Miu's POV

The dinner went with a blur. Mak was oblivious to the growing tension I feel every time I look at Lena. She, on the other hand, had never spared me another glance again. I wanted to laugh bitterly. She really is devoted to Mak.

Something I have to finally accept.

When it was almost haft past ten, we decided to finally dip. Lena had been quiet during the short drive to her penthouse, her eyes fixed on the city lights of Bangkok as they blurred past. When we pulled up to the curb of her sleek, minimalist building, she gave Mak a soft, weary smile and a brief squeeze of the hand, but her gaze lingered on me for a second longer in the rearview mirror.

"Goodnight, Miu," she said, her voice carrying a weight that Mak couldn't hear. "Rest that arm."

Then, she was gone, her silhouette disappearing into the glass lobby. As the car pulled away, the silence between me and my brother was suddenly filled with the heavy, familiar scent of his expensive cologne and the hum of the engine.

The drive back to the estate felt longer than the flight from Chiang Mai. The city lights flickered across the interior of the car in rhythmic pulses of neon blue and amber, casting long, moving shadows across Mak's face. He seemed to be vibrating with a restless, happy energy, his fingers tapping a light beat on the steering wheel to the jazz playing softly on the radio.

"You know," Mak said, his voice warm with a rare softness, "I was actually nervous about sending you two up there alone. I thought I might come back to find the resort burnt down and one of you in jail."

I let out a dry, forced chuckle, shifting in my seat as the seatbelt rubbed against my bandaged arm. "We had our moments, Mak. Trust me. There was plenty of arguing before the rebar decided to settle the score."

Mak smiled, shaking his head. "That's just Lena. She's like a high-tension wire, always under pressure, always holding things together. Most people just see the steel, you know? They don't see how much she worries about every single bolt and beam."

He slowed down as we hit a red light, turning his head to look at me. "But you saw it, didn't you? You saw why she's the way she is."

I felt a pang of guilt so sharp it was almost physical. "I saw a lot of things, Mak."

He reached over, ruffling my hair the way he used to when we were kids. "I'm serious, kiddo. I was worried you'd hate being stuck with her. But you've got her back. That's what family is. I feel like I can finally breathe, knowing you two are on the same side."

I forced a smile, the guilt in my chest feeling like a physical stone. If only you knew which side I'm actually on, I thought. 

Hearing him talk about her with such genuine love such total trust, made me feel like a thief. I was stealing a version of Lena he didn't even know existed: the girl with the vintage camera, the girl who knelt in the dirt of a market, the girl who told me I was the only thing she couldn't calculate for.

"I'm glad," he said, his tone turning serious. "She's had a hard time finding people she can actually trust. My friends, our cousins... they all treat her like she's just an asset. Or like she's some ice queen they have to please to get to me. But you... you're the first person to actually bleed for her. Literally."

I looked out the window, watching a street food vendor packing up his stall. "I didn't do it to be a hero, Mak. I just... I couldn't watch her get hurt. She was so focused on the work she didn't even see it coming."

"That's exactly what I mean," Mak said, his voice dropping an octave. "She gets so lost in the blueprints that she forgets to look up. I've tried to be that person for her, the one who makes her look up but I'm always so busy with the board and the branding. Having you there, Miu... it makes me feel like I'm finally building a real life. Not just a company. A family."

He reached over and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, his touch filled with a brotherly pride that felt like a weight I wasn't strong enough to carry. "She told me you were instrumental to the trip. High praise from the Director. Usually, she just complains about people being variables she can't control."

"Is that what she called me?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat as I remembered her words on the stone bench. 

The one I can't calculate for.

"A variable," Mak laughed. "But a necessary one. She said you have a way of seeing the human element that she misses. You're good for her, Miu. You soften her edges."

I stayed silent as we pulled through the massive iron gates of the estate. The gravel crunched under the tires, a loud, abrasive sound in the quiet of the night. As the car came to a stop in front of the main house, Mak turned off the engine but didn't move to get out.

"Promise me one thing," he said, looking at me with total, terrifying sincerity.

"What's that?"

"Keep an eye on her at the office. Things are going to get crazy with the grand opening. Don't let her work herself into a hospital bed. You're the only one she'll actually listen to now."

I looked at my brother, his kind eyes, his trusting smile and I felt like the worst person in the world. "I'll look after her, Mak. I promise."

"Good," he said, finally opening his door. "Now get inside. You look like you're about to fall over, and if you're not at that 8 AM meeting tomorrow, Papa will have both our heads."

I walked to my room, the house feeling colder than it ever had. His words looped in my head: You're the only one she'll listen to now. It wasn't a victory; it was a death sentence for my conscience.

The guilt that had been simmering in the car ride boiled over the moment the door to my bedroom clicked shut. I didn't turn on the lights. I just stood there in the dark, the silk of my blazer feeling like a lead weight on my shoulders.

I am a parasite, I thought, the words echoing in the hollow space of my chest.

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the manicured gardens of the estate. Down the hall, I could hear the faint sound of Mak's footsteps, then his door closing. He was probably falling asleep with a smile on his face, thinking his world was finally whole. 

Thinking his sister and the woman he loves were finally on the same side.

I looked down at my bandaged arm. Every throb was a reminder of the way Lena had looked at me in the market. Every sting was a memory of her fingers on my skin. I had let myself get swept up in the vibe of Chiang Mai, in the mist and the vintage cameras. 

I had allowed myself to forget that Lena wasn't just a woman I was drawn to she was the foundation of my brother's future.

Mak had spent his whole life protecting me. When Papa was too harsh, Mak was the buffer. When I wanted to run away to London, Mak was the one who convinced him to let me go. He was my favorite person, my only true ally in this cold, gold-plated family. 

And here I was, mentally tracing the curve of his girlfriend's lips while he toasted to my health.

You're an asshole, Miu, I whispered to the glass. A selfish, entitled brat.

If I kept going, I wouldn't just lose Lena. I would destroy Mak. And that was a price I was not willing to pay.

I sat down at my vanity, staring at my reflection in the moonlight. I looked like a Taechamongkalapiwat; sharp, composed, and hollow. If Lena wanted steel, I would give her steel. If she wanted to be The Director, I would give her The Vice President.

The distance wasn't just necessary; it was a survival tactic.

I reached for my phone. I didn't open an app. I didn't want a stranger. I needed someone familiar, someone who belonged in this world of polished floors and empty promises. I scrolled through my contacts until I hit a name that had been sitting there, unread, for weeks.

Lingling.

"Hey," I typed, my fingers steady even if my heart wasn't. "I'm back from Chiang Mai. You still want to show me that place you were talking about at the gala?"

The reply was a lightning strike. "Miu! I thought the mountains had claimed you for good. I'm always ready to show you around. Tomorrow night, 9:00 PM?"

"9:00 PM is perfect," I sent.

I put the phone face down. The distraction was set. I would be the perfect sister. I would be the professional Vice President. And I would bury Chiang Mai under a layer of socialite noise.

The next morning at the office, the air was different. I arrived early, my hair slicked back into a style that mirrored Lena's; severe and untouchable. When she walked into the boardroom, I didn't look up from my tablet. I didn't offer a smile. I didn't ask how she slept.

"Morning, Director," I said, my voice as flat as the blueprints on the table.

Lena paused, her hand tightening on her briefcase. I saw her eyes flick to my arm, checking the line of my blazer to see if I was in pain, but I didn't give her the opening. I kept my gaze fixed on the profit margins.

"Morning, Vice President," she replied, her voice cooling to match mine.

The boardroom was freezing. My father sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his presence a heavy, atmospheric pressure. Mak sat to his right, and across from them stood Lena.

"The structural integrity of the North Wing remains within the 0.5% margin of error," Lena said, her laser pointer dancing across a complex 3D render on the wall. "The delay caused by the... incident... has been mitigated by shifting the night shifts."

"And the Vice President's involvement?" my father asked, his voice a low rumble. He didn't look at the screen; he looked directly at me.

Lena didn't blink. She didn't even look my way. "Miu's intervention prevented a total work stoppage and secured the safety of the lead architect. Her presence was... instrumental to the project's continuation."

The meeting was a clinical success and the board members filed out, Mak stayed behind, leaning against the doorframe with that easy, handsome grin of his.

"So," Mak said, looking between us. "Now that the boring stuff is done, are we all doing dinner tonight? I found this new Omakase place in Silom that Lena's been wanting to try."

I didn't look at Lena. I didn't give her the chance to make eye contact.

"Actually, Mak, I can't," I said, sliding my tablet into my bag with a snap. I finally looked at them both, my expression a mask of bored, socialite indifference. "I have a dinner with Lingling. We've been trying to coordinate for ages, and I'm already running late for a pre-drink."

The silence that followed was heavy. Mak's eyebrows shot up. "Lingling? As in the Lingling? I thought you said she was too much for you."

"I changed my mind," I said, standing up. I flicked a glance toward Lena.

She was standing perfectly still, her face unreadable behind her professional mask. No trace of anything found behind her eyes. She's just there, standing, listening, as if the conversation had bore her.

"Have a good dinner, you two," I said, walking past them. "Don't wait up, Mak. I might be late."

As I walked out of the boardroom, I felt like I was holding my breath. I was doing this for Mak. I was doing this for the family.

****

The air at the rooftop bar was thin and electric, a stark contrast to the heavy, grounding humidity of the mountains. Lingling wasn't just a flirt; she was a predator of the social scene, and she had spent the last hour circling Miu's defenses with the grace of a shark.

"You're doing that thing again," Lingling said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She leaned in so close that Miu could smell the expensive, botanical gin on her breath.

"What thing?" I asked, her fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

"The Vice President thing. You're sitting here with one of the most eligible women in Bangkok, and you're looking at your watch like you're waiting for a construction delivery." Lingling chuckled, a melodic, dangerous sound. She reached out and deliberately turned my chin toward her with one finger. "Look at me, Miu. Not the city. Me."

I forced my eyes to lock onto Lingling's. Lingling's gaze was heat, pure, uncomplicated attraction. It was supposed to be easy. This was the world I was born into, a world of beautiful people and low-stakes games.

"Better," Lingling murmured. "Now, tell me. Did you really spend three days looking at concrete, or did you find something more... interesting in Chiang Mai?" 

My heart gave a treacherous thud. "Just concrete, Ling. And rain. Lots of rain."

"Liar," Lingling teased, her eyes sparkling. She let her hand slide from my chin down to the collar of my blazer, her thumb brushing against the skin of my throat. "You have this look in your eyes. Like you're carrying a secret you're not quite ready to tell. It's very attractive. Very... London."

I felt a surge of panic. I was supposed to be focusing on the woman in front of me, but Lingling's touch felt wrong. It didn't have the clinical warmth of Lena's hands.

"I missed London," I blurted out, a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"Then let me bring a bit of it back for you," Lingling said. She stood up, not letting go of my collar, and leaned over the small table.

For a second, I thought she was going to kiss me right there, under the neon glow of the bar. The wall I had built was suddenly under siege. If I kissed Lingling, maybe I could finally become the sister Mak deserved.

But as Lingling's face drifted closer, my brain didn't see the rooftop. It saw the market. It saw a woman with a Leica camera blinking behind her glasses, looking at the world with a quiet, observant hunger.

I flinched...just a fraction of an inch but it was enough. Lingling stopped, her eyes narrowing as she pulled back just enough to study my face.

"Wow," Lingling breathed, a sharp, knowing smile touching her lips. "You really have it bad, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice shaking as I reached for my bag.

"Just tired from work, Ling," I said, forcing a smile that felt like it was made of cardboard. "The Director is a slave driver. I haven't had a moment to breathe."

At the mention of the Director, Lingling's eyes sparked. She didn't look surprised. She looked like she had just found the final piece of a puzzle she'd been working on since the night Lena interrupted our dinner with that urgent signature.

"Ah, Lena," Lingling murmured, swirling the ice in her drink. "She has that effect on people. She's like a structural beam, perfectly straight, cold to the touch, and absolutely essential to the foundation."

She paused, her gaze dropping to the stiff way I held my bandaged arm. She didn't pry. She didn't ask how it happened. She just smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that made my skin crawl.

"I've always admired her," Lingling continued, her voice light, almost teasing. "The way she marks her territory. That night at the lounge... the way she looked at us? She looked like she wanted to tear the building down just to get you out of it. And you? You followed her like she held the only oxygen in the room."

"I followed her because I have a job to do," I snapped, my pulse beginning to throb in my ears.

"Of course you do," Lingling laughed softly. She reached across the marble table, her fingers not quite touching mine, but close enough for me to feel the heat. "But you're not a very good liar, Miu. You never have been. You're trying so hard to be the good sister tonight, aren't you? You're sitting here with me, playing the part, while your mind is stuck in a boardroom or maybe a mountain."

She didn't wait for me to deny it. She knew. She had seen the way my eyes glazed over when she spoke, and she had definitely seen the way I looked at Lena when we were in the same room.

"I like a challenge," Lingling whispered, her eyes locking onto mine with a predatory playfulness. "Most people would be intimidated by a woman like Lena. But the thing about steel is that it's brittle. If you hit the right pressure point, it snaps."

She leaned back, looking perfectly satisfied with herself. "Don't look so panicked, Miu. I'm not going to tell anyone. That would ruin the fun. I'm just going to enjoy watching you try to pretend I'm the one you're thinking about. Eventually, you'll get tired of the steel. And I'll be right here to catch you when you fall."

She raised her glass in a silent toast, her smile never reaching her eyes. She wasn't offended that I was drawn to Lena; she was fascinated by it. She was going to use me as a way to get to the unbreakable Director, and she was going to enjoy every second of the chaos.

"Now," Lingling said, her voice returning to its bubbly, socialite tone. "Tell me more about London."

I sat there, my heart feeling like a trapped bird. I had come here to escape Lena, but Lingling had just turned the escape into a trap.

****

The office on Monday morning was a clinical contrast to the neon-drenched rooftop. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the Taechamongkalapiwat headquarters offered a panoramic view of Bangkok, but inside, the air-conditioning was set to a temperature that felt like a warning.

I was at my desk by 7:30 AM, my hair pulled back into a sleek, professional bun that felt like a helmet. 

Then, the delivery arrived.

It wasn't just a bouquet; it was a statement. A massive arrangement of white lilies and orchids, their scent so cloying it felt like it was physically pushing the oxygen out of the room. Tucked into the center was a small, cream-colored card with Lingling's familiar, loopy handwriting:

"For the Vice President, who deserves a beautiful distraction. Last night was just the beginning. — L."

I was staring at the card, my heart sinking, when the heavy glass door to my office slid open. I didn't need to look up to know it was her. The air always seemed to sharpen when Lena entered a room.

"It smells like a funeral in here," Lena said.

Her voice was like a shard of ice. She was dressed in a sharp, slate-grey suit, her tablet clutched to her chest like armor. She didn't go to her own desk. Instead, she walked straight to mine, her eyes zeroing in on the lilies.

"Lingling has expensive taste," she remarked, her gaze flicking to the card. "And a very public way of expressing it. I didn't realize the Group's offices were now a drop-off point for socialite romantic gestures."

"It's just a thank-you, Lena," I said, trying to sound bored. I reached out to slide the card into my drawer, but Lena's hand was faster. She didn't grab it, but she leaned over the desk, her shadow falling over me.

"A thank-you for what, Miu?" Lena's voice dropped to that low, dangerous register. "Mak mentioned you were out late. He seemed... relieved. He thinks you're finally finding your place in Bangkok."

I looked up at her. "Isn't that what you wanted? You told me in Chiang Mai that we had to be professional. You told me the photographer was a ghost. I'm just doing what's expected of me."

"By dating a woman who watches me like she's waiting for me to break?" Lena stepped closer, her perfume that crisp, mountain-air scent cutting through the heavy lilies. "Lingling doesn't want you, Miu. She wants the chaos you represent. She's been pressing buttons since the day you got back."

"Maybe I like having my buttons pressed," I challenged, standing up so the desk was the only thing between us. "At least with her, I know where the lines are. With you, the lines keep moving. One minute you're wrapping my arm in a market, and the next you're acting like I'm a nuisance on your balance sheet."

Lena flinched. "I am protecting the project, Miu. I am protecting Mak."

"Then go protect him!" I snapped, my voice cracking. "Go to lunch with him. Plan your perfect, structured life. But don't you dare come in here and judge me for trying to find a way to breathe."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Lena stared at me, her chest heaving slightly, her professional composure hanging by a single, frayed thread. She looked like she wanted to say something.

Click.

The door opened. Mak walked in, looking bright, handsome, and entirely unaware that he had just stepped into a minefield.

"Morning, team!" he beamed, oblivious to the fact that Lena and I were vibrating with tension. He walked over and dropped a kiss on Lena's temple, though she remained as rigid as a statue. "Whoa, those are some flowers, Miu! Lingling? She just texted me to say she's looking forward to seeing us all at the gallery tonight."

He turned to me, his eyes full of genuine brotherly pride. "I'm glad you're giving her a chance, kiddo. She's a firecracker. It'll be good for us to go as a group....a double date of sorts."

I felt sick. "A double date, Mak?"

"Yeah! The four of us," he said, checking his watch. "Now, come on. Dad wants us at the construction site for the press photos."

****

The event was a sea of champagne, silk, and flashbulbs. The "Who's Who" of Bangkok was there, but the second we stepped onto the red carpet, a very specific scent hit me, heavy, floral, and unmistakably Lingling.

She appeared out of the crowd like a vision in a sheer, floor-length gown that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She ignored the cameras, ignored the dignitaries, and walked straight to us.

"There she is," Lingling purred, stepping right into my space. She didn't go for a polite cheek-graze. She reached up, her cool fingers lingering on the back of my neck as she pulled me into a lingering embrace. "I was beginning to think the Director had locked you in the archives."

I felt Lena's presence behind me stiffen into something lethal.

"Lingling," Mak greeted her warmly, stepping forward to shake her hand. "You look stunning. Thank you again for the sponsorship. The Group appreciates it."

"Anything for family, Mak," Lingling said, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to land directly on Lena. Her smile was sharp, knowing, and entirely devoid of warmth. "And the Director looks... as professional as ever. I love the suit, Lena. It's so... structural."

Lena didn't move. She stood by Mak's side, her hand resting on his arm in a way that felt more like a claim than an affection. "The event is for the artists, Lingling. Not the benefactors."

"Oh, I disagree," Lingling said, her hand sliding down my arm to interlace her fingers with mine. She squeezed tight, her eyes locked on Lena's. "I think the best art is the kind that happens behind the scenes. Don't you, Miu?"

I looked from Lingling's predatory smirk to Lena's vibrating silence, and finally to Mak, who was looking at the three of us with a confused, happy smile.

"Let's get a drink," Mak suggested, sensing a shift in the air he couldn't quite name. "Miu, Lingling, why don't you lead the way?"

As Lingling led me toward the bar, she leaned in close to my ear, her voice a low, delighted whisper that only I could hear, her fingers entwined with mine, her sheer dress trailing behind her like a silken shadow. She was playing the role of the devoted date perfectly, leaning into me, laughing at things I didn't even hear.

Behind us, Lena was a ghost. She walked beside Mak, her posture so perfect it looked painful. Every time Mak tried to engage her in conversation, she responded with the surgical precision of an architect.

"The lighting in this hall is insufficient for the scale of the canvases," she said, her voice a flat, clinical drone that cut through the social fluff.

She wasn't looking at the art. I could feel her eyes on the back of my head, on the place where Lingling's thumb was tracing small, slow circles on my palm.

"Let's go look at the installation in the South Wing," Lingling suggested, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's much more... private."

"Excellent idea," Mak said, ever the oblivious host. "Lena, why don't you come? You'll appreciate the structural engineering of the hanging pieces."

"I'll stay here and speak with the curator, Mak," Lena said. Her voice was steady, but there was a sharp, brittle edge to it. "The technical aspects of this exhibit are... messy. I have no interest in seeing how they've tried to hide the flaws."

Lingling pulled me into the dim, quiet hallway of the South Wing. The noise of the party faded into a dull roar. She stopped in front of a massive, abstract piece, red and black streaks that looked like a wound.

"She's good," Lingling whispered, turning to me, her face inches from mine. "I've seen women try to keep their cool, but Lena... she's a masterpiece of repression. She didn't even flinch when I kissed your cheek in front of the photographers."

"Stop it," I whispered, but I didn't pull away. I was paralyzed by the guilt of wanting Lena and the fear of Mak finding out.

"Make me," Lingling challenged. She leaned in, her lips a breath away from mine. "Prove to me that you're actually here with me. Prove to me that the Director hasn't completely—"

"The car is waiting, Miu."

The voice came from the shadows of the doorway. Lena. She was standing there alone, her hands clasped behind her back, her face a mask of absolute, terrifying calm. She just looked at us like we were a structural error she had finally decided to fix.

"Mak is finishing his drink with the sponsors," Lena said, her voice echoing in the hollow hall.

Lingling didn't look bothered. She actually looked delighted. She slowly untangled her fingers from my hair, giving me one last, lingering look before turning to Lena.

"You have impeccable timing, Director," Lingling remarked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Though, I suppose I should be used to it by now. First you crash our dinner  a few weeks because you urgently needed a signature, and now you're haunting the South Wing galleries. Tell me, do you have a GPS tracker on the Vice President, or is it just your... professional intuition?"

Lena's jaw tightened, the only sign that the barb had landed. "I manage projects, Lingling. And Miu's schedule is currently part of my project. I don't need a tracker to know when my Vice President is being a liability."

"A liability," Lingling laughed softly, finally stepping back to give me one last, lingering look. "You really do have a way with words, Lena. It's almost a shame you only use them for business."

"Miu, move. Now," Lena replied, ignoring Lingling entirely. Her eyes were like flint.

The drive to the penthouse was a battle of subtext, with Mak acting as the unintentional referee. The car felt smaller than it actually was, the expensive leather upholstery trapping the heat of our mounting friction.

"You're being unusually quiet, Miu," Mak said, glancing back at me with a smile. "Usually, after a gala, you're critiquing everyone's shoes. Did Lingling wear you out?"

"I think the Vice President is just realizing that social obligations require more stamina than she anticipated," Lena remarked, her eyes never leaving her tablet. The blue light of the screen made her features look like they were carved from marble.

"I have plenty of stamina, Director," I snapped, leaning forward so I was in the gap between the front seats. "I just prefer to use it on things that aren't... structural audits."

"Is that what you call what you were doing in the South Wing?" Lena finally looked up, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like a lapse in judgment. Lingling is the heir to the Siriluck Group, she is not a plaything, she is a rival, you should treat her as that."

"And you should treat your colleagues with less condescension," I countered. "I was maintaining a relationship. Isn't that what you and Mak always say? Networking is the lifeblood of the company?"

"There's a line between networking and whatever that display was," Lena's voice was low, vibrating with a frustration she clearly attributed to professional standards. "You represent Mak. You represent your father. When you're seen leaning into someone like Lingling in a dark corner of a gallery, it reflects on the project's stability."

"Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, though my heart was pounding. "You're just annoyed because you couldn't control the schedule of the evening. You hate it when things don't go according to your little blueprints, don't you? Even people."

"I hate it when people I'm responsible for act like children," she hit back, her grip tightening on her tablet.

"Hey, hey," Mak laughed, though he looked a little bewildered, putting a hand up to signal a truce. "Ease up, both of you. Lena, she was just having a drink. Miu, Lena's just looking out for you. She's protective. She takes the family's reputation as seriously as I do."

Lena didn't look at him. She looked at me, a flash of something unsettled passing through her eyes, a flicker of confusion that she quickly buried under a layer of frost. "I'm just doing my job, Mak. Someone has to keep an eye on the details."

The car pulled up to the sleek, glass-and-steel entrance of Lena's penthouse. The valet stepped forward, but for a moment, the three of us remained suspended in the tension of the cabin.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Mak said, leaning over to give Lena a soft kiss on the cheek. "Try to get some sleep. Stop thinking about the South Wing."

"I'll try," Lena whispered, her voice softening just for him. It was a transformation that made my stomach turn, how easily she could slip back into being his partner.

As she opened the door to step out, she paused and looked back at me one last time. "Goodnight, Miu. Try not to text anything you'll regret. Lingling isn't the type to keep secrets."

"Goodnight, Director," I spat out, the title feeling like a curse.

I watched her walk toward the lobby, back straight, head held high, the perfect image of a woman in total control of her world. Mak sighed contentedly as the car pulled away, heading toward our family estate.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Mak asked, looking at the retreating lights of her building. "So focused. She keeps me grounded, Miu. I hope you find someone who challenges you the way she challenges me."

I leaned my head against the cold window, watching the city blur into a streak of grey and neon. "Yeah, Mak," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "She's definitely a challenge."

****

To anyone who's waiting for a Lena POV.....you might have to wait a little bit longer 😆 feel the sting, feel the burn first. We're just getting started.