Rhea swallows.
Before she can —
Kane delivers the final slice.
"She promised me," Kane says softly, "that she would break a Kwong."
Silence detonates.
Ling staggers back half a step.
Her chest hurts now. Visibly.
She laughs once — breathless, disbelieving.
"That's not—" Ling whispers. "That's not who she is."
Kane smiles.
"That's exactly who she is."
Ling looks at Rhea.
Waiting.
Trust still alive.
And that is what makes it lethal.
Kane exhales slowly, almost satisfied.
"I knew," she says, calm as glass, "that you wouldn't believe words."
Ling's head lifts.
Kane reaches into her phone.
Rhea's breath catches sharply.
"No—"
Kane presses play.
Rhea's voice fills the room.
Light. Laughing. Careless.
"She's falling so fast, mom. It's insane."
"Ling Kwong — the great Ling Kwong — she doesn't even see it."
laughs
"She thinks she's in control. She's not."
"Give me time. I'll break her properly."
Ling freezes.
The room tilts.
The voice continues — softer now, intimate.
"You wanted revenge, right?"
"I'll give it to you."
"She's already weak."
The recording ends.
Silence screams.
Kane phone slips from Ling's fingers and hits the floor.
She doesn't bend to pick it up.
Her eyes stay on Rhea.
Wide. Shattered. Still searching.
"That's…" Ling whispers.
"That's edited."
Kane smiles gently.
"Say it again until it sounds real."
Ling takes a step toward Rhea.
Her voice is raw now — stripped of dominance, stripped of armor.
"Tell me," Ling says.
"Tell me this isn't real."
Rhea's lips tremble.
Her throat closes.
Kane steps in front of her.
"She can't," Kane says simply.
"Because she said it."
Ling's breath breaks — an ugly sound she's never made before.
"You laughed," Ling says, eyes burning.
"You laughed about me."
Rhea shakes her head, tears spilling now.
"That was— I didn't mean—"
Kane cuts in instantly.
"She meant survival," Kane says.
"And you were convenient."
Ling staggers back as if struck.
Her back hits the table. The bouquet falls. Roses scatter across the floor.
Ling looks down at them.
A short, broken laugh leaves her.
"So that's it," she says hoarsely.
"That's what I am."
She lifts her eyes to Rhea one last time.
Not angry.
Worse.
Empty.
"I trusted you," Ling says quietly.
Kane watches the damage settle before delivering the final line.
"You see?" Kane says to Rhea, almost fond.
"She believed even after hearing it."
"Congratulations," Ling says to Kane.
"You got your revenge."
She turns to Rhea.
Her voice is flat now. Distant. Controlled.
"You succeeded."
Kane said "I should leave now. You two talk."
She left with a smirk of victory on her face.
The door clicked shut behind Kane, a sound so final it seemed to swallow the room.
Silence fell immediately—thick, heavy, almost physical. The faint hum of the city outside, the distant drip of water somewhere in the apartment, even their own breathing seemed amplified.
Ling stood still, hands hanging at her sides, eyes fixed on Rhea. She didn't move, didn't speak, but the air between them vibrated with everything unsaid.
Rhea swallowed. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times, but rehearsals never captured the weight of being truly alone with her.
Kane is gone.
The silence she leaves behind is heavier than her voice ever was.
Ling doesn't move at first.
Then she laughs.
A short, cracked sound — wrong on her.
She drags a hand through her hair, pacing once, twice, then stopping in front of the table.
"God," Ling mutters, voice shaking.
"I actually—"
She laughs again. Louder this time. Meaner.
"I actually thought—"
She chokes.
"I really thought—"
Rhea steps forward instinctively.
"Ling—"
Ling snaps around.
"Don't," she says sharply.
Rhea freezes.
Ling bends down, picks up the bouquet from the floor. Crushed petals. Broken stems.
She holds it up between them.
"I bought these," Ling says, voice trembling now.
"I stood in traffic choosing flowers like some idiot."
She tosses them onto the bed.
Then she shrugs off her emerald blazer — the one she only wears when something matters.
She throws it after the flowers.
"And this," Ling continues, breath uneven.
"I wore this because I thought tonight meant something."
Her voice cracks fully now.
She sinks onto the edge of the bed, hands gripping her knees.
"I ignored my family," Ling whispers.
"I argued with my mother."
"I defended you like a fool."
Rhea rushes to her, kneeling in front of her.
"Ling, please— listen—"
Ling doesn't push her away.
That's worse.
"Your mother was right," Ling says, voice breaking completely.
"She was right about me."
"I was so dumb," Ling sobs suddenly, the word tearing out of her.
"So fucking dumb."
She presses her palms into her eyes, shoulders shaking.
Rhea reaches for Ling's wrists, trying to pull her hands down.
"No," Rhea says desperately.
"No, she wasn't—"
Ling lets her.
Her face is wet now. Red. Unrecognizable.
"You laughed about me," Ling whispers.
"You laughed."
"I didn't mean it like that," Rhea cries.
"You don't understand—"
Ling shakes her head, slow, defeated.
"I don't think I want to," she says softly.
She looks at Rhea — really looks.
"I would've given you everything," Ling says.
"And you made a joke out of it."
Rhea breaks down fully now, hands trembling as she tries to hold Ling's face.
"Please," Rhea begs.
"I'm here. I'm not leaving."
Ling closes her eyes at that.
A tear slips out anyway.
"That's the problem," Ling whispers.
"You already left."
She gently removes Rhea's hands from her face.
Not angry.
Not violent.
Final.
Ling stands.
She straightens her shirt. Wipes her face once. Puts the mask back on.
When she speaks again, her voice is steady — terrifyingly so.
"Don't touch me," Ling says quietly.
"Not tonight."
She walks toward the door.
Rhea grabs her sleeve.
Ling stops — just for a second.
Without turning back, she says:
"You don't get to comfort the damage you caused."
Her hand closes around the handle.
That's when Rhea moves.
She grabs Ling's wrist, spins her, and pins her hard against the wall.
The sound is sharp. Final.
Ling doesn't resist.
That's what breaks Rhea.
Rhea presses closer — too close.
Forehead to forehead.
Noses brushing.
Both of them wet with tears, breaths colliding, uneven and broken.
"Ling," Rhea sobs.
"I was about to tell you. I swear."
Ling lets out a laugh that isn't a laugh at all.
Her head tips back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.
"You ruined me," Ling says hoarsely.
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"No— no, please—"
Ling opens her eyes.
They're red. Raw. Empty and furious all at once.
"Congratulations," Ling whispers.
"You succeeded."
Her chest rises sharply.
"I'm weak," Ling says, voice cracking on the word.
"Finally broken. Exactly like you wanted."
Rhea's hands tighten at Ling's wrists, desperate.
"That's not true," Rhea cries.
"That was before— you don't understand—"
Ling presses her forehead harder against Rhea's, almost painful.
"Oh, I understand," Ling says quietly.
"I understand why you stayed."
"I understand why you touched me."
"I understand why you smiled."
Her voice drops to a whisper that cuts deeper than shouting.
"You needed me weak."
Rhea sobs openly now, tears spilling onto Ling's cheeks.
"I was trying to save you," Rhea says through tears.
"I was trying to save us."
Ling closes her eyes again.
Something collapses inside her completely.
"There is no 'us,'" Ling says softly.
"There never was."
Rhea's breath stutters.
Ling's hands finally move — not to hold, not to push — just to remove Rhea's grip from her wrists.
Slow. Controlled. Final.
She steps back half an inch.
Just enough to breathe without Rhea's mouth on hers.
"You don't get to say sorry," Ling says.
"And you don't get to explain."
She looks straight into Rhea's eyes.
"You wanted to see me fall," Ling says.
"See I fell."
Ling doesn't fight it.
That's what destroys Rhea.
They end up pressed together again — chest to chest, forehead touching, noses brushing, tears mixing without permission.
Rhea was shaking.
"So close," Rhea sobs.
"I was about to tell you. I swear. I was going to tell you everything."
Ling lets out a broken laugh — hollow, ugly, unfamiliar.
She tilts her head back against the wall, eyes glassy, unfocused.
"Don't," Ling whispers.
Rhea presses closer, desperate, crying openly now.
"I never wanted this to happen like this—"Rhea says.
Ling's eyes snap back to hers.
"You never loved me," Ling says quietly.
The room stills.
Rhea freezes.
Ling's voice breaks completely now — stripped of dominance, stripped of pride.
"You don't destroy someone you love," Ling says.
"You don't laugh about them."
"You don't plan them."
Her chest rises sharply, breath hitching.
"I thought you chose me," Ling whispers.
"I thought I was different."
She presses her forehead harder into Rhea's, almost punishing herself with the closeness.
"I let you touch everything," Ling says.
"My control. My family. My fear."
Her voice drops into something raw and devastated.
"You watched me fall and called it insane."
Rhea shakes her head violently, tears spilling unchecked.
"That wasn't— that wasn't who I am now—"
Ling cuts her off, eyes burning.
"That's the only part of you that was honest," Ling says.
Rhea's hands clutch Ling's sleeves like she's drowning.
"I'm obsessed with you," Rhea cries.
"I didn't know how to stop—"
Ling flinches.
Obsessed.
She laughs again — softer this time, completely broken.
"Obsession without love," Ling murmurs.
"That's worse."
Her voice shatters.
"I would've burned the world for you," Ling says.
"And you never loved me."
The realization lands fully now.
It empties her.
"You succeeded," Ling says quietly.
"You wanted me weak."
"What's left?" Ling asks quietly.
Rhea lifts her head, hope flickering despite herself.
Ling steps closer again — not to comfort, not to touch — but to stand inside her space, unavoidable, suffocating.
"Why are you still acting?" Ling continues, voice low, controlled, devastating.
"You already ruined me."
Rhea's lips tremble.
"Ling, please—"
Ling raises a hand slightly. Not to stop her physically just enough to silence.
"Trust me," Ling says, eyes wet but steady.
"There is nothing left."
She gestures around the room — the candles, the wine, the flowers crushed on the bed.
"You don't need to pretend anymore," Ling says.
"You don't need tears. You don't need explanations."
Her voice cracks for half a second — she swallows it down.
"You won," Ling says softly.
"Finally."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"No—"
"Yes," Ling interrupts, firmer now.
"Be happy."
The words sound wrong coming from her mouth. Like poison she's forcing herself to swallow.
"You took your revenge," Ling continues.
"You broke me exactly the way you wanted."
She presses a hand flat against her own chest, fingers curling slightly — not dramatic, just honest.
"I don't trust myself anymore," Ling admits.
"And that's worse than hating you."
Rhea steps forward instinctively.
Ling doesn't step back.
"Don't," Ling says quietly.
"If you touch me now, I'll believe it again."
That confession hangs heavy.
Ling's eyes shine — not begging, not accusing — just exposed.
"You don't love me," Ling says.
"And I finally understand that."
Rhea's breath comes out in a sob.
"That doesn't mean you get to leave," Rhea whispers.
Ling almost smiles at that.
"Oh," Ling says softly.
"I'm staying because this is where I broke," Ling says.
"And I want to make myself believe that you never loved me."
Silence.
Rhea slides down the wall until she's sitting on the floor.
She doesn't look small.
She looks undone.
She lifts her face slowly.
"If you think I'm acting," Rhea says hoarsely, "then look at me."
Ling doesn't move.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Rhea continues, voice shaking but sharp underneath.
"I'm not asking you to understand."
She laughs once — bitter, broken.
"I just didn't think you'd decide everything without even letting me speak."
Ling's jaw tightens.
"Speak?" Ling repeats quietly.
"You already did."
She gestures vaguely, not dramatic — precise.
"I heard you laughing."
"I heard you planning."
"I heard my collapse described like entertainment."
Her voice lowers.
"What exactly were you saving for later, Rhea?"
Rhea presses her palms into the floor, nails biting into skin.
"The part where I stopped lying," she whispers.
Ling lets out a slow breath through her nose.
"That's convenient."
Rhea looks up sharply.
"Don't," Rhea snaps, anger flaring through tears.
"Don't talk to me like I'm Mira."
Ling's eyes flash.
"You don't get to say her name," Ling says coldly.
"You don't get to compare."
Rhea stands abruptly, swaying slightly.
"I know what I said," Rhea says fiercely.
"And I know why I said it."
Ling's laugh is sharp this time.
"Oh? Enlighten me."
Rhea steps closer — close enough that Ling can feel her breath again.
"I was trying to survive my mother," Rhea says.
"I was trying to keep you alive in a way she wouldn't notice."
Ling's eyes harden.
"You think lying to me was protection?"
"Yes," Rhea shouts, then breaks.
"Yes, because the truth would have destroyed you faster."
Ling's voice drops to a whisper.
"You don't get to decide how I break."
She takes one step forward.
Rhea doesn't retreat.
"You took my choice," Ling continues.
"My agency. My trust."
Her hand lifts, trembling — she lets it fall before it can touch Rhea.
"I built my entire world around the idea that you chose me."
Her eyes shine again.
"And you never did."
Rhea shakes her head desperately.
"I chose you every day after that," she says.
"I just didn't know how to undo the first lie."
Ling closes her eyes briefly.
"That's the thing," she says softly.
"Love doesn't come with footnotes."
Rhea's breath stutters.
"You don't know how badly I wanted you to hate me less," Rhea whispers.
"I thought if I could just get you to feel safe—"
Ling opens her eyes.
"Safe?" she echoes.
"I handed you every weakness I've ever hidden."
Her voice cracks.
"And you catalogued them."
Rhea reaches out this time — slow, shaking.
Ling doesn't stop her.
Rhea's fingers hover an inch from Ling's wrist.
"I don't know how to love without destroying something," Rhea admits.
"But I never wanted it to be you."
Ling laughs again — softer, devastated.
"And yet, here we are" Ling says,
"You know what, that's the most dishonest thing you've said tonight."