Rhea laughed sharply a sound edged with hysteria. "Don't do this. Where are they?"
Kane set the tablet aside. "Rhea, you'll have to be specific."
"The gifts," Rhea snapped. "The papers. The letters Ling gave me."
Kane's expression didn't change.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said calmly.
Rhea stared at her, disbelief flooding her face. "Stop lying."
"I'm not," Kane replied. "You told me you didn't take anything."
Rhea's hands curled into fists.
"I lied," she shouted. "I took them. I took everything."
The word everything cracked.
Kane studied her for a long moment, then spoke evenly. "Then you shouldn't have told me you didn't."
Rhea stepped closer, anger finally overpowering panic.
"You knew," she said hoarsely. "You knew. You always know."
Kane's eyes flicked briefly deliberately toward the doorway.
Rhea followed the glance.
Roin stood there.
Frozen.
Her gaze snapped back to Kane, fury igniting.
"This," Rhea said, pointing sharply toward him, "this bastard told you."
Roin immediately raised his hands. "Rhea, no—"
"You shut up," she screamed. "I trusted you."
"I didn't," Roin said quickly. "I swear, I didn't tell her you took anything."
Rhea laughed again, tears spilling freely now. "You were never supposed to say anything!"
Kane stood.
The room shifted the moment she did.
"I don't have your things," Kane said firmly. "Because I never saw them."
Rhea shook her head violently. "That's impossible."
"You told me you didn't take them," Kane continued, voice sharp but controlled. "And I saw nothing in your hands, your room, or your bag when you came home."
Rhea's breath stuttered.
"You're lying," she whispered. "You took them."
Kane stepped closer now, lowering her voice. "If I had taken something, I would tell you."
Rhea searched her face desperately, looking for a crack, a tell — anything.
"There were letters," Rhea said, voice breaking. "Written. Wrapped. I had them."
Kane held her gaze steadily. "Then they are not in this house."
Silence fell thick and crushing.
Rhea's knees weakened slightly.
"No," she whispered. "You're punishing me."
"I'm protecting you," Kane corrected.
Rhea shook her head, backing away.
"You don't get to decide that," she said through tears. "They were mine."
Kane's jaw tightened. "They were manipulation."
"They were words," Rhea shouted. "Mine to read or burn."
Roin tried to step forward. "Rhea—"
She turned on him instantly. "Don't you dare say my name."
He stopped.
Kane's voice dropped dangerous now. "You are not allowed to spiral for someone who destroyed you."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "Too late."
Her chest rose and fell erratically. She looked between them the calm authority of her mother, the guilty stillness of Roin.
"You took my choice," Rhea said quietly.
Kane didn't deny it.
"If they were here," Kane said, measured, "you would already be bleeding again."
Rhea wiped her tears angrily. "You don't know that."
"I do," Kane replied.
Rhea turned away, hands shaking, voice barely audible now. "I want my things back."
Kane said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
Rhea looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly as if holding herself together by force alone.
"I hate you both," she said hoarsely not loud, not dramatic. Just raw.
She turned to search mnsion.
Roin exhaled shakily. "Aunty… what if she breaks again?"
Kane stared at the her back for a long time.
"She already has," Kane said quietly. "I just removed the blade from her hands."
Outside, night pressed against the windows.
And somewhere far away, letters that were never meant to be read waited carrying words that had already done their damage.
And Rhea tore through the mansion like something hunted.
Not frantic at first methodical.
She checked the study drawers, Kane's desk, the side cabinets where important documents were kept. She opened cupboards she had never opened before, pulled files she had never touched. Her movements were sharp, desperate, controlled only by will.
Nothing.
Her breathing grew louder.
She went to the library next. Books pulled out, shelves checked behind, cushions thrown aside. Her hands trembled now, fingers slipping against polished wood.
"Rhea," Kane called from behind her, firm. "Enough."
Rhea didn't turn.
She moved to the guest corridor. Opened the storage closet. Checked the laundry room. The sitting area. Even the prayer room absurd, irrational, but she checked anyway.
Still nothing.
Her chest began to hurt.
Her vision blurred.
"No… no…" she whispered, voice cracking for the first time.
She staggered backward, leaning against the wall as the truth settled — slow, brutal.
They were gone.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Tears spilled without permission, hot and uncontrollable. She wiped them angrily with the back of her hand and kept moving, refusing to collapse yet.
Kane stepped in front of her at the base of the stairs.
"Rhea," she said sharply. "Stop this."
Rhea looked at her mother then really looked.
Her eyes were red, wild, accusing.
"You hid them," Rhea said, voice trembling. "I know you did."
Kane held her ground. "I told you—"
"You always lie when you think it's for my good," Rhea shouted. "Where are they?"
Kane reached out, gripping Rhea's arm. "You're not thinking straight."
Rhea ripped her arm free.
"Don't touch me."
Her gaze suddenly snapped to the side.
Roin.
He stood a few steps away, frozen, face pale, eyes uncertain.
Something in Rhea broke completely.
She crossed the distance in seconds and grabbed his collar, fingers digging into fabric, knuckles white with force.
"You know," she said hoarsely, pulling him down to her level. "You know where they are."
Roin's eyes widened. "Rhea—"
"Don't lie to me," she screamed. "Don't you dare."
Kane moved fast. "Rhea, let him go."
Rhea ignored her.
"I told you things," Rhea continued, tears streaming now. "I trusted you. You told her. And she hid them."
"I didn't," Roin insisted, panic creeping into his voice. "I swear, I don't know where they are."
Rhea shook him once hard.
"You're lying," she said through sobs. "You were there. You saw me. You knew."
"I didn't take anything," Roin said desperately. "I don't know where your mother put them."
Kane stepped forward sharply. "Enough."
She pried Rhea's hands off his collar with controlled force, placing herself between them.
"That is enough," Kane repeated, voice cold now. "You are crossing a line."
Rhea staggered back, staring at them both — chest heaving, body shaking.
"You took them from me," she said quietly. "Both of you."
Kane's jaw tightened. "You're projecting."
Rhea laughed broken, hollow.
"No," she whispered. "I'm realizing."
Her knees finally gave out. She sank to the floor, pressing her palms into her eyes as sobs tore out of her chest deep, uncontrolled, humiliating.
"They were mine," she cried. "Even if they were lies… they were mine."
Kane looked down at her daughter rigid, conflicted but she did not kneel.
"They were poison," Kane said. "And poison doesn't belong in this house."
Rhea lifted her head slowly, eyes glassy, empty.
"Then neither do I," she said.
The words landed like a fracture.
The room fell silent.
Roin swallowed hard, guilt written across his face, but he said nothing.
Kane watched Rhea for a long moment the defiance, the devastation, the raw attachment she refused to let go of.
"You're staying," Kane said finally. "And this ends here."
Rhea wiped her face with trembling hands, then pushed herself up.
"No," she said softly. "This just began."
She turned and walked upstairs slower now, hollowed out, every step heavy.
Halfway up the stairs when something caught her eye.
A flicker.
Orange. Unnatural. Moving.
She froze.
Her breath hitched as she turned slowly toward the tall glass doors that opened into the back garden. Beyond the dark hedges and marble path, light pulsed alive, violent, wrong.
Fire.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
"No," she whispered.
Kane saw it at the same moment.
"Rhea," Kane said sharply, already moving. "Stop."
Rhea didn't listen.
She ran.
Barefoot, unsteady, breath tearing out of her chest, she sprinted toward the doors. Kane followed, voice rising, fear breaking through control.
"Rhea—don't—"
Rhea shoved the door open.
Heat slammed into her face.
In the center of the garden, near the stone bench where she used to sit at night, a fire burned high controlled, deliberate. Someone had arranged it. Someone had fed it.
Paper curled in on itself, blackening.
Cardboard collapsed.
Gift wrap melted.
Ribbons burned like veins.
The letters.
The notes.
The wrapping.
The gifts.
The handwriting she hadn't finished reading.
All of it.
Gone.
Rhea stopped so abruptly she nearly fell.
Her knees buckled.
"No… no no no—"
She staggered forward, ignoring the heat, the smoke stinging her eyes. Kane grabbed her arm hard from behind.
"Don't go closer," Kane ordered. "You'll burn yourself."
Rhea screamed.
Not a word a sound. Raw. Animal. Torn straight out of her chest.