Bangkok's streets pulsed with noise and neon as Lek parked her motorbike a block away from the casino.
The building towered like a different universe, glass walls throwing back light, expensive cars lined like soldiers, people dressed in gowns and suits.
She lit a cigarette, and muttered,
"Places like this eat people alive."
But bills didn't forgive.
then flicked ash into the gutter.
Inside, the air thickened with perfume, cigar smoke, and money.
Every sound the clatter of dice, the spin of wheels, the burst of laughter was sharpened with excess.
Lek moved through it like an intruder, shoulders squared, tattoos peeking from her sleeves.
Then, a suited man found her quickly.
"Miss Saetang? This way."
The man led her into a quiet, private lounge.
It was a different kind of silence, deliberate, luxurious, as if every sound cost money.
And then Lek saw her.
Sanya Rattanakosin.
She rose from a chair by the wide glass window, a figure drawn in silk and shadow.
Black fabric clung effortlessly, her movements unhurried, her presence impossible to ignore.
A glass of wine balanced in her fingers, and though her face was calm, her eyes… her eyes held something Lek couldn't name.
"You must be Miss Saetang," Celine said, her voice low and smooth, a tone that made the air thrum.
"I've heard that you were the person who is worth speaking to."
Lek blinked, caught off guard.
Heard? From who?
But the heiress gave no clue.
She moved with a grace that was almost predatory as though every step was chosen to unsettle.
"You came highly recommended," Sanya went on, setting her glass down.
"My driver told me once that you were the one who helped us… in an inconvenient moment. That makes you different. Reliable."
Lek let out a short laugh, sharp but uncertain.
"Reliable isn't usually the first word people throw at me."
Sanya tilted her head, studying her the way one might study a rare card in a game of chance.
"That depends who's watching. Don't you think?"
Her gaze didn't waver.
It wasn't flirtation, not openly, it was weight.
It pressed into Lek, made her shift despite herself.
"I was told you're independent. That you don't belong to anyone's pocket," Sanya said.
"That interests me. People in this city usually sell themselves too easily."
Lek crossed her arms, leaning back into the chair.
"Sounds like you've got the wrong person. I'm not the kind you hire to wear suits and nod politely."
A faint smile curved Sanya's lips, unreadable, dangerous.
"Good. I have no need for another nodding shadow."
Silence stretched between them.
Not awkward, heavy.
Sanya seemed to enjoy letting it linger, letting Lek feel the weight of her attention.
Finally, Sanya leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering.
"I want someone who doesn't belong here. Someone whose presence cuts through the noise. My world is crowded with men in polished shoes and empty words. I'd rather see what happens if I place someone like you in it."
Lek raised an eyebrow. "Place me?"
Santa didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she lifted her wineglass again, the red liquid catching the light as she spoke.
"Opportunities can be… dressed in strange clothing. This is one of them. If you accept, I'll see to it that your time is compensated. If not.."
her eyes met Lek's with calm certainty, "then you'll walk out the door, and we won't speak again."
Lek hated how the words sat in her chest.
Heavy.
Pulling.
She told herself it was the money.
It had to be.
"You don't even know me," she muttered.
Sanya's smile returned, subtle and slow.
"Not yet."
The way she said it made Lek's skin tighten.
Not a promise.
Not a threat.
Something in between.
Lek stood abruptly, shoving her hands into her pockets.
"I'll think about it."
Sanya inclined her head, graceful as if she'd expected no less.
"Please Do."
As Lek turned to leave, she could feel the weight of Sanya's gaze still on her back not hungry, not demanding, but patient.
Watching and Calculating...
And for the first time in a long time, Lek had the uneasy sense that someone wasn't trying to buy her, impress her, or dismiss her.
Someone was simply… watching.
______________
The following week, Lek found herself standing at the foot of the Rattanakosin Casino again, helmet in one hand, cigarette in the other.
She told herself it was just about the money.
Bangkok didn't forgive debts, and her bills were piling up faster than she could hustle them down.
Still, as she ground the cigarette under her boot, a whisper tugged at her, the memory of that heiress's calm voice, those words dropped like silk and stone: Not yet.
She hated that it echoed.
While, inside, the casino gleamed as before.
This time, a staff member led her through a private corridor where noise from the main floor dimmed, replaced by the hush of carpet and closed doors.
The lounge opened into a space of understated luxury.
Low lights.
A faint scent of jasmine.
And seated at the far end, just as composed as their last meeting, was Sanya.
She wore white this time, sharp, clean, tailored.
Against her dark hair, it was striking, almost cold.
But her lips, glossed faintly, drew Lek's eye despite herself.
"Miss Saetang," Sanya greeted, rising smoothly.
"You came."
Lek shrugged, masking her nerves with nonchalance.
"Still deciding. Figured I'd hear the details before walking away."
Sanya's smile was faint, unreadable.
"Practical. I like that."
She gestured to the seat across from her.
When Lek sat, the chair felt too soft, the room too quiet, like everything was designed to put her off balance.
"I want you to work for me," Sanya said simply.
"Not in the usual sense. I have no interest in dressing you up or parading you at dinners. I want your presence. Your perspective. To stand where others can't and tell me what you see."
Lek frowned.
"That sounds vague. And rich."
"Perhaps," Sanya replied smoothly.
"But vagueness can be freedom, if you're clever enough to use it."
Their eyes locked.
Lek hated that she couldn't read the woman across from her.
Most people, she could.
The rich men at bars with their greedy eyes.
The girls who smiled too sweetly when they wanted something.
Even the women who flirted, offering drinks with ulterior motives.
But Sanya? She looked at Lek as if she were the one under glass.
"You'll be paid fairly," Sanya continued, her tone calm but carrying weight.
"More than fairly. Enough to quiet certain… worries, I imagine."
Lek stiffened at the implication, then laugh.
"You do your research."
"I trust the right people to see what I don't have time to," Sanya said lightly, sipping her wine.
The silence stretched again, thick. Lek leaned back, tapping the armrest with her fingers.
"And what if I say no?"
Sanya set her glass down with deliberate slowness.
"Then we'll finish this drink, and I'll wish you good night." A pause.
Then, with the faintest curve of her lips: "But I don't think you will."
It wasn't arrogance in her tone.
It was certainty, like a card already dealt.
Lek hated how it made her pulse kick.
She stayed.
The papers on the table sat untouched for a long moment.
Lek stared at them as though the black ink might rearrange itself into something that made sense.
She wasn't used to contracts, or promises written down in neat fonts.
Her world was handshakes, debts, favors owed, and sometimes a bruised rib when someone couldn't pay.
"This is too clean," Lek muttered finally, her thumb grazing the edge of the top sheet.
"Too neat."
Sanya leaned back into the sofa, her posture perfect, every movement deliberate.
"Clean isn't always safe. And safe isn't always profitable."
That voice again, low, calm, carrying the kind of weight that made silence follow her instead of interrupting her.
Lek forced herself not to look too long at Sanya's mouth when she spoke.
"You make it sound like a gamble," Lek said dryly.
"In this city, everything is a gamble," Sanya replied, her lips curving just slightly.
"The difference is in how much you're willing to risk."
Lek blew air through her nose, amused despite herself.
"And what risk am I taking, exactly?"
"Time," Sanya said without missing a beat.
"Energy. Perhaps… curiosity."
Lek stilled.
The word landed sharper than she expected.
She searched Sanya's face for a trace of jest, but found nothing except that infuriating composure.
"Curiosity, huh?" Lek tilted her head, smirking to cover the unease curling low in her chest.
"That doesn't pay my rent."
"No," Sanya agreed softly.
"But it may change your life."
The words hung there, heavy.
Then, a waiter entered discreetly with a tray having two glasses of wine and a small dish of dried mango.
Sanya didn't look up when they were placed on the table, only waited until the man left before pushing one glass toward Lek.
"Drink," she said, not as a command, but as though it were the natural conclusion of their conversation.
Lek eyed it, then her.
"You're really used to people just doing whatever you say, aren't you?"
Sanya's lashes lifted, dark eyes locking onto her.
"Are you saying you won't?"
It wasn't a challenge.
It wasn't arrogance.
It was simply… a question.
Lek hesitated, then picked up the glass.
The wine was richer than anything she'd ever tasted it was dry, smooth, almost like velvet against her tongue.
She set it down a little harder than necessary.
"Not bad."
Celine's smile was faint, amused.
"I'll take that as approval."
They talked then, not about contracts or money, but about the city itself.
Sanya asked what Lek thought of Bangkok nightlife.
Lek shrugged and said it was just noise, cigarettes, and wallets waiting to be emptied.
Sanya asked where Lek grew up.
"Chinatown," Lek said, flicking her lighter open and shut.
"Above a noodle shop. The smell of garlic never leaves your clothes."
Sanya's eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
"Better than perfume," she murmured.
Lek barked a short laugh.
"You'd think so. Try living with it."
The conversation moved like that slow, deliberate, careful.
Every answer from Lek was sharp-edged, almost defensive.
Every question from Sanya was smooth, measured, laced with something Lek couldn't name.
By the time the clock struck midnight, Lek realized she had barely touched her cigarette pack.
And when she finally stood to leave, Sanya rose with her.
"Think it over," Sanya said, voice low, eyes steady.
"No rush. My doors will be open."
Lek slung her helmet under her arm.
"Don't worry. I'm not the type to rush."
Something flickered in Sanya's gaze at that, a glimmer of interest, maybe even satisfaction.
"Good," she said simply.
Outside, the air was damp with Bangkok's midnight humidity.
Lek straddled her motorbike, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke curl upward.
She told herself it was just another job.
A paycheck.
But the truth, the one she didn't want to admit was that she could still feel the weight of Sanya's gaze on her skin, long after she'd left the room.
High above, behind tinted glass, Sanya watched the taillight of Lek's bike blur into traffic.
The smoke.
The tattoos.
The sharp jawline catching neon light.
A woman who didn't belong in her world but who had walked into it anyway.
Sanya's lips curved into the faintest, most private smile.
"She'll come back," she whispered to herself, more certain than hopeful.
Not because of money.
Not because of contracts.
But because curiosity cut both ways..
_______________
Lek never trusted rich people.
Money wrapped them in silk and arrogance, she thought, made them soft, untouchable.
And Lek with her tattoos inked deep into skin, her boyish walk, her solitary life of cramped rooms and overdue bills was nothing like them.
She didn't want to be.
So when the offer first came, she nearly laughed.
She smoked on it for a night, dragging the cigarette down until the paper burned hot at her fingers.
The truth she couldn't ignore: work was work, and she needed it.
Her debts weren't going away.
And something about the woman herself, elegant, unreadable, far removed from Lek's world gnawed at her thoughts.
Not attraction, she told herself.
Just curiosity.
Just the mystery of why an heiress would look her way at all.
By morning, she'd made her decision.
She texted back a short reply to the driver who had tracked her down:
I'll take it. When do I start?
____________
The casino's private offices were another world entirely.
The air smelled of polish and perfume instead of gasoline and smoke.
Floors gleamed.
The lighting was low, golden, designed to flatter everything it touched.
Lek walked in wearing clean jeans and a button-up, boots heavy on the marble, hair tied back carelessly.
She felt eyes on her staff glancing, whispering.
She knew what she looked like: out of place.
But she didn't flinch.
This was survival.
When she reached the office, the door opened before she could knock.
A secretary ushered her inside with a too-wide smile, then closed the door behind her.
Sanya sat behind her desk, silk blouse immaculate, a fountain pen balanced between her fingers.
She looked up slowly, and for a moment, her gaze lingered.
"Miss Saetang," she said, her voice low and velvety, as if the words themselves were chosen with care.
"I was told you've accepted my offer."
Lek nodded, helmet still under her arm like a shield.
"Yeah. Needed the work. Figured I'd try."
Sanya's lips curved faintly, not quite a smile.
Their eyes held, silent, just long enough to feel like a contest.
Lek broke it first, stepping closer to the desk.
"So. What do you need me to do?"
The hours that followed were simple, on paper.
Organizing documents.
Running errands between offices.
Sitting near while Sanya dictated notes.
But simplicity did nothing to ease the weight of presence.
Lek kept catching her scent subtle, like expensive cologne without sweetness, clean and dark.
It clung in the air around her, drawing Lek's focus against her will.
At one point, Sanya leaned over to show her a correction.
The space between them shrank to inches.
Sanya's eyes betrayed her for a heartbeat, sliding up to lek's neck long, smooth, flawless in a way that startled her.
She looked away fast, pretending to reread the paper.
Lek didn't noticed.
Sanya made her face remained composed, inside, she bit gently at the end of her pen, suppressing a warm feeling.
The heat that crept into her chest.
For her, too, the nearness was dangerous.
The faint smoke scent clinging to Lek's shirt.
The way her presence filled space like she owned it, without even trying.
By evening, Lek was tired, carrying a box of files to the private suite Sanya sometimes used as her retreat.
She knocked once, got no answer, and decided to step inside.
She froze..
Sanya was there, not in her crisp blouse but in a silk robe, legs stretched out under the lamplight as she smoothed lotion over her skin.
Long, pale, impossibly smooth the kind of beauty that belonged in magazines, not in front of someone like Lek.
For a split second, Lek's gaze stuck.
The length of those legs, the faint flex of muscle as Sanya's hands slid over them.
Heat pricked the back of her neck, and she jerked her eyes away, focusing on the files.
But she wasn't fast enough.
Sanya, through the mirror's reflection, had caught her.
And the faint smirk on her lips this time was unmistakable.
Lek set the files down with too much care, straightening sharply, forcing her eyes anywhere else.
Sanya's voice came like velvet against her nerves.
"Is it distracting?"
Lek swallowed hard.
"Not at all," she said, too quickly, her tone stiff.
"Mm." Sanya let the sound linger, half amusement, half something else.
"Good. I wouldn't want to unsettle you on your first day."
Her eyes held Lek's through the mirror, daring her to look back.
Lek's cheeks burned and docking her head down.
She excused herself with muttered words about finishing work outside and nearly fled, boots echoing down the polished hall.
As Sanya stayed in the suite, fingers brushing idly over the lotion bottle, lips curved into something between satisfaction and hunger.
The boyish woman with tattoos and calloused hands wasn't like anyone she'd ever let into her orbit.
Not rich.
Not polished.
And yet, she was the only one who had ever left Sanya speechless.
The only one who had made her feel something unfamiliar.
Now she had her close.
Within reach.
she wasn't going to waste it...
Lek was gone for the night, dismissed with a brief nod from Sanya after her escape from the suite.
But the heiress stayed behind, restless, pacing her office even though the city glittered outside the window like a restless promise.
She hated being restless.
She hated feeling warm without reason, unsettled in her own skin.
And yet she replayed every small detail: the way Lek avoided her gaze when their shoulders brushed, the hard swallow in her throat when She teased her.
That faint blush that shouldn't have looked so endearing on someone so rough.
Sanya almost smiled at the thought.
Almost.
The next afternoon, she wasn't expecting her father.
The casino's private elevator opened, and in walked Mr. Rattanakosin himself, silver hair slicked back, suit pressed sharp.
He carried authority without needing to speak, but when he saw his daughter behind the desk, he softened.
"Sanya." His deep voice filled the room.
"You've been working too hard. I thought I should see how my favorite daughter is doing."
She looked up, smirk tugging at her lips.
"Your only daughter, Father."
"Still the favorite." He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, eyes scanning the neat stacks of work.
"Efficient as ever. Though…"
His gaze shifted past her, to the young woman leaving the office with a stack of folders in her arms.
Lek.
She didn't notice him, focused on balancing the papers as she disappeared down the hall.
Mr. Rattanakosin arched a brow.
"And who is that?"
Sanya hesitated, too long for her usual self.
Then she leaned back in her chair, lips curving in a way she couldn't stop.
"That," she said slowly, "is Lek Saetang."
Her father's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
"Lek…" He repeated the name as though tasting it.
"New staff?"
"Yes." Sanya tapped her pen against the desk, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.
"A… recent hire. She's good. Reliable. Different from the others."
Her father studied her face and what he saw unsettled him.
His daughter, who usually spoke of people like chess pieces, efficient and cold, now had a brightness in her tone.
Her eyes didn't just observe; they lit up.
It wasn't business.
It was something else.
He crossed his arms, chuckling under his breath.
"You sound almost excited. I don't think I've heard you speak like this about anyone."
Sanya's cheeks warmed, and she bit the inside of her lip before she could stop herself.
"She's… interesting. That's all."
"Interesting," he repeated, savoring the word.
"Is she entertaining you, Sanya? Because that is what it sounds like. Like a girl speaking of her new crush."
Sanya stiffened. "Father.."
"I've watched you with senators' sons, with heirs and actresses."
His tone softened but carried an edge of curiosity.
"Never once have you given effort. Never once have you sounded this…"
He paused, eyes narrowing in amusement.
"Giddy."
The word struck harder than expected.
Sanya sat straighter, feigning composure.
"I am not giddy."
"You are smiling."
She touched her lips, realizing he was right.
It only made him chuckle deeper.
"And this woman," he added, gesturing vaguely toward the door Lek had exited through,
"doesn't look like anyone from our circles. Not rich, not polished. Yet here you are, lighting up like she's some rare jewel."
Sanya let out a slow breath, smirk tugging back at her lips despite herself.
"Maybe that's the point, Father. She isn't like them."
Her father studied her long, quiet, thoughtful.
Then he shook his head, half in wonder, half in disbelief.
"I never thought I'd see the day my daughter would work this hard just to keep someone near her"
He turned toward the door, but not before giving her a last look.
"Be careful, Sanya. People like her… they don't play by our rules."
Sanya watched him leave, heart still beating harder than she wanted to admit.
But his words didn't dampen her.
If anything, they only sharpened the smile tugging at her mouth.
Her plan was working.
Lek was here, within reach.
And for the first time in her life, Celine wasn't thinking in terms of strategy or power.
She was thinking of that long neck, that smoke-laced scent, and the way just one woman could make her feel like she was on fire.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to delight.
Her father wasn't wrong.
It did feel a little like a crush...