands on your knees, chin resting on them." Greg directed. Amy followed. "Good," he said.
The shoot went on. Faces drifted in and out of the room — people from meetings, from other departments — while Glenda sat there, watching every one of them, hoping for one particular face to walk through.
But Sandra never came. Glenda lost track of time entirely — she couldn't say when minutes had turned into hours.
"Should we get dinner together?" Amy asked, picking up Glenda's phone to check the time. Or maybe her eyes had simply caught on the wallpaper — a photo of Sandra and Glenda at a bar.
Glenda noticed, taking the phone back quickly. "...Yeah, sure." Hesitation lingered in her voice.
"You should've changed that."
"...what?"
"The wallpaper," Amy said. "I didn't like it, Glenda." She finished with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Something twisted in Glenda's stomach — tight, airless. Almost like suffocation.
Glenda blinked. "We should head out." She walked ahead, ignoring the dinner suggestion entirely. Amy watched her go, fingers tightening around the phone. "...Indeed," she whispered.
The car ride was silent — neutral, almost too still. Neither of them spoke. Glenda's mind was entirely on Sandra. Amy, meanwhile, was unusually quiet — no arguing, no demands. Just quiet.
Glenda noticed it — the strangeness, the flatness in Amy's mood — but pushed it aside. She pulled up outside Tristian's café. It was closed. Which made even less sense.
"What the hell is going on?" Glenda muttered, eyes drifting over the shuttered café. Amy glanced over. "What's wrong? You okay?"
Glenda shook her head. "Nothing. Let's just go to the restaurant."
•••