Kwong Mansion
Ling sat sideways on the arm of the couch, one leg hooked over the other, pretending ease. Her tone was careless when she spoke, almost joking but the way her fingers kept tapping against her thigh betrayed her.
"She wore that on purpose," Ling said. "Calculated. Like she knew exactly what she was doing."
Dadi, seated near the window with her knitting untouched in her lap, lifted her eyes slowly. Rina, sprawled on the opposite sofa, immediately leaned forward, interest sharp.
"Oh?" Rina said, a grin tugging at her lips. "Our Miss Attitude planning accidents now?"
Ling scoffed. "She didn't plan an accident. She planned chaos."
She waved a hand vaguely, as if dismissing the memory but her jaw tightened.
"She walked like nothing mattered. Like she didn't care who saw her. Then suddenly—"
Ling snapped her fingers once. "Slip. Straight into me."
Rina burst out laughing. "You're saying she fell into your arms and you are the victim?"
Ling shot her a glare. "Don't twist it."
Dadi chuckled softly, finally setting the knitting aside. "Child," she said calmly, "if she wanted to hurt you, she wouldn't need tricks."
Ling opened her mouth to argue — then closed it again.
Her ears burned.
"She knew," Ling muttered. "She knew it would affect me."
Rina raised an eyebrow. "And did it?"
Ling stood up abruptly. "Of course not."
The speed of her response made both women exchange a look.
Rina smiled wider. "You're blushing."
"I am not."
"You are."
Ling turned away, pacing toward the window. "I just… didn't expect it."
Dadi watched her carefully now — not amused, not teasing. Assessing.
"You placed your foot," Dadi said evenly.
Ling froze.
Silence dropped like a blade.
"I—" Ling swallowed. "I didn't push her."
"But you didn't stop it either," Dadi continued. "You interfered."
Ling exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding through her control. "I wanted her attention."
Rina tilted her head. "That's a dangerous way to ask for it."
Ling rubbed her face with both hands, then dragged them down slowly. "She won't look at me. She won't speak. She walks past like I don't exist."
Her voice cracked just slightly.
"I thought if she reacted… even anger… it would mean something."
Dadi stood up.
The room went quiet immediately.
"You are lying to yourself," Dadi said. "And poorly."
Ling turned, defensive. "I'm not lying."
"You are," Dadi replied. "You are not teasing. You are not playing. You are desperate."
Ling's shoulders stiffened.
Rina softened her tone. "Ling… you're not winning her back. You're cornering her."
Ling's eyes flashed. "I didn't touch her."
Dadi stepped closer. "You touched her sense of safety."
That landed.
Ling looked down, fists clenched.
"I didn't mean to hurt her," she said quietly.
"But you did," Dadi said. "And you smiled afterward."
Ling shook her head, denial reflexive. "I smiled because— because—"
"Because you felt something," Dadi finished. "And you hate that she still has that power over you."
Ling didn't answer.
Rina crossed her arms. "So what now?"
Ling straightened slowly. Her face hardened the familiar mask sliding back into place.
"Now," she said, voice controlled, "I stop lying."
She met Dadi's eyes.
"I want her to react," Ling admitted. "I want her anger. Her truth. Because silence is worse."
Dadi sighed not disappointed, not angry. Just tired.
"Be careful," she warned. "The more you provoke a broken thing, the more it cuts when it finally strikes back."
Ling nodded once.
But the fire in her eyes didn't dim.
If anything it sharpened.
——
Next Morning.
Rhea walked beside Roin through the university gates, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. Kane's warning echoed faintly in her mind, but she pushed it down. Function first. Survival first.
Then everything fractured. A shadow moved fast.
Ling stepped in from behind, boots striking the pavement with deliberate confidence, cutting past Roin and stopping directly in front of Rhea. Sunglasses slid low on her nose, hiding nothing but daring to.
Time stalled. Ling's mouth curved slowly, dangerously.
"My baby looks divine," she said, voice smooth, possession wrapped in silk.
Rhea stopped walking. Her face didn't change but her eyes hardened.
She lifted her hand and pointed one finger straight at Ling's chest. "Move," she said coldly. "Before you embarrass yourself."
The crowd around them slowed. Some stopped. Everyone felt it. Ling didn't move.
Instead, she leaned forward just enough to close the distance and caught Rhea's pointed finger gently almost reverently between her own.
Then she kissed it. Soft. Deliberate. Provocative. Gasps rippled.
Rhea's breath hitched violently, not from desire but from memory her body reacting before her mind could stop it. She yanked her hand back like it burned.
Roin stepped forward immediately, anger flaring. "Don't you dare touch her—"
Ling didn't even look at him. She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back a step, her attention never leaving Rhea's face.
"This doesn't concern you," Ling said flatly. "Know your place."
Rhea snapped. She grabbed Ling's wrist, nails biting into skin, her voice shaking with fury. "You don't get to touch me. You don't get to talk to me. And you definitely don't get to call me that."
Ling finally removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were burning. "I already did," she replied quietly. "And I will again."
She leaned in just enough for only Rhea to hear. "See you later."
Then Ling turned and walked away like she hadn't just detonated the air around them.
Rhea stood frozen, chest heaving, every nerve screaming. Her composure cracked only for a second just long enough for Roin to see.
He reached for her arm. "Rhea—"
She pulled away sharply. "Don't."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was final.
Ling didn't look back.
But her jaw was tight.
And her fists were clenched.
Rhea entered the classroom early and took the seat near the side wall, choosing distance, choosing control. She placed her bag down, opened her notebook, and fixed her eyes forward before Roin could even pull out the chair beside her.
For a brief second, she thought she had succeeded.
"Roin."
Rowen's voice cut through the low murmur of the room.
Roin turned, irritation flashing across his face. Rowen stood a few rows back, chin lifted, fingers crooked in a lazy command. Jian was beside him, arms crossed, watching like this was planned.
Roin hesitated, then stood with visible arrogance. "What?"
"Come here," Rowen said calmly. "Professor wants attendance details."
Rhea didn't look at him. She didn't react. She stayed still, pretending the shift beside her didn't matter.
Roin scoffed under his breath and walked away, shoulders tight.
The seat beside Rhea stayed empty for exactly two seconds.
Then someone slid into it.
Too close.
Ling didn't ask.
The chair scraped lightly as she dragged it nearer than necessary, her knee almost brushing Rhea's. She leaned back casually, one arm stretched along the back of Rhea's chair, effectively boxing her in.
Wall on one side.
Ling on the other.
Rhea felt it instantly the pressure, the lack of space, the deliberate invasion. Her spine stiffened, breath catching before she could stop it.
"Move," Rhea said under her breath without turning.
Ling leaned closer instead.
Her voice was low, meant only for Rhea. "You always liked this seat."
Rhea's fingers tightened around her pen. "That was before you proved you don't deserve proximity."
Ling smiled slow, dangerous.
"Still sharp," she murmured. "Even when cornered."
Rhea finally turned her head, eyes blazing. "You don't get to sit here."
Ling's shoulder brushed hers not accidental, not heavy, but intentional enough to make a point.
"I already am," Ling replied softly.
The professor entered then, voice filling the room, forcing stillness. Rhea faced forward again, jaw clenched, every muscle in her body rigid. She didn't move away she refused to give Ling the satisfaction.
Ling watched her from the side, memorizing the tension, the restraint, the way Rhea's anger sat coiled just beneath her skin.
"You're breathing differently," Ling whispered.
"Stop talking," Rhea hissed.
Ling tilted her head closer. "Or what?"
Rhea swallowed hard. Her voice shook despite her effort. "Or I will stand up and make a scene you won't enjoy."
Ling studied her face for a long moment.
Then finally she leaned back an inch.
Not enough to free her.
Just enough to show restraint was a choice.
"Not today," Ling said quietly. "I want you focused."
Rhea stared straight ahead, heart pounding, trapped between memory and fury, between a wall and the woman who refused to leave her orbit.
Across the room, Roin turned back just in time to see Ling sitting where he had been too close, too comfortable.
His expression darkened.
And Ling, without looking at him, smiled.
The lecture began.
The professor's voice filled the room, steady, monotonous, equations and theories bleeding into background noise. Pens moved. Pages turned. The class settled.
Ling did not.
Her body was still, posture deceptively relaxed but her attention was nowhere near the board.
It was on Rhea.
Specifically, the small mole on Rhea's jaw. Ling's gaze followed the line upward: the curve of Rhea's neck, the tension held there, the jawline that wasn't sharp with arrogance anymore but controlled with effort.
Ling leaned closer, just enough to invade the space again.
Her finger lifted slow, deliberate and traced the air, not touching, hovering near that mark like a memory threatening to surface.
Rhea felt it immediately. Her breath stuttered.
She turned sharply, eyes blazing. "Are you insane?" she whispered harshly. "Sit properly."
Ling smiled faintly, unbothered. "I am," she replied under her breath. "And you're pretending not to notice."
Rhea scoffed quietly, anger sharp enough to cut. "You think this affects me? You're embarrassing yourself."
Ling tilted her head. "You're the one shaking."
Rhea's pen snapped in her grip. "Miss Nior."
The professor's voice cut through the tension.
Rhea froze.
"Yes, sir?" she answered immediately, posture straightening.
"You seem distracted today," the professor said, eyes narrowed slightly. "If you're unwell, you may excuse yourself."
Ling leaned back just enough to look innocent.
The entire class turned.
Rhea swallowed hard humiliation and fury colliding in her chest. "I— yes, sir. I apologize."
She stood, gathering her bag with controlled movements, refusing to look at Ling. As she passed the aisle, Ling murmured just loud enough for her to hear:
"Run when it gets hard. You always did."
Rhea stopped for half a second then kept walking.
The door closed behind her.
The lecture resumed.
Ling stayed still for a moment, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the empty seat beside her. The absence hit harder than the proximity had.
She exhaled slowly.
Then she leaned back again, one arm draped casually over the abandoned chair — claiming it even in Rhea's absence.
When Rhea returned ten minutes later, face composed, eyes distant, she chose a seat two rows ahead without looking back.
Ling didn't follow.
She didn't need to.
Instead, she let her voice drop playful, infuriating just loud enough for Rhea to hear.
"You missed the best part," Ling said lightly. "I was behaving."
Rhea didn't respond.
She stared straight ahead, knuckles white, forcing herself to breathe through the pressure, through the memories, through the knowledge that the professor's presence was the only thing keeping Ling's mouth and mind in check.
Ling smiled to herself. Silence, she knew now, was not peace.
It was resistance. And resistance always broke.
The lecture ended abruptly.
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. The room broke into noise.
Rhea stood immediately too quickly intent on leaving before Ling could try anything else. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the aisle.
She took one step.
Ling moved faster.
Before Rhea could turn, before her mind could register intent, Ling leaned in from behind close enough that Rhea felt breath, heat, presence and nipped sharply at the mole on her jaw.
Not gentle. Not apologetic.
A deliberate, mocking claim.
Ling laughed low, satisfied the sound sharp with victory.
Rhea froze.
Her entire body locked, shock rippling through her spine. Her hand flew up instinctively, fingers trembling at her neck, eyes wide with disbelief, fury flooding in too late.
"Ling—" she gasped, turning—
But Ling was already gone.
She darted backward down the aisle, bag slung carelessly over her shoulder, grin wicked and unrepentant. She walked out of the hall laughing under her breath, not once looking back.
The door shut behind her.