Rhea didn't ask questions.
She grabbed her keys, left the university without looking back, her mind already racing ahead, calculating hospitals, doctors, consequences. The drive home was reckless, fast, silent.
Too fast.
When she pushed open the mansion doors, breath tight
"Mom?" Her voice cut through the hall, sharp, demanding.
Then
"Ninna."
A small sound. Soft. Uncertain.
Rhea froze.
A one-year-old girl toddled toward her, chubby hands outstretched, dark curls bouncing, eyes impossibly familiar.
Before Rhea's mind could catch up, the child was lifted into her arms, tiny fingers clutching her collar like an anchor.
Behind her came a calm, warm voice.
"You still run like the world is ending."
Rhea turned.
Shyra Noir stood there, taller than Rhea remembered, softer than Kane, dressed in pastel instead of armor.
No malice. No calculation.
Just tired eyes and a smile that carried years of patience.
"You..." Rhea swallowed. "You weren't supposed to..."
"Surprise," Shyra said gently. "My husband's going abroad for a few weeks. I thought I'd stay here. With Amaya. With Mom."
She stood holding a tiny bundle against her shoulder. The child blinked wide eyes, chubby fingers clutching Shyra's necklace.
Rhea's anger flared instantly.
"What is this?" she snapped. "Where's Mother?"
Shyra smiled.
Not sharp. Not triumphant.
Guilty.
"She's fine," Shyra said gently. "Drinking tea. Very dramatic about it, actually."
Rhea's jaw tightened. "You lied."
"I surprised you," Shyra corrected softly.
Before Rhea could retort, the baby shifted, making a small sound, half breath, half babble.
"Nn… na."
Rhea froze.
Her eyes dropped instantly.
The baby's face lit up.
"Ninna," the child tried again, clapping her hands awkwardly.
Something in Rhea broke quietly, privately.
She crossed the room in two steps and took the baby into her arms without asking. The child nestled against her chest like she belonged there, fingers tangling in Rhea's hair.
"Hey," Rhea murmured, voice changing unconsciously. "Hey, little menace."
The baby laughed.
Shyra watched them, eyes soft.
"She missed you," Shyra said. "I told her Ninna was busy conquering the world."
Rhea snorted quietly. "Sounds about right."
They sat.
The mansion felt different with Shyra in it, lighter, warmer, intrusive in a way Rhea didn't know how to reject.
"You look tired," Shyra said after a moment. "Angry too."
Rhea didn't answer.
Shyra continued anyway, voice calm, patient, the way it had always been.
"You don't have to be sharp all the time, Rhea," she said. "Being strong doesn't mean cutting everyone."
Rhea stiffened.
"You didn't come here to lecture me," she said.
Shyra smiled sadly. "I came because I missed you. And because Mother worries. And because..." she hesitated, "...you're becoming someone you don't have to be."
Rhea looked down at the baby, who was chewing on her finger now, completely trusting.
"I don't need fixing," she said.
Shyra didn't argue.
She only said, "Just… don't let your anger be the only thing that stays."
Shyra stepped closer, touching Rhea's arm. "You look… sharp. Like you're cutting yourself from the inside."
Rhea pulled away, instinctively shielding Amaya against her chest. The child giggled, pressed her face into Rhea's neck, murmuring nonsense that sounded like devotion.
"Ninna," she babbled again.
Rhea's jaw tightened. This... this was the only place she softened. The only creature she didn't weaponize herself against.
Shyra noticed.
"You scare people on purpose," Shyra said quietly. "But you don't scare her. Ever wonder why?"
Rhea looked away. "I don't need a lecture."
"I'm not Kane," Shyra replied, still calm. "And I'm not here for revenge."
At that word, Rhea's spine stiffened.
"I know what Mom wants," Shyra continued. "And I know who she wants you to become. But hate is loud, Rhea. It exhausts you before it destroys anyone else."
Kane appeared from the corridor, very much alive, very much watching Rhea's face fracture.
Kane's gaze sharpened. "Careful, Shyra."
Shyra didn't flinch. "She's my sister."
Rhea's grip on Amaya tightened just a fraction.
"You don't understand," Rhea said flatly. "You never did."
"Maybe," Shyra admitted. "But I understand this..." She gestured to the child in Rhea's arms. "You're not cruel by nature. You're just loyal to the wrong pain."
Silence fell heavy.
Amaya yawned, resting her head on Rhea's shoulder, trusting, unafraid.
Rhea closed her eyes for a second, only a second, then opened them, steel back in place.
"Don't interfere," she said to Shyra. "Stay sweet. Stay blind. This isn't your war."
Rhea handed the baby back reluctantly.
The child whimpered, reaching for her. "Ni… na."
Rhea paused.
Her chest tightened.
"I'm not throwing you from this mansion," Rhea said finally, not meeting Shyra's eyes, but Amaya's. "Just because of her."
Shyra smiled. "That's enough."
Shyra watched her go, heart heavy.
Kane smiled faintly.
Rhea walked away before softness could trap her.
But as she reached the stairs, one thought followed her, unwanted, persistent:
At the university, rage had made her reckless.
Here, love made her vulnerable.
And somewhere between those two worlds stood Ling Kwong, a problem Rhea hadn't planned for, and a weakness she hadn't named.
>>>>>>>>>>
The Kwong mansion was loud in a way money could never silence.
Ling had barely stepped inside when chaos greeted him.
"Ah... there he is," Dadi announced from her throne-like chair, eyes sharp, lips already curved with mischief. "Mr. Universe himself."
Before Ling could even drop his bag, Rina leaned against the railing, grinning like a menace.
"Late again," she sang. "Must be exhausting being feared by an entire university."
Ling scoffed. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, cousin."
"Oh I'm not jealous," Rina replied sweetly. "I'm entertained."
Eliza Kwong adjusted her silk shawl, chin lifted, pride woven into every movement.
"He looks fine," she said coolly. "Strong posture. Confident walk. That's my son."
Victor cleared his throat once. Then twice.
"Eliza," he said, voice firm, fatherly. "Confidence is good. But controlling oth..."
Before he could finish, Dadi's cane tapped sharply against the marble floor.
"Controlling and manners?" she snapped. "From you?"
She turned her glare on her son. "You raised him to survive sharks, not sip tea. Don't pretend now."
Rina burst out laughing.
Ling, who had been pretending to check his phone, laughed too, soft, unguarded, real.
Victor saw it.
And for a split second, his stern face cracked.
He loved that sound, laughter of his pride, his son. Loved it more than success reports, more than headlines with their last name printed in gold.
But he straightened instantly.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, forcing seriousness back into his voice.
Ling blinked. "No. No, I'm not."
Dadi leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Oh, you are smiling," she said triumphantly. "And don't worry, I'll deal with this rude father of yours for making you laugh."
Rina clutched her stomach. "Deal with Uncle? Dadi, please..."
"Silence," Dadi said grandly, lifting her cane again. "I raised warriors, not clowns."
That did it.
Rina exploded into laughter, Eliza smirked behind her composure, and even Victor failed, his lips twitching despite his effort to remain the patriarch.
Dadi leaned back, satisfied, like a queen who had just won a small war. Then her eyes slid to Victor.
"Oh, Victor," she said sweetly, far too sweet. "Remember when you were sixteen and tried to run away because I told you to study economics instead of poetry?"
Ling's head snapped up. "Poetry?"
Rina gasped dramatically. "Father? Romantic?"
Victor stiffened. "That is ancient history."
Dadi waved her hand. "Ancient but unforgettable. He packed a bag, climbed the gate, and fell straight into the neighbor's rose bushes."
Ling burst out laughing. "So that's where my clumsiness comes from."
Victor shot him a warning look. "Careful."
Ling crossed his arms, smirk playing on his lips. "What? You started it."
Victor straightened, eyes narrowing with mock threat. "If we're sharing stories, I have plenty about you."
Dadi hummed. "Oh, this I want to hear."
Victor turned to Ling. "Should I tell them how you cried for three hours because your shoes didn't 'respect you'?"
Ling rolled his eyes hard. "I was five."
Rina clapped. "Iconic behavior, honestly."
"And," Victor continued calmly, "how you refused to eat unless the spoon was silver."
"That was taste," Ling shot back. "Inherited."
Eliza hid a smile behind her cup.
Rina leaned forward suddenly, eyes glittering with mischief. "Speaking of people who don't respect you…"
Ling froze. Just a fraction. Enough.
Rina noticed.
"…that girl," Rina said lightly. "The one who makes your heart do gymnastics."