Rhea blinked. "Of course."
Dadi gestured toward the dance floor and Ling Kwong.
"There's someone who dances terribly," Dadi said, eyes glinting. "He needs saving."
Rhea followed her gaze.
Their eyes met.
Time fractured.
Ling's breath caught so hard it hurt. He tried not to look.
Rhea's smile faded into something quieter. Something unreadable.
Before either of them could retreat, Dadi took Rhea's hand firmly and pulled her toward Ling's.
Warm. Real. Dangerous.
The music shifted... slower, heavier.
Suddenly, Rhea Noir was in Ling Kwong's arms.
Ling's hand settled at Rhea's waist instinctively, fingers brushing bare skin, the faint chill of the waist chain beneath his touch. Rhea's other hand rested lightly on Ling's shoulder, close enough that Ling could feel her breath.
The world blurred.
Ling forgot how to move.
Rhea looked up at him, eyes steady. "You're supposed to lead."
Ling swallowed, voice low. "I don't usually follow plans."
Rhea's lips curved. "Neither do I."
They moved slow at first, careful, bodies adjusting, finding rhythm that felt far too natural. Ling's grip tightened just a fraction, protective, possessive before he could stop himself.
Around them, whispers started.
Mira watched from the edge of the floor, face pale, smile breaking at the seams.
Eliza stiffened, eyes narrowing, not angry, not approving. Measuring.
Victor looked unsettled.
Dadi leaned on her cane, satisfied. "Ah," she murmured. "There it is."
Ling lowered his head slightly, forehead almost touching Rhea's. His voice came out rough, barely there.
"This is your fault."
Rhea smiled, soft, dangerous. "You wanted this."
Ling didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
Because in that moment, under lights worth billions, in a room he owned, Ling Kwong had surrendered something priceless.
And he hadn't even realized he'd asked permission.
The music didn't stop.
It deepened, slower now, heavier, curling around them like a held breath.
Ling's hand tightened at Rhea's waist without permission. Pulled her closer. Too close. Rhea's body fit against his with an ease that unsettled him, like this space had been waiting.
Ling closed his eyes.
A mistake.
His breath went uneven, chest rising too fast. The faint scent of Rhea, warm, intoxicating, blurred the room, the lights, the watching eyes.
For a moment, Ling forgot where he was.
Forgot who he was supposed to be.
"I..." Ling murmured, voice low, unguarded. "You shouldn't look like that, too breathtaking."
The words slipped out before discipline could catch them.
Silence bloomed between beats.
Ling froze.
His eyes snapped open wide, alarmed, as if he'd just stepped off a cliff.
What did I just say? he thought
Rhea blinked once. Twice.
Then she smiled.
Slow. Wicked. Knowing.
"Like what?" Rhea asked lightly, tilting her head just enough to be cruel. "Like you don't know how to breathe?"
Ling's jaw clenched. He loosened his grip just a fraction, regaining control inch by inch. "Don't flatter yourself."
Rhea leaned in anyway, close enough that only Ling could hear her.
"Oh, I'm not..." she whispered. "You're doing that all on your own."
Ling's throat bobbed.
Around them, the party blurred into noise again, music, laughter, glittering lights, but the space between them sharpened, dangerous and intimate.
Rhea's hand rested calmly on Ling's shoulder, pulse steady, eyes locked onto his.
"You pulled me closer," she said softly. "Then you closed your eyes."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line. "You talk too much."
Rhea smiled wider. "And you say things you try to hide."
The song ended.
The moment didn't.
Ling stepped back abruptly, mask snapping into place, spine straight, expression cold once more.
"Dance over," he said flatly.
Rhea inclined her head, perfectly composed. "For now."
She turned away, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
Ling stood there for a second longer than necessary, heart racing, breath still unsteady.
Across the room, Dadi watched with quiet satisfaction.
Rhea walked away from the music without looking back.
The party noise dulled as she reached the private elevator corridor, marble floors, muted lights, silence thick enough to think in. She pressed the button once.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
She exhaled slowly, irritation flickering across her face. Typical.
Behind a decorative pillar, Mira watched.
Her expression was calm. Too calm.
She pulled out her phone.
"Jian," she said quietly.
"Yes, Mira?"
"The upstairs elevator isn't opening," Mira said, eyes fixed on Rhea's back. "Tell her to use the downstairs one."
Jian hesitated. "Mira... the service elevator? It's not working properly. It might be..."
"Don't ask questions," Mira cut in softly. "Just do what I said."
A beat.
"...Alright," Jian replied.
Mira ended the call, smoothing her dress, her lips curving into something that almost looked like concern but wasn't.
Jian approached Rhea moments later, respectful, neutral. "The main elevator is under maintenance. Use the downstairs one."
Rhea glanced back once, briefly toward the party, toward Ling's presence he could still feel even at this distance.
"Fine," she said, already moving.
She didn't see Mira step back into the shadows.
Didn't hear the faint exhale Mira released, slow, deliberate.
Rhea descended the stairs toward the lower level, heels echoing softly, unaware that her path had been adjusted, not obstructed.
Above, the party continued, music rising, lights glittering, laughter masking intent.
But Ling noticed absence before panic.
It came as a wrongness, subtle, irritating, like a note out of tune.
His eyes scanned the room again.
Rhea wasn't near the bar.
Not with Zifa.
Not anywhere the light touched.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"She wouldn't leave without making noise," Ling muttered to himself.
He moved toward the private elevators upstairs, irritation sharpening his steps. She hates basements, Ling thought absently. She wouldn't take the lower ones.
The upper elevator corridor was empty.
Too empty.
Ling pressed the button once.
Nothing.
He frowned, checking his watch, then turned sharply and headed back.
Below...
The elevator jolted.
Just once.
Then stopped.
Rhea staggered forward, palm slamming against the wall. The lights flickered, dimmed, steadied again, too weak, too enclosed.
"Seriously?" she muttered, pressing the emergency button.
No response.
She checked her phone.
No signal.
The space felt like it shrank an inch.
Then another.
Her breathing hitched before she could stop it.
No.
She closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself upright. She'd been in worse situations. She had control. She always did.
But the walls were too close.
The ceiling too low.
The air wrong.
Her chest tightened sharply, breath coming shallow now. She swallowed hard, throat dry, pulse hammering loud enough to feel in her ears.
"Calm down," she whispered to herself. "It's just an elevator."
The silence answered back.
Her palms grew damp. She pressed one against the wall, grounding herself, cold marble, smooth, real.
But the thought crept in anyway.
Trapped.
Her breath stuttered.
She slid down slowly, back against the wall, knees drawn in just slightly, pride still holding her posture rigid even as panic clawed up her spine.
"Don't," she told herself fiercely. "Don't do this. Fk Rhea, get over this."
Her vision blurred at the edges.
She focused on counting breaths, one, two
The elevator hummed, then went dead quiet.
Rhea's heart slammed harder.
Above...
Ling.
His irritation turned sharp, then cold.
"Where is she," Ling asked a passing staff member.
The man hesitated. "Miss Noir was advised to take the service elevator, ma'am."
Ling froze.
"...Advised by who?"
The man swallowed. "Mr. Jian. On instructions."
Ling's eyes darkened.
He turned, already moving, phone out, voice clipped and lethal.
"Shut the music. Check every elevator. Now."
Something cold coiled in his chest.
Because Ling Kwong didn't lose people in his house.
And the silence where Rhea Noir should have been
felt suddenly, terrifyingly loud.