Ling looked away first.
"It's nothing," Ling said smoothly.
Rhea studied her face, searching for cracks, for hesitation, for truth. "You sounded angry," Rhea pressed. "It didn't look like nothing."
Ling exhaled, then forced a faint, dismissive smile the one she used in boardrooms and courtrooms, the one that never invited questions.
"They're being dramatic," Ling said. "That's all."
Rhea waited.
Ling didn't continue.
"So… nothing specific?" Rhea asked softly.
Ling met her eyes now.
And lied.
"No," Ling said evenly. "Nothing you need to worry about."
The words landed heavier than Ling intended.
Rhea's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something else but she didn't. She nodded once instead, slow and deliberate.
"Okay," Rhea said.
Just okay.
She stepped back another pace, straightening her clothes, smoothing herself down like she was erasing evidence of vulnerability.
"It was nothing," Rhea added quickly, almost too quickly. "You hugged me, so I stayed like that."
The words were casual. Almost careless.
But Ling heard what was underneath.
It didn't mean anything.
Ling's mouth curved not soft, not warm sharp.
"Of course," Ling said lightly. "Of course."
The tone mocked the lie without calling it out.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
"Don't," Rhea said.
"Don't what?" Ling asked, arching a brow.
"Don't make it sound like I'm pretending," Rhea replied, crossing her arms. "I'm not."
Ling stepped closer again, invading the space Rhea had just reclaimed. "Then don't pretend," she said quietly.
Rhea's eyes flashed. "I'm not the one lying."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Ling froze.
For a second, the air went dangerously still.
"What?" Ling asked.
Rhea shook her head immediately, backtracking. "Nothing. Forget it."
Ling's gaze sharpened, control reasserting itself like armor snapping into place. "If you have something to say, say it."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "What, so you can analyze it? Grade it? Decide whether it's worth responding to?"
Ling clenched her jaw.
"I just asked you a question," Rhea continued. "And you shut it down like everything else."
Ling folded her arms now, mirroring Rhea without realizing it. "Not everything is about you, Rhea."
That stung.
Rhea flinched, but she didn't show it for long.
"Right," she said coldly. "I forgot. I'm just… convenient."
Ling's voice hardened. "That's not fair."
"Neither is lying to my face," Rhea shot back.
Ling's heart pounded.
She wanted to tell her.
About Eliza.
About Mira.
About the pressure tightening like a noose.
But the moment felt too raw, too unstable. And Ling had learned painfully that once words were spoken, they couldn't be controlled.
So she chose silence.
And silence, again, hurt Rhea more than the truth might have.
Rhea straightened, expression closing fully now.
"You know what," Rhea said quietly, "it's fine. Really. I shouldn't have asked."
She turned toward the door.
Ling took one step forward. "Rhea..."
Rhea stopped but didn't turn around.
"You chose me just now," Rhea said softly, her back still to Ling. "I won't forget that."
Ling's chest tightened.
"But don't do it halfway," Rhea continued. "Don't hold me when it hurts and shut me out when it matters."
She opened the door.
"And don't worry," Rhea added, voice flat again. "I won't ask again."
The door closed behind her.
Ling stood alone in her office, the echo of Rhea's words pressing in from every side.
She told herself the lie was necessary.
That protecting Rhea meant keeping her out of it.
>>>>>>>
The mansion felt unusually hollow when Ling returned.
The place was too vast for that. Air moved through long corridors, chandeliers hummed faintly, distant footsteps of staff echoed somewhere far away. But none of it felt alive.
Ling walked in slowly, her heels striking marble with sharp, controlled rhythm. Her posture was perfect. Her face calm.
But her mind was not in the mansion.
It was still in her office.
Still on the way Rhea's voice had softened when she said you chose me just now.
Still on the way her hands had trembled when she let go.
Still on the way she walked out… without looking back.
Ling's jaw tightened slightly.
She had faced billion-dollar negotiations with steadier nerves than this. She had handled life-and-death surgeries with calmer hands. Yet one tear sliding down Rhea's cheek had shattered her composure in ways nothing else ever could.
And she had lied.
Again.
Her fingers curled at her side.
Before she could move further inside, a voice stopped her.
"Ling."
She didn't need to turn. She already knew.
Eliza stood near the grand staircase, posture rigid, elegance untouched — but her eyes were searching, tense, restless.
"I want to talk to you," Eliza said.
Ling exhaled slowly.
She turned halfway, expression already cooling into something distant.
"If this is about marriage," she said flatly, "I'm not..."
"Ling, listen..."
"I'm not discussing it," Ling cut in.
Her voice was calm, but it carried finality like a sealed door.
Eliza stepped forward, frustration rising beneath her composure. "You can't keep avoiding this. Things are already..."
Ling didn't let her finish.
"I said no."
Three words.
Cold. Precise. Absolute.
For a brief moment, mother and daughter stood facing each other not as family, but as opposing forces. Eliza's eyes burned with urgency. Ling's held controlled defiance.
Ling turned away first.
Walked past her mother.
Walked past the conversation.
Walked past the problem.
Like it didn't exist.
Like time itself could be ignored.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor until the mansion swallowed their sound.
And then...
Silence.
Eliza remained standing exactly where she was.
Still.
Perfect posture. Perfect control.
For about three seconds.
Then her shoulders dropped.
Just slightly.
Her hand rose slowly to her mouth, like she needed to hold something in a breath, a cry, a truth she couldn't speak aloud.
Her vision blurred.
Tears slid down quietly.
Just… helpless.
She sank slowly onto the edge of the staircase, fingers tightening against the marble railing.
"She doesn't understand…" Eliza whispered to herself.
Her voice trembled not with anger this time, but fear.
Real fear.
Ling thought this was stubbornness.
Control.
Choice.
But it wasn't.
It was time.
And time… was running out.
Eliza pressed trembling fingers to her temple, breathing unevenly. She had tried pressure. Authority. Manipulation. Even emotional appeals.
Nothing worked.
Ling refused to see the danger.
"If she keeps resisting…" Eliza murmured, voice breaking, "…it will become impossible to fix."
Her gaze lifted slowly toward the upper floor toward where Ling had gone.
There was love in her eyes.
And terror.
Because this wasn't just about marriage.
It was about something bigger. Something irreversible. Something that would not wait for Ling's emotional readiness… or her love for Rhea Noir… or her refusal to comply.
Eliza wiped her tears quickly, forcing herself back into composure but the fear remained carved deep in her expression.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Ling stood alone in her room unaware of her mother's tears… unaware of the countdown tightening around her life…
And still thinking about the way Rhea had said:
Don't hold me when it hurts and shut me out when it matters.
Ling felt trapped.
But by the truth she refused to speak.
And the love she refused to risk losing.
By the time Rhea Noir stepped into the mansion, the evening air still clung to her skin warm, restless, unsettled.
She moved through the grand entrance without really seeing it.
Her mind was still wrapped around the feeling of Ling's arms tightening around her… the way that familiar voice had softened… the way the apology had sounded almost fragile.
Her fingers brushed her own wrist unconsciously the same place Ling had held earlier.
Heat climbed up her neck.
Her lips pressed together tightly.
Control yourself, she told her reflection in the tall hallway mirror as she passed. It meant nothing. Just a moment. Just weakness.
But the mirror betrayed her.
Her cheeks were pink.
Noticeably.
And that...
That was when she heard the voice behind her.
"Ohhh… what is this?"
Rhea froze.
Slowly... very slowly she turned her head.
Shyra leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. She had clearly been watching long enough to analyze everything.
And she looked delighted.
Rhea immediately straightened her posture, face hardening into her usual defensive calm.
"What."
Shyra pushed herself off the wall and walked closer, circling Rhea like she was examining a suspiciously glowing artifact.
"No greeting. No attitude. No dramatic sigh." She leaned in slightly. "And… you're blushing."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
Shyra tilted her head, studying her face from different angles like an artist inspecting color changes in shifting light.
"…Wow," she murmured softly. "This isn't mild either. This is full emotional malfunction level."
Rhea turned sharply and started walking deeper inside, trying to escape the inspection.
Shyra followed immediately.
"So," she continued casually, "did something happen at the university? Or…" her voice lowered mischievously, "…did someone happen?"
Rhea stopped so suddenly Shyra nearly bumped into her.
Rhea turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Shyra grinned.
That was confirmation enough.
"Oh my god," she whispered dramatically. "You did meet her."
Rhea's jaw tightened.
"I meet her every day. She's my professor."
"Mm," Shyra nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Professors definitely make people blush like this. Very academic reaction."
Rhea walked again faster now.
Shyra matched her pace easily.
"Did she touch... "
"She did nothing," Rhea snapped.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Too defensive.
Shyra's grin widened slowly, wicked satisfaction lighting her eyes.
"Oh," she said softly. "She definitely did something."
Rhea exhaled slowly, forcing her breathing steady. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin with deliberate composure.
"It was meaningless."
Rhea avoided her gaze.
"…She just…" Rhea stopped herself.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
She hated that.
Hated how easily Ling could still reach places inside her that she pretended no longer existed.
"She just what?" Shyra asked gently now teasing fading into quiet curiosity.
Rhea swallowed.
"…She held me," she muttered.
Softly.
Almost like admitting something dangerous.
Shyra blinked once.
Then twice.
Then her entire expression transformed into pure explosive delight.
"SHE WHAT..."
"LOWER YOUR VOICE!"
Rhea grabbed her arm instantly, dragging her further down the corridor before anyone could hear.
Shyra covered her mouth, eyes sparkling like she had just witnessed the most dramatic romantic revelation of the century.
"She held you," Shyra whispered dramatically. "After all this time. After all that tension. After all that emotional warfare."
Rhea looked away quickly.
"It was nothing," she repeated, but the words sounded weaker now. "She felt guilty. That's all."
"Did you push her away?"
"…No."
"Did you hug her back?"
Silence.
Long silence.
Shyra gasped softly, clutching her chest like she might faint from emotional overload.
"You hugged her back."
Rhea groaned, rubbing her forehead.
"It just… happened."
"Did you cry?"
Rhea didn't answer.
Shyra stared at her face.
She stepped closer, voice gentler than before.
"So what now?"
That question hung heavy between them.
Rhea stared at the floor, thoughts swirling Ling's warmth… her apology… her lie… the distance she still kept…
Her chest tightened.
"I don't know," she whispered honestly.
Then she lifted her chin again, rebuilding her defenses piece by piece.
"But nothing changes," she said firmly. "If she wants me in her life… she has to choose me fully."
Shyra studied her quietly.
Then smiled softly.
"That blush says she already did," she murmured.
Rhea immediately turned away again but this time…
She couldn't hide the small, helpless smile that slipped through.
>>>>>>>
The next morning at the university felt strangely ordinary.
Sunlight filtered through tall corridor windows, stretching pale gold across polished floors. Students moved in clusters, voices blending into a low academic hum. Papers rustled. Doors opened and closed. Footsteps echoed.
Routine.
Predictable.
Safe.
Inside her office, Ling sat behind her desk, reviewing a stack of files with precise focus. Her posture was perfectly straight, shoulders relaxed but controlled, pen moving steadily across paper as she signed, marked, and corrected.
From the outside, she looked exactly as she always did.
Calm. Composed. Untouchable.
But her concentration wasn't as steady as it appeared.
Her mind kept drifting annoyingly, persistently back to yesterday. To warmth. To tears. To arms around her neck. To a voice that had softened in ways she still hadn't fully processed.
She pressed her lips together slightly and forced her attention back to the file in front of her.
Numbers. Data. Structure. Logic.
Safer territory.
The office door remained open as usual and footsteps passed occasionally in the hallway.
Then...
A familiar presence entered her peripheral vision.
She didn't look up immediately. She didn't need to. She could feel it that distinct shift in the air that only happened when Rhea was nearby.
Light but heavy at the same time.
Like something unpredictable had just stepped into a perfectly organized room.
Ling's pen paused mid-signature.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
Rhea walked toward the desk with deliberate casualness the kind that was just a little too deliberate to be natural. Her expression was neutral, almost bored, like she had no particular reason to be there.
Which, by itself, was suspicious.
Ling watched her quietly.
Rhea didn't speak.
And then...
Her foot "slipped."
It was sudden. Dramatic. Perfectly timed.
Her balance tipped forward, body tilting straight toward Ling's desk toward Ling herself like gravity had personally decided to intervene.