Ling's control snapped—not outwardly, not loudly—but internally, dangerously.
She stepped closer again, close enough that Rhea could smell her perfume, could feel the heat radiating off her body.
"Power doesn't change facts," Ling said quietly. "And facts are simple."
Her gaze locked onto Rhea's, unblinking.
"You were absent without formal notice," Ling continued. "You violated academic protocol. And you are now raising your voice at faculty."
Rhea's chest heaved. "I almost died!"
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line.
"And yet you're standing," Ling replied. "Which means you are capable of consequences."
Rhea stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury. "You're unbelievable."
Ling leaned in slightly, voice lowering further. "And you are being insubordinate."
The word hit like a slap.
Rhea's hands curled into fists. "You don't get to talk to me like this."
"In this room," Ling said sharply, "I absolutely do."
A long, charged silence followed.
Rhea's eyes burned, unshed tears threatening but refusing to fall. "You really want to pretend we're strangers?" she asked, voice trembling despite herself.
Ling's face didn't soften.
"Yes," she answered immediately.
That one word gutted Rhea more than any lecture ever could.
"Because if we are not strangers," Ling continued, voice steady but strained beneath the surface, "then this conversation becomes something else entirely. And I will not allow that here."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "So you'll punish me instead."
"This is not punishment," Ling snapped. "This is professionalism."
Rhea shook her head slowly. "No. This is you hiding."
Ling's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Careful," she warned. "You're crossing a line."
Rhea stepped forward too now, defiant despite the tremor in her legs. "You drew that line when you let me believe you left."
For the first time—
Ling faltered.
Just a fraction. Just enough.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it.
Then the mask slammed back into place.
"This discussion is over," Ling said curtly. "You will submit a medical application by end of day. Until then, consider this a formal warning."
Rhea stared at her, chest aching, heart screaming words she refused to say.
"You know what hurts the most?" Rhea said quietly. "Not that you're pretending to be nothing to me."
Ling didn't respond.
"That you're so good at it."
Ling turned away sharply, gathering her files.
"Dismissed," she said.
Rhea stood there for a long moment, shaking with unshed emotion—anger, grief, longing all tangled together.
Then she grabbed her bag and walked out without another word.
The door slammed.
Ling remained frozen at the front of the room.
Only when she was sure Rhea was gone did Ling finally exhale—slow, ragged, painful.
Her hand clenched at her side.
Because maintaining authority was easy.
Maintaining distance—
Was killing her.
Rhea went straight to the university café.
Not because she was hungry—she wasn't—but because she needed noise. People. Anything that would drown out Ling's voice still echoing in her head.
Remember your place.
Her hands shook slightly as she ordered coffee she didn't want. She chose a table in the corner, back to the wall, eyes down on her phone she wasn't really reading.
Her chest still felt tight. The argument replayed again and again—Ling's cold authority, the way she'd erased everything between them with titles and rules.
Professor.
University owner.
Fine.
Rhea clenched her jaw.
She was stirring her coffee absentmindedly when a shadow fell across the table.
"Hey."
Rhea looked up, irritation already flashing in her eyes.
It was the boy from the party. The one who'd been hovering near her that night, too curious, too persistent. She remembered brushing him off even then.
"Yes?" she said flatly.
He smiled, pulling out the chair opposite her without asking. "You remember me, right? From the banquet."
"I remember wanting to be left alone," Rhea replied bluntly.
He chuckled like it was a joke. "Still sharp, huh? You disappeared that night. Everyone was asking about you."
Rhea's fingers tightened around the cup. "I don't care."
She looked back down at her phone, clearly dismissing him.
He didn't take the hint.
"So you're back already," he continued. "Classes and all. Must be rough after—"
"Stop," Rhea snapped, lifting her head sharply. "You don't know anything about me."
He raised his hands slightly, mock-innocent. "Relax. I was just making conversation."
"I didn't invite it."
Her tone was cold now. Defensive. Wounded.
The boy leaned back, studying her. "You're always this angry?"
Something in Rhea cracked.
She laughed once—short, humorless. "Only when people don't know when to shut up."
That should've ended it.
It didn't.
"You don't have to be rude," he said, hesitation creeping into his voice. "I'm just trying to be nice."
Rhea's eyes hardened. "Then try harder somewhere else."
A few heads turned at nearby tables. She didn't care.
He leaned forward again, lowering his voice. "Did something happen? You look… off."
Rhea stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"That's your cue," she said sharply. "Leave."
He frowned, clearly not used to being dismissed. "Wow. Someone really messed you up, didn't they?"
That was the wrong thing to say.
Rhea's hands trembled as anger surged—hot, overwhelming, tangled with hurt she refused to show.
"You have no idea," she said quietly. "And you never will."
She grabbed her bag and turned to leave.
As she passed him, she added without looking back, "Next time someone tells you no—listen."
She walked out of the café, heart pounding, breath uneven.
Outside, the air felt colder.
She stopped near the steps, pressing a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself.
Why did everyone think they had a right to her space?
Her thoughts betrayed her immediately—dragging her back to Ling.
Because Ling had always been everywhere in her life. Too close. Too controlling. Too intense.
And yet—
When anyone else crossed a line, it only made Rhea miss the one person she claimed to hate.
"I don't care," she whispered fiercely to herself. "I don't."
But her eyes burned anyway.
Unseen, from across the courtyard, Ling stood near another building entrance—papers in hand, having stepped out for a meeting break.
She hadn't meant to look toward the café.
She hadn't meant to see Rhea storm out, pale and shaking, fury written all over her face.
Ling's grip tightened on the folder.
Her instinct screamed to move. To intervene. To pull Rhea away from whatever—or whoever—had upset her.
She didn't.
She stayed exactly where she was.
Jaw tight. Expression unreadable.
Because she had already drawn the line.
And crossing it again would destroy the last illusion of control she had left.