Chapter 1Thanaphat Building, Bangkok
"Oh my god — Chanya's here to see Sia again."
"Look what he's handing her. Probably an allowance."
"Looks more like a box to me. Wasn't that the jewelry Khun Secretary just ordered for Sia? We all thought it was a birthday gift for Khun Sasithorn. Guess not."
The voices of the employees clustered by the fourth-floor glass rang out like a flock of startled sparrows — men, women, and everyone in between, gathered in the hour just before one o'clock, watching the scene below with unabashed delight.
"They're practically embracing out in the open, shameless as anything. If Khun Khaekai or Khun Ni saw this—"
"Saw what."
The new voice sent the group scattering at once. They spun around to find two figures descending from the fifth floor by the stairs rather than the lift — and though every eye dropped quickly to the floor, more than a few women stole glances at the tall, sharp-featured mixed-blood man who had already moved away from Nisakhon to stand at the glass, hands in the pockets of his slacks, gazing down at the parking lot below with an expression of quiet amusement.
The latest man in Sia Bancha's daughter's life was a major businessman — one whose bearing outclassed every other man in the room, including the leading actors Nisakhon had been photographed with in years past. He and Nisakhon showed none of the open sweetness of her previous relationships, yet here he was.
"Nothing, Khun Ni. We were just heading back," someone braver than the rest offered.
"I'm on a diet. Lunch is salad and half a boiled egg," Nisakhon said in a flat voice, sweeping every one of her father's employees with a single look. "It's almost one o'clock. Don't you people have work to do?"
"Yes, Khun — going now—"
Nearly ten employees shuffled aside to make way for the slender figure of Nisakhon Thanaphatwanit — the leading actress of her generation — who stepped to the glass and stood there, expression cool, while her father's staff scattered down the stairs.
Below, a white Audi sports car was pulling out of the lot. Sia Bancha still stood by his own car, one hand raised in farewell to the departing vehicle, unhurried and unbothered, before stepping into his European sedan where his driver held the door open. On the other side, Borraphat, the family's personal lawyer, was already climbing in beside him. The two of them heading off somewhere together.
This was not the first time her father had done something so thoughtless toward Khun Khaekai, her mother — not the first time he had made himself the gossip of his own staff and household. She and her mother had nowhere left to hide their faces. But of all the women her father kept close, none made Nisakhon's fury run as deep as the owner of that white Audi.
Did she intend to plague her at every turn — even in this, even as the third party in her own family?
Her face was still tight with the anger smoldering beneath the surface. When she turned and met the eyes of the tall man beside her, she made a deliberate effort to cool herself, offering him a thin, embarrassed smile.
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see any of this."
"See what?"
"My father. With — with her. That actress."
"I don't involve myself in other people's private affairs," Phantakan Wesley Damrongkrittaphat replied, his tone unhurried and mild.
"Still, it's embarrassing. My father should be the one who's ashamed — keeping a girl young enough to be his daughter as his kept woman."
"Are you sure you're not mistaken? I've seen Sia Bancha's advertisements — he sponsors quite a few celebrities as presenters for his brand."
"He sponsors this one in more ways than one." The words came out sharper than she intended. She caught herself. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to hear this, Khun Wes."
"It's all right. I didn't even notice which actress it was."
"Chanya Phutphitchaya. Same channel as me." Nisakhon paused, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "You actually know her work?"
"I've seen her on TV. In passing."
"You watch lakorns?[1]"
"Kamrai — our housekeeper — always asks to turn the television on while she's serving dinner. My great-uncle started watching along with her. By the time I'd sit down with him to go over documents or talk through company matters, it had become a habit for both of them." The faintest smile crossed his face as he said it, as though it were nothing of consequence. "So yes. I've seen her. In passing."
"Jao Sua[2]Anan — watching evening dramas," Nisakhon said, her voice lifting slightly in disbelief.
Because the image of Jao Sua Anan Damrongkrittaphat — a man in his seventies who had long since handed full control of DP Group to his sole grandnephew, whose very presence commanded deference, whose name made cabinet ministers bow when requesting an audience — watching primetime dramas alongside a housekeeper was difficult to picture, to say the least.
"Anyway." Phantakan straightened. "My car is just on the ground floor. I'll head down from here."
"I'll walk you."
"You've had half a boiled egg since noon. Save your energy."
His phone rang. He drew it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
"Important call. We'll talk later, Nisakhon."
A single nod. Then he was moving toward the lift, phone already at his ear — no backward glance, no lingering, no sign that he wished she would follow. He simply left.
Nisakhon watched him go.
She had been with men before. Some of those relationships had grown close in the way that relationships between young people sometimes do, though she had always been careful — with her image, with her conduct, with what she allowed. She was confident that given the right opportunity, she could have any man she wanted.
Phantakan Wesley Damrongkrittaphat might carry himself like a man with both wealth and authority, the kind Bangkok society said had never yielded to any woman beyond something fleeting. But she was Sia Bancha's daughter. Her bloodline and her standing were second to no one. She was the leading actress of her generation.
No man had ever been able to refuse her.
Except, perhaps, for one reason she hadn't forgotten.
The memory surfaced without warning — something from a long time ago — and the anger she had only just managed to cool began to smolder again.
A shapely figure in a form-fitting dress stepped out of a white Audi sports car after leaning on the horn twice without anyone coming to open the gate. The actress looked up at the handsome facade of the Siwirachatphakdi estate and exhaled slowly. She didn't know whether the person she had come to find was still inside at this late hour.
Word had reached her that Wanatchon had been invited to a bachelor party — one of those gatherings among Bangkok's high-society playboys, hosted by the owner of this very estate.
Chanya had been Wanatchon's friend since their first days in the industry, back when both were still university students who had stumbled into the world of entertainment shooting music videos at twenty-one. Five years ago now. She was twenty-six. She had built herself into one of the most in-demand actresses at her channel — the villain audiences loved, the one directors called first when they needed someone cold, magnetic, and impossible to look away from.
Wanatchon had started with more. A lead role. A breakout series. A fanbase that seemed destined to carry her far. Then a blurred video surfaced — a woman with her face, with a married man whose family name carried real weight in Bangkok society. Her boyfriend left in the same week. Sponsors pulled out. The channel went quiet.
Everyone assumed the worst. Kept assuming, even after the denials. Even after the man's family issued a statement. Even after Wanatchon's own agency tried to bury the story.
In Thailand, being suspected of being a kept woman was enough. The accusation was the verdict.
But Chanya had been close enough to know what was really behind all of it. And what she knew was far worse than any gossip.
The woman in that video might have looked like the guilty party. In truth, she had been the victim.
That was why Chanya was standing here at midnight, instead of sleeping. She had been trying to reach Wanatchon since early evening. If Wanatchon missed the call from one of the industry's most powerful producers tonight, whatever light remained in her career would go out entirely.
"Sorry to keep you waiting — I thought everyone had gone. Oh. Khun Chanya."
The security guard who appeared in the open doorway had apparently just returned from the bathroom after hearing the horn. He stared at her with undisguised surprise. Dozens of beautiful actresses had passed through that gate tonight. None of them had stopped him in his tracks the way the woman standing before him did now. Beautiful on television, yes — but the real thing made the screen look like a poor imitation.
"Hello," Chanya said warmly, switching instinctively to her off-screen manner — first name, open smile, the version of herself that belonged to the public. "I was starting to think no one was coming."
"Khun Chanya isn't on the guest list Khun Wat gave us," the guard said, recovering his composure.
The Khun Wat in question was Wasawat Siwirachatphakdi — the only son born to Mom Luang[3] Warinramphrai and a foreign father, raised under the name of her second husband, the billionaire Sarat Siwirachatphakdi, one of Thailand's wealthiest men. Wasawat was his stepson and the public face of everything his stepfather had built.
"I'm just here to see a friend — Wanatchon," Chanya said. "I'm not sure if she's still inside."
"I'm not certain either, Khun. There are only two of us on the front tonight." He hesitated. "Khun Wat's rules — we've had journalists try to get in before—"
"I'm an actress, not a journalist," Chanya said with a small laugh. "You're welcome to search my bag."
"That's — no, Khun, I wouldn't—" He reached for his radio. "Let me check with Khun Wat first."
"We can ask him together," she said — and stepped forward before he could answer.
[1] Lakorn — Thai television drama serial, typically broadcast in daily or weekly episodes and enormously popular across all demographics.
[2] Jao Sua — honorific for a patriarch of dynastic wealth and influence. Implies a figure whose power predates and outlasts any
[3] Mom Luang — a Thai royal title denoting a great-grandchild of a king. Carries inherited prestige entirely distinct from earned social standing.