Ling tightened her hold.
"You're not alone," she said, voice rough but absolute. "Not tonight. Not ever again."
Rhea's lashes fluttered.
"Ling…" The name slipped out broken, drunk, aching.
Ling froze.
Then she leaned in, lips brushing Rhea's temple not a kiss, a claim.
"I'm here," she said immediately. "Don't drift. Talk to me."
Rhea's eyes stayed unfocused. "Hurts…"
"I know," Ling replied, voice low, steady, iron-wrapped velvet. "You'll curse me for this tomorrow. Tonight, you listen."
She pressed her fingers into the pressure point at Rhea's wrist grounding, practiced.
"Name five things you can feel."
Rhea frowned weakly. "…you… your hand…your breath.... your heartbeat..... my head… music… no— not music—"
"Good," Ling said softly. "Stay."
Ling didn't let go, Rhea in her lap seatbelt binding them together, her one hand on steering other on Rhea's waist.
The Rolls-Royce disappeared into the dark carrying obsession, guilt, possession, and a girl Ling Kwong refused to lose, even if it meant destroying everything else.
——
The mansion gates appeared ahead lights already blazing, security parted like the sea.
Ling didn't slow.
The car stopped. Doors opened instantly.
Doctors were already there.
Ling didn't hand Rhea over.
She carried her.
Straight through marble halls, past staff who looked away, into the west wing medical suite glass, steel, silence. The kind of place built for emergencies that were never meant to be public.
Only when Rhea was on the bed did Ling step back just enough.
IVs were placed. Oxygen fitted. Monitors hummed.
Ling stood at the head of the bed, hands braced on the mattress, eyes never leaving Rhea's face.
"What did she take?" Dr. Han asked calmly.
Ling's jaw tightened. "Unknown. Likely stimulant mixed with alcohol. Club-grade."
Dr. Verma nodded. "We'll stabilize. She's young. She'll recover."
Ling's gaze sharpened dangerously. "She doesn't 'recover.' She wakes up."
Silence.
Doctors worked faster.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Rhea's breathing slowed. Her brow smoothed.
Ling finally straightened only slightly rolling her shoulders back, reclaiming control inch by inch.
She reached down, brushed damp hair from Rhea's forehead.
Her voice dropped lower, darker.
"Anyone who touched you tonight," she added, eyes flicking coldly toward the door, "will spend the rest of their lives wishing they hadn't."
Rhea stirred again, this time more solid, fingers twitching weakly toward Ling.
Ling caught her hand instantly, lacing their fingers together, grip firm, unyielding.
"Sleep," she commanded softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Rhea's lashes fluttered again slower now, heavier but when the doctor adjusted the monitor, her fingers tightened weakly around the sheet.
"No," Rhea murmured, voice thin, strained. "Don't… don't make me sleep."
Dr. Han glanced at Ling, then back at Rhea. "Her vitals are stabilizing," he said gently. "But her mind is still fighting. Let her talk."
Ling didn't move.
"Don't sedate her," the doctor added quietly. "Not unless she asks. Right now, letting her speak is safer than forcing rest."
Ling nodded once. No argument. No hesitation.
"Clear the room," she said calmly.
The doctors exchanged a look, then complied. Equipment stayed. Monitors stayed. But the room emptied until only Ling and Rhea remained the hum of machines the only witness.
Ling stepped closer, brushing her knuckles against Rhea's cheek. "I'm taking you upstairs," she said softly. "My room."
Rhea didn't resist. She didn't agree either. She just let Ling lift her again lighter than she should have been, bones too easy to carry.
Ling carried her through the silent corridors, past the grand stairway, into the private wing. The doors to Ling's room opened without sound.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't dark.
It was controlled. Low lights. Safety disguised as luxury.
Ling laid Rhea down carefully on the bed, propping her with pillows, keeping her on her side. She sat beside her immediately, one hand anchored around Rhea's wrist, thumb resting over the pulse.
"Talk," Ling said quietly. "I'm listening."
Rhea stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but tears slid sideways into her hair anyway.
"I didn't want to die," Rhea whispered finally. "I just… didn't want to feel."
Ling's jaw tightened. She didn't interrupt.
"I saw you," Rhea continued, voice breaking unevenly. "With her. Mira. You looked… fine. Like I never happened."
Ling's fingers curled slightly, grip firm but gentle. "You assumed."
Rhea laughed weakly a sound more like pain than humor. "That's all I've ever done."
Her breathing hitched. "I tried to hate you. I swear I did. I tried so hard. I held someone else's hand just so I wouldn't reach for yours."
Ling leaned forward slightly. "And I hate that."
"And it didn't work," Rhea whispered. "Nothing worked. Not pretending. Not hurting you. Not hurting myself."
Tears spilled freely now.
"I keep telling myself you broke me on purpose," Rhea said. "But some nights… some nights I think you broke yourself first."
The words landed deep.
Ling's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes fractured.
"You don't get to decide my damage," Ling said quietly. "But you're not wrong."
Rhea turned her head slowly, finally looking at her. Really looking.
"Why didn't you stop me tonight?" she asked. "When you saw me drinking."
Ling didn't look away. "Because you didn't want saving yet."
Silence stretched between them heavy, intimate, dangerous.
Rhea swallowed. "And now?"
Ling's voice dropped. "Now you're asking without saying it."
Rhea's fingers tightened weakly around Ling's hand. "Stay," she whispered. "Just… don't leave me alone with my head."
Ling shifted onto the bed fully, sitting against the headboard.
"I'm here," Ling said, steady. "Say everything you need. I'll keep you awake."
Rhea shifted slightly, exhausted now.
"Ling?" she whispered, half-asleep.
"Yes."
"Don't let me ruin myself again."
"I won't," she said quietly. "Even if you try."
Rhea shifted restlessly, breath uneven again, fingers curling into the fabric at Ling's side.
"I wanna sleep in your arms," she murmured suddenly, voice small, unfiltered. "Hold me."
Ling froze for half a second.
Not because she didn't want to.
Because she knew this Rhea wasn't armored.
This wasn't pride or strategy or cruelty.
This was what slipped out when the walls were down.
Ling lay back carefully, pulling Rhea with her, adjusting them so Rhea was half on her chest, half tucked into her side. Ling's arm wrapped around her instinctively firm, enclosing, protective. One hand slid up to cradle the back of Rhea's head, fingers threading through her hair.
"There," Ling said quietly. "I've got you."
That was all it took.
Rhea broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
She cried like a child who had held her breath too long shoulders shaking, face pressed into Ling's collarbone, tears soaking through expensive fabric without apology.
"I tried," Rhea whispered brokenly, words slurring into honesty. "I really tried to be strong. I didn't wanna need you."
Ling swallowed hard. She kept her voice steady. "You don't have to explain."
"But I wanna," Rhea insisted weakly, crying harder. "Because you think I'm cruel on purpose. I'm not. I just… I don't know how to love without destroying something."
Her fingers clutched at Ling's shirt like she was afraid Ling might dissolve.
"I saw you with her," Rhea continued, voice cracking. "And I hated myself because I wanted to rip her hands off you. I hated that I still cared."
Ling's jaw tightened, but she didn't interrupt. Her hand moved in slow, grounding strokes over Rhea's back counted, controlled, familiar.
Rhea hiccupped, breath hitching. "I thought if I ruined myself tonight… it would finally stop hurting."
Ling closed her eyes briefly, forehead resting against Rhea's hair.
"Idiot," she murmured not harsh, not angry. "My idiot."
Rhea laughed weakly through tears. "You always say that… when you're scared."
Ling opened her eyes.
She didn't deny it.
She shifted closer, seeking warmth, seeking certainty. "Do you still hate me?" she asked suddenly, terrified. "Be honest."
Rhea's arm tightened around her automatically possessive, anchoring.
"No," she said simply. "I hate what we did to each other."
"I didn't wanna tell you this," she whispered sleepily. "But when you left that morning… it felt like someone pulled the ground out from under me."
Ling's breath stuttered once. Just once.
Her hand slid up to Rhea's cheek, thumb brushing away tears without asking permission.
"I know," Ling said low. "I know."
Rhea's words slowed, slurred by alcohol and relief. "Don't let me go back there," she murmured. "To pretending I don't care. It's exhausting."
Ling pressed a kiss to the top of Rhea's head.
"Rest," Ling said softly. "I'm holding you."
"I feel safe… only like this." Rhea said.
Rhea shifted in Ling's arms again, restless even in sleep's shallow edge. Her face was buried against Ling's chest, voice muffled, drunk-soft, stripped of pride.
"You don't even try to get to me now," Rhea whispered suddenly.
Ling's body went still.
Her arm stayed firm around Rhea, but her chest tightened.
"I did," Ling replied quietly. "I tried until you paired yourself with Roin. What was I supposed to do after that?"