Rhea didn't stop walking until she was halfway down the corridor.
Students moved around her—voices, footsteps, laughter—but it all blurred into background noise. Her mind was loud in a way she hated. Her jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.
A girl passed too close, and Rhea snapped her shoulder out of the way without even looking. She kept moving, heels sharp against the floor.
"Possessive," she murmured.
Two steps later, quieter but sharper, "Control freak."
Then, almost like an insult she spat just for herself, "Professor Kwong."
She scoffed, shaking her head.
"As if," she muttered. "As if I care who looks at her."
She stopped near the stairwell, hands gripping the strap of her bag too tightly.
"Jealous?" she whispered mockingly, repeating Ling's word. "Please."
But her chest burned, and that annoyed her more than anything.
"Stupid," Rhea said under her breath. "Stupid, smug—"
She mimicked Ling's calm voice in a whisper. "You noticed."
Rhea rolled her eyes hard, but her ears felt warm.
"She thinks she knows everything," Rhea continued, pacing now. "Thinks she can read me like a damn chart."
She paused, biting her lip, then snapped again.
"And who asked her to care if that woman—Marley—looks at her?"
The name tasted bitter.
Rhea huffed out a laugh, shaking her head again, as if physically trying to shake the feeling loose.
"Get over it," she told herself. "She's just a professor. A control-freak professor."
But even as she walked away, the image burned in her head—Ling standing there, jaw tight, eyes dark, voice low and furious not for authority, but for her.
Rhea cursed under her breath and pushed through the stairwell doors.
Ling didn't move for a long time after Rhea left.
The silence in the office pressed in on her, thick and heavy. The faint echo of Rhea's footsteps had faded, but Ling could still feel her—like heat that refused to dissipate.
She exhaled slowly and straightened the papers on her desk with unnecessary precision.
"Unprofessional," she said aloud, voice calm again. "Completely unprofessional."
She picked up her glasses, set them down, picked them up again. Her movements were too deliberate—overcorrecting.
Ling walked into the adjoining room she used as a private resting space and closed the door behind her. Only then did she allow herself to lean back against it.
Her cheeks felt… warm.
Ling frowned.
She lifted a hand, touched her face briefly—and froze.
"…Seriously?" she muttered.
Her lips pressed together, then curved despite herself.
"She noticed," Ling said softly, almost incredulous. "She noticed Marley."
The realization hit her fully then—not as tension, not as anger, but something lighter. Dangerous in a different way.
Jealousy.
Rhea's jealousy.
Ling's ears warmed next.
She straightened abruptly, annoyed at herself.
"No," she said firmly. "No."
She lifted her hand and patted her own cheek once. Then again, more deliberately, like grounding herself.
"Control," Ling told herself quietly. "You're losing it again."
She paced the room once, hands clasped behind her back.
"She called you out," Ling continued, as if scolding herself. "Mocked you. Walked away."
And yet—
Ling stopped pacing.
"She stayed," Ling said slowly. "She stayed long enough to fight. Long enough to provoke. Long enough to burn."
Ling exhaled through her nose, rubbing her forehead.
"You don't get to smile about this," she warned herself.
But when she pictured Rhea storming down the hallway, muttering insults under her breath, eyes sharp and hurt and jealous—
Ling smiled anyway.
Just a little.
She dropped onto the edge of the couch and stared at the floor.
"She hates that she cares," Ling murmured. "And she cares so much it makes her reckless."
Ling leaned back, staring at the ceiling now.
"And you," she added quietly, "are no better."
She sat up again, composure snapping back into place piece by piece.
"Enough," Ling said firmly. "You're a professor. She's a student. This ends here."
Her phone buzzed with a notification she ignored.
Ling stood, straightened her jacket, and adjusted her cuffs until every crease was perfect again.
But before leaving the room, she paused—just once—and murmured, almost fondly,
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Rhea."
Then, softer, barely a confession even to herself:
"But it suits me knowing it's there."
Rhea went straight to the mansion.
She didn't go to her room. She didn't slow down. She walked in like someone who needed noise, weight, something solid to ground her.
Amaya was on the carpet in the living room, surrounded by soft toys, banging two blocks together with intense concentration. The moment she saw Rhea, her whole face lit up.
"Ninna!" Amaya squealed, arms lifting clumsily.
Rhea dropped her bag and crouched immediately, scooping Amaya up without hesitation.
"Hey," Rhea murmured, pressing her cheek briefly against Amaya's hair. "Hey, monster."
Amaya giggled, grabbing at Rhea's chain and trying to stuff it into her mouth.
"Hey—no," Rhea said, laughing despite herself. "That's not food."
She sank onto the couch with Amaya settled in her lap, rocking her gently. Her body finally slowed, but her mind didn't.
Shyra watched her from the doorway for a long moment before walking in and sitting across from her.
"You didn't come here to play nanny," Shyra said calmly. "What's going on in your head?"
Rhea didn't look up. She adjusted Amaya's position, letting the child lean against her chest.
"Nothing," Rhea said flatly.
Shyra raised an eyebrow. "Don't lie."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "I'm not lying."
"You are," Shyra replied easily. "You always do that thing with your jaw when you are."
Rhea's jaw tightened immediately.
"See?" Shyra added.
Rhea sighed sharply, irritated more at being seen than questioned.
"Fine," she muttered. "I ran into her."
Shyra didn't need clarification. "Ling."
Rhea nodded once.
"At university," she continued. "In her stupid office. Locked the door. Played professor. Acted like she owns the air I breathe."
Shyra leaned back slightly, listening.
"She humiliated a guy in class," Rhea went on. "Not because he deserved it—but because he talked to me. And then she had the nerve to accuse me of provoking her."
Amaya tugged at Rhea's sleeve. Rhea distractedly kissed the top of her head.
"She said I was jealous," Rhea scoffed. "Of some doctor—Marley. As if."
Shyra's lips twitched. "And were you?"
Rhea shot her a look. "No."
"That was fast."
Rhea frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you didn't even think before answering," Shyra said gently.
Rhea looked away. "I don't care who looks at her."
Shyra hummed thoughtfully. "Go on."
Rhea exhaled, annoyed but already committed.
"She cornered me," Rhea said. "Talked like she always does—calm, threatening, like she's holding herself back from something worse. Told me who I could talk to. Who I could leave with."
"And you didn't like that," Shyra said.
"I hated it," Rhea snapped. "She doesn't get to control me."
"But?"
Rhea hesitated, then scowled. "But I hate it more when she acts like she doesn't care."
Shyra nodded slowly. "So what are you going to do about it?"
Rhea's mouth curved into something sharp. "Exactly what she hates."
Shyra studied her. "Which is?"
Rhea adjusted Amaya again, avoiding eye contact. "Talking to people. Letting them get close. Making it clear I'm not waiting around for her."
Shyra smiled faintly. "You're going to provoke her."
Rhea shrugged. "If she can't handle it, that's her problem."
Shyra leaned forward slightly. "Rhea."
"What?"
"You know this already," Shyra said calmly. "But I'll say it anyway."
Rhea tensed.
"Whatever you do," Shyra continued, "you're not doing it because you hate her."
Rhea scoffed. "Oh, please."
"You're doing it," Shyra said, unbothered, "because you like when she loses control because of you."
Rhea laughed loudly. Too loudly.
"That's ridiculous."
"You like knowing you still affect her," Shyra went on. "You like seeing cracks in that perfect control. It makes you feel chosen."
Rhea rolled her eyes dramatically. "Psychology lesson over?"
"You like being the one thing she can't regulate," Shyra finished.
Rhea shifted Amaya onto her shoulder and stood abruptly.
"You're reading too much into it," Rhea said. "I don't care what she feels."
Shyra watched her quietly. "You care enough to hurt yourself trying to hurt her."
Rhea snorted. "I'm not hurting myself."
Shyra didn't respond immediately.
Rhea bounced Amaya gently, patting her back. "She's the one who ran away. She's the one who came back pretending she's above it all."
"And yet," Shyra said softly, "you walked straight into her office."
Rhea opened her mouth—then stopped.
She looked down at Amaya instead.
"Don't start," Rhea muttered.
Shyra smiled knowingly. "You rolled your eyes earlier too."
Rhea stiffened. "At what?"
"At yourself," Shyra said.
Rhea said nothing.
Amaya yawned and rested her head against Rhea's shoulder, already drifting.
Rhea stared ahead, expression stubborn, lips pressed tight.
"I don't like her losing control," Rhea said suddenly. "I just… don't like her acting like she doesn't care."
Shyra let the silence sit.
Rhea added quickly, "And even if I did—it wouldn't matter."
Shyra stood and walked past her, brushing her shoulder lightly.
"Lie to yourself if you want," Shyra said. "Just don't expect me to believe it."
Rhea rolled her eyes again.
But this time, she didn't say anything at all.
Ling returned to the Kwong mansion in a mood no one had seen in months.
Her steps were lighter. Her shoulders weren't as rigid. The tightness that usually lived between her brows was gone. There was even—dangerously—something close to a smile on her lips.
She barely noticed it herself.
Dadi did.
The moment Ling stepped into the living room, Dadi looked up from her tea, squinted at her granddaughter, and then broke into a knowing grin.
"Oh?" Dadi said lightly. "Seems like someone added too much blush into their routine today."
Ling froze.
"What?" she asked too quickly.
Dadi chuckled. "Come here."
Ling hesitated, then walked closer. Dadi reached out and gently tapped Ling's cheek with one finger.
"Warm," Dadi observed. "Very warm."
Ling straightened immediately. "It's nothing."
Dadi laughed. "Of course it is. Nothing always looks like this on your face."
Ling turned away, pretending to loosen her cuffs. "I'm just… fine."
"Mm," Dadi hummed. "Fine doesn't smile like that."
Ling stilled.
She cleared her throat. "I wasn't smiling."
Dadi raised an eyebrow. "You were glowing."
Ling shot her a look. "Dadi."
Dadi waved her off affectionately. "Alright, alright. I won't tease. But I will say this—" She leaned back comfortably. "It's nice seeing your face move again."
Ling didn't respond. Her fingers brushed her own cheek unconsciously, as if only now realizing the heat there.
She told herself it meant nothing.
Just a moment.
Just control slipping—briefly.
That was all.
"Eliza," Victor's voice came from the hallway.
Eliza entered the room with her usual composed steps, her gaze immediately fixing on Ling. She studied her for half a second too long.
"Ling," Eliza said. "I want to talk to you about something."
Ling turned. "Yes?"
"Come sit," Eliza said, gesturing toward the sofa.
Ling obeyed, posture straight, expression neutral again. Whatever softness she had carried in had already begun to retreat behind habit.
Eliza folded her hands together. "You're going to be twenty-four in three months."
Ling nodded once. "I know."
Dadi's fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.