University > Economics Lecture Hall
The classroom wasn't a classroom anymore.
It was a court.
Ling Kwong sat on the professor's chair like it belonged to him because it did. One boot rested on the edge of the table, the other planted firmly on the floor, posture loose, predatory.
His blazer was open, sleeves pushed back, jaw tight with barely leashed rage.
The professor stood silently near the board, pretending to check notes.
No one spoke unless Ling allowed it.
"God," Ling drawled, tapping his fingers against the armrest, "this batch gets uglier every year."
A ripple of nervous laughter followed.
Rina lounged on a desk beside him, legs swinging, grin sharp. "Maybe intelligence is hereditary," she added sweetly. "And some people were adopted."
The class laughed louder now forced, desperate.
Jian and Rowen leaned against the back wall like guards. Mira sat close to Ling's side, laughing a second too loudly, eyes glued to his face, trying to reclaim space that was already slipping from her.
Ling smirked, eyes scanning the room like a ruler counting subjects.
"Close the doors," he said suddenly.
Rowen moved instantly, bolting them shut.
A lock clicked.
The sound landed heavy.
Ling leaned back, crossing his arms. "Attendance."
The professor swallowed. "Miss Noir is..."
"Late," Ling finished coolly.
His eyes flicked to the door.
Of course she was.
Ling's mouth curved not amused. Anticipating.
"You know," Ling said lazily, "there's something fascinating about people who think they can arrive when they want."
He stood.
The chair screeched loudly as he rose, boots hitting the floor with deliberate force. He walked slowly between the rows, fingers brushing desks, eyes cutting into people who refused to meet his gaze.
"They mistake patience for permission."
Rina laughed. Mira joined in, sharp and brittle.
Ling stopped near the front.
"Anyone else late today?" he asked.
No one breathed.
"Good," Ling said softly. "Then let's wait."
The room held its breath.
Minutes passed.
Then...
A knock.
Once.
Twice.
Ling's eyes lifted, dark and alert.
He smiled.
"Don't open it," he said calmly.
Rina glanced at him, startled. "Ling..."
"I said," Ling repeated, voice dropping into steel, "don't open it."
Another knock. Firmer this time.
From outside, Rhea's voice controlled, cool, unmistakable.
"Open the door."
The class froze.
Ling walked back to the professor's chair and sat again, slower now, deliberate. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the door like prey was waiting on the other side.
"No," Ling said loudly enough to be heard through the wood.
"You're late."
Silence.
Then Rhea's voice again, edged with frost. "Unlock it."
Ling smiled not cruel, not kind.
Interested.
"You don't give orders here," Ling replied. "You knock. You wait. Or you leave."
The tension was suffocating.
Rina stopped laughing.
Mira watched the door, nails digging into her palm.
Outside, Rhea exhaled once steady, controlled.
"Then open it," she said evenly, "before you embarrass yourself."
A few students flinched.
Ling's eyes narrowed.
Slowly, he stood.
And for the first time since the elevator, since the night, since everything shattered
Ling Kwong felt something dangerous curl in his chest.
Not anger.
He walked himself.
Slow. Deliberate. Every step measured.
The class went silent as Ling reached the door and pulled it open just enough for his face to appear in the narrow gap. One sharp eye. One cold smile.
"You're not allowed in," Ling said calmly.
Rhea stood inches away.
Close enough that Ling could see the faint flush on her cheeks. Close enough to smell her perfume soft, dangerous, familiar.
Rhea leaned forward.
Not submissive.
Not angry.
Regal.
Her eyes locked onto Ling's.
For a split second, the world collapsed.
Ling's heart betrayed him.
It raced violent, sudden like it had been waiting for this moment all day. Last night slammed into him without permission:
Rhea's body limp in his arms.
Rhea's breath against his neck.
The way Rhea had clutched his shirt in sleep.
The dance slow, unplanned, too close bodies moving before minds could stop them.
Ling's jaw tightened.
Control, he ordered himself.
Rhea's voice was low, steady. "Move."
Ling didn't.
He couldn't.
His hand was still on the door. His body blocking the entrance. His mind somewhere between denial and disaster.
Rhea's gaze flicked just once to Ling's lips.
Then she pushed.
Not forcefully.
Confidently.
The door opened wider.
Ling stayed there.
Frozen.
The class watched as Rhea stepped past him like Ling was nothing more than furniture like Ling hadn't just lost a war inside his own chest.
Rhea walked in, heels clicking against the floor, back straight, chin lifted. No apology. No explanation.
Ling stood at the doorway, pulse loud in his ears.
What the hell was that?
He closed the door slowly behind Rhea, the sound echoing far too loudly.
When Ling turned back, Rhea had already taken her seat crossing her legs, opening her notebook, utterly composed.
Like nothing had happened.
Like Ling hadn't almost folded.
Rina glanced at Ling, grin faltering. Mira stared sharp, possessive, alarmed.
Ling returned to the professor's chair.
Sat down.
Put one boot back on the table.
Laughed once low, careless.
But his fingers trembled.
And he hated himself for it.
Because in that single heartbeat at the door, Ling Kwong hadn't lost power publicly.
He'd lost it privately.
And Rhea Noir knew it.
>>>>>>>>>
The professor cleared his throat, voice cautious.
"Today's topic is..."
"Sexuality," Ling cut in, not even looking at him.
The room stiffened.
The professor hesitated. "Mr Kwong, I was..."
"I'll continue," Ling said calmly.
It wasn't a request.
He rose from the chair, unhurried, commanding, and took the center of the room like it had always been his. The projector flicked on behind him. He hadn't even been scheduled for this.
Ling didn't glance at the slides. He didn't need to.
"Sexuality," he began, voice smooth, precise, cutting through the room, "is not a deviation. It's not rebellion. And it's definitely not confusion."
His gaze swept the class. Students shrank back, listening, hanging on every word.
"It's attraction," he continued. "Structured. Consistent. As biologically rooted as any other response. The only difference is social discomfort."
He paced slowly.
"Which," Ling added coolly, "has nothing to do with validity."
A few students shifted. Someone swallowed audibly.
Ling stopped.
"And since academics work best with examples..."
His eyes lifted.
They landed on Rhea.
Miss Attitude.
Rhea didn't look up immediately. She kept writing, pen steady, posture immaculate.
Ling smiled faintly.
"Let's say," Ling said, tone deceptively casual, "I am attracted to Miss Attitude."
The room froze.
Rhea's pen paused.
Ling continued like he was discussing numbers.
"That attraction wouldn't exist because she's new. Or provocative. Or because she refuses to follow rules."
A pause.
"It would exist because power recognizes power."
Rhea slowly looked up.
Their eyes met.
Electric. Controlled. Dangerous.
"If I challenged her," Ling said, eyes never leaving Rhea, "it wouldn't be denial. It would be resistance."
A beat.
"And if she challenged me back?" Ling tilted his head slightly. "That wouldn't be confusion. That would be consent to tension."
The professor's face had gone pale.
Rina's mouth was open in delighted shock. Jian and Rowen were stunned. Mira's smile had vanished completely.
Rhea leaned back in her chair.
Slow. Elegant.
A smile curved her lips, sharp, mocking, beautiful.
"Hypothetically," Rhea said coolly, "your example assumes interest on both sides."
Ling's heart kicked hard.
He didn't show it.
"Of course," Ling replied smoothly. "And hypothetically, interest doesn't require permission."
Silence detonated.
The professor cleared his throat weakly. "Mr Kwong, perhaps we should..."
Ling turned, cutting him off with a glance.
"Class dismissed."
No one argued.
Students scrambled to leave, whispers erupting the moment they crossed the threshold.
Rhea stood last.
She walked past Ling without touching him.
"Your example was flawed," Rhea said softly.
Ling didn't turn. "How so?"