Miu's POV

The first thing I felt wasn't the pain. It was the weight.

My head felt like it was submerged in heavy, gray water, and every breath was a struggle against a tide of medicinal fog. My arm felt strange, heavy and distant, like it belonged to someone else, thumping with a rhythmic, dull heat that matched the steady beep... beep... beep... of a machine nearby.

My throat was a desert. My memories were a blur of red lights, red leather, and the terrifying, metallic smell of my own life leaking onto white marble.

"Lena..." I whispered. The name felt like a prayer, a jagged piece of glass stuck in my throat. I needed to know she was there. I needed to feel the cool, steady pressure of her hand to know that the world hadn't actually ended. "Lena?"

I forced my eyelids open. They felt weighted down with lead, but I fought through it, expecting to see those sharp, possessive, yet infinitely soft doe-brown eyes looking back at me. 

But the eyes staring back at me weren't brown. They were sharp, feline, and currently swimming with a mix of exhaustion and a "told-you-so" intensity.

"Wrong girl, Princess," a raspy voice muttered.

"Lingling?" My voice sounded like it had been dragged through gravel. I blinked, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room coming into focus. Lingling was perched on the edge of a chair, her trench coat wrinkled, her hair a chaotic mess. 

She looked like a Cheshire cat that had been dragged through a rainstorm; worried, relieved, and furious all at once.

"In the flesh," she said, leaning forward. She reached out, her hand hovering over my good shoulder before she pulled back, as if afraid I'd shatter. "Welcome back to the land of the living. You really know how to pick a Saturday night, Miu."

My heart spiked, the monitor chirping faster in response. "Lena. Where is she? Is she okay? Did... did Mak—"

"Stop," Lingling commanded, pressing a hand gently against my chest to keep me from sitting up. "Lena is fine. Not a scratch on her. Physically, anyway."

"Then where is she?" I looked around the room, the panic rising. If she wasn't here, something was wrong. Lena wouldn't leave me. Not after what happened. "Why isn't she here?"

Lingling let out a long, weary sigh and slumped back into her chair. She looked at my bandaged arm with a dark, unreadable expression. "She stayed until they moved you here. She looked like she'd been through a war, Miu. Covered in your blood, shaking like she was having a breakdown... it was actually kind of terrifying to see her like that."

"She left?" I whispered, a cold hollow opening up in my chest.

"She went to your house," Lingling said, her voice dropping. "She was headed to your father's estate. She said she had to fix something. She looked... Miu, I've never seen her look like that. She didn't look like the woman who runs a corporation. She looked like someone who was ready to burn the whole city down just to make sure you could sleep in peace."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping and disappearing into the white pillow. I could see it—Lena, in her ruined silk, walking into the lion's den.

"She's going to get herself killed," I breathed. "Or she's going to lose everything for me."

"I think she's already decided you're the only thing worth keeping," Lingling muttered, reaching over to finally take my hand, her grip tight and grounding. "Now, shut up and drink some water. You've got a dozen stitches and enough sedatives in you to take down a horse. You aren't going anywhere."

The room was too quiet. The rhythmic hum of the monitors felt like a countdown, but to what, I didn't know. 

I looked at Lingling, and the guilt I felt for Lena was suddenly rivaled by the guilt I felt for the girl sitting next to me.

Lingling hadn't left. Despite the late-night calls, despite the fact that I had essentially replaced our quiet life with a whirlwind of chaos and blood, she was still here.

"Ling," I whispered, my voice still cracking. I squeezed her hand with the little strength I had. "You look terrible."

Lingling let out a dry, hacking laugh, her eyes finally meeting mine. "Thanks, Miu. That's exactly what a girl wants to hear after spending six hours in a hospital waiting room."

She looked down at our joined hands. Her thumb traced the back of my knuckles.

"I thought I lost you," she said, her voice dropping so low I almost missed it. "When I saw Lena on that floor... Miu, she was covered in you. I've seen that woman look down her nose at billionaires, but she looked like a ghost. I thought... I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry," I said, the tears starting to pool again. "I'm so sorry for everything, Ling. For pulling you into this. For making you watch this mess."

Lingling finally looked up, her eyes were red-rimmed and fiercely honest.

"You don't get to apologize for being loved, Miu. That's the one thing I won't let you do." She leaned closer, her voice trembling just a fraction. "You know, I really do love you, right? Regardless of our status, the weight our names carry, every little mundane things, I love you purely and honestly. And I hate her. I hate Lena Schuett for making your life so complicated. I hate her for being the one you jump in front of bottles for."

I held my breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling very thin.

"But," Lingling continued, a sad, beautiful smile touching her lips, "I saw her face tonight. And for the first time, I realized why you did it. She isn't just a project to you. And you aren't just a trophy to her. You're her heart, Miu. And as much as it kills me to say it... I'd rather you be with a woman who makes you bleed if it means you're finally alive, rather than safe and dying of boredom with my blessing."

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against mine. It was the most intimate we had been in months, a bridge of shared history and unspoken grief.

"Just don't do it again," Lingling whispered. 

"Ling," I breathed, my voice barely a thread. I pulled back just enough to look at her. "The next girl you love... she's going to be the luckiest person in the world."

Lingling froze. For a second, her sharp, cat-like eyes softened, reflecting a flash of something ancient and bittersweet. 

It was the acknowledgement of everything she had given me, and everything I couldn't give back.

She let out a short, shaky breath, her thumb brushing my cheek one last time before she pulled her hand away.

"She'd better be," Lingling muttered, the snark returning like a protective shield, though it was thinner now. "Because I am officially retiring from being the 'Emotional Support Friend' for a while. I'm going to find someone who doesn't jump in front of whiskey bottles for fun."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, standing up and smoothing out her wrinkled trench coat. "Now, if you don't start recovering faster, I'm going to charge you for the dry cleaning on this coat."

I managed a weak, lopsided smile. "Put it on Lena's tab. She's the one who ruined it."

"Oh, don't worry," Lingling smirked, though there was no real bite in it. "I plan on making her pay for a lot more than just the dry cleaning."

The bravado in her voice was a thin veil, but I loved her for it. Before I could respond, the heavy door to the room creaked open. The silence of the hallway rushed in for a brief second, followed by the heavy, measured footsteps of my father.

He stopped in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor. My mother was right behind him, her hand clutching his arm.

My father froze. 

His eyes scanned the room, landing first on the heart monitor, then on my bandaged arm, and finally on Lingling. He looked shocked, stunned to see her sitting by my bedside.

"Miss Kwong?" he managed, his voice sounding hollowed out, stripped of the booming authority that usually defined him. He didn't probe, didn't demand to know why she was here. He just looked at her with a strange, tired sort of gratitude.

But he didn't stay at the door for long. He broke, his composure fracturing as he rushed toward the bed. "Miu... my little girl."

Lingling stood up immediately, smoothing her coat one last time. She didn't look at my father with the usual polite deference. She looked at him as an equal—someone who had also spent the night terrified of losing me.

"I'm going home, Miu," Lingling said softly, leaning down to squeeze my hand one last time. Her eyes flickered to my parents, a silent acknowledgment of the family drama that was about to unfold. "You need your privacy. And I need a shower that doesn't smell like antiseptic."

"Ling..." I started, but she just shook her head, a small, sad smile playing on her lips.

"I'll be back tomorrow with real food," she promised. "Rest. Don't let them work you up."

She walked past my father without a word, her head held high, leaving a wake of quiet strength behind her. As the door clicked shut, my father slumped into the chair she had just vacated, his hand trembling as he reached for mine.

"I'm so sorry, Miu," he whispered, his eyes filling with a father's raw, agonizing regret. "I am so, so sorry."

My father didn't look like the titan of industry I had spent my life trying to please. He looked like a man who had watched his own house collapse and realized he was the one who had pulled the first brick.

He gripped my uninjured hand, his forehead resting against the edge of the mattress, his shoulders shaking with a silent, wracking sob. "I didn't intend for any of this, Miu... I thought I was protecting the legacy. I thought I was giving you a life of security. I've failed you. I've failed Mak. I've failed as a father."

The guilt was thick in the air, a heavy, suffocating blanket. I reached out with my good hand, my fingers brushing his graying hair. 

It was strange seeing the man who held the keys to half of Bangkok's economy look so small.

"Papa, stop," I whispered, my own eyes stinging. "There's nothing you could've done to stop Mak's heart from breaking. It wasn't just you. We all played our parts in this.....mess. Please... don't carry this alone."

My mother stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly over her heart. She watched us with a gaze so heavy it felt like a physical weight, her eyes darting between her sobbing husband and her bandaged daughter.

We talked for a long time. We made up in the quiet, sterile hum of Room 412, the walls of the Taechamongkalapiwat empire finally falling down to reveal the family underneath.

Finally, my father pulled back, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. He looked at me with a terrifyingly clear sort of clarity.

"Lena came to the estate tonight," he said, his voice steadier but still fragile. "She was covered in your blood, Miu. Her hands were shaking so hard I thought she'd break. In all the years I've known her, I have never seen her look like that."

He took a shaky breath, a small, sad smile touching his lips.

"She looked so lost. So scared. And yet... so full of a love that I didn't think a woman like her was capable of containing. I've always look at her as a partner, a Director, a Schuett. But tonight? Tonight I finally understood what the two of you have. It isn't a contract, Miu. It's an exception."

I felt my heart skip, a sharp, frantic beep on the monitor. "Where is she, Dad? Where did she go?"

My father looked at my mother, then back at me. "She went to find your brother. She said she had to fix the pieces. She wouldn't let me help. She said she was the one who started the fire, so she would be the one to walk through the flames."

"She went to find Mak?" I rasped, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard the monitor began to chirp in a frantic, syncopated rhythm. "Papa, no. No, she can't."

The panic was a cold, sharp blade, cutting through the haze of the sedatives. I tried to push myself up, my good hand clawing at the sterile white sheets, but the world tilted violently. My bandaged arm throbbed in protest, a hot, pulsing reminder of the night's violence.

"Miu, stay down," my mother pleaded, rushing to my side to press a cool hand against my shoulder. "You're in no condition—"

"You don't understand!" I choked out, my eyes darting between them. "The last person Mak wants to see right now—the last person he should see—is Lena. He's broken, and he thinks she's the one who broke him. If she goes to him now, she's just throwing herself into the path of another storm."

But it wasn't just Mak's rage that terrified me. It was Lena's resolve.

I knew that look in her eyes. 

Lena wouldn't just go there to talk; she was going there to negotiate with a man who had nothing left to lose.

"She's going to do something desperate," I whispered, the tears finally overflowing, hot and bitter. "She thinks she's the catalyst. She thinks she's the reason our family is bleeding. Mom... she'll do anything to make it right. She'll walk away from me if she thinks it's the only way you'll take me back. She'll give up everything....even us just so I can have my brother back."

My father reached out, his hand trembling as he squeezed mine, but he didn't contradict me. He knew Lena. He knew the Schuett brand of martyrdom—it was cold, logical, and absolute.

"She told me she was the one who started the fire," I sobbed, my voice breaking. "But it's not true. We all lit the matches. If she decides to be the only one to burn for it... if she walks away to fix the pieces of this family... I won't have anything left to come home to."

The room felt suddenly, terrifyingly vast. Somewhere out in the dark, rain-slicked streets of Bangkok, Lena was making a choice. 

She was deciding if our love was worth the wreckage of two empires, or if she had to become the very thing she promised she wouldn't be: a memory.

"Please," I begged, looking at my father with the raw desperation. "Don't let her do it. Don't let her give me up to save me."

My mother's face paled. She reached out, her hand trembling as she brushed a stray hair from my forehead. "Miu, she wouldn't... she loves you. We saw it."

"That's exactly why she'll do it!" I cried, the sound raw and jagged in the quiet room. "She loves me enough to become the villain in my story if it means I get to have a family again. She thinks she can design a solution where everyone is happy except her. She's out there right now, deciding my future without me, and I'm stuck in this bed!"

I looked at the heavy bandages on my arm. 

The irony was a bitter pill—I had bled to keep her safe, and now she was likely using that very blood as a reason to leave.

"She's the Director, Miu," my father said, his voice dropping into a calm, steady register that he usually reserved for boardrooms in crisis. He reached out, covering my trembling hand with his own. "In all the years I've worked with her, Lena has never made a decision on a whim. She doesn't operate on impulse."

I looked at him, my vision blurred by tears that felt like they were burning my skin. "You don't understand how she thinks when it comes to me, Papa. Logic goes out the window."

"No," he countered softly, shaking his head. "That is where you're wrong. She is calculated. She is logical. And above all, she respects the structure of a partnership. After everything she has risked, after seeing her face tonight, I don't believe for a second she would make a decision on your behalf without you being the one to sign off on it. She wouldn't insult you by playing the martyr without your permission."

My mother nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to smooth the hair back from my forehead. "Your father is right, Miu. Lena isn't a girl who runs away. She's a woman who builds. She wouldn't tear down the only thing she's ever truly wanted just because the foundation got a little bloody."

I wanted to believe them. I wanted to sink into the comfort of their words and let the sedatives pull me back into a dreamless sleep where Lena was still holding my hand. 

But the image of her in that blood-stained shirt, her eyes hollow and haunted, wouldn't leave me.

"She's fixing the pieces," I whispered, the words tasting like copper. "But what if the only way to fit them back together is to leave a space where she used to be?"

"Then we don't let her," my father said, his jaw tightening with a newfound resolve. "If she tries to walk away, she'll have to answer to me. And more importantly, she'll have to answer to you. No one decides Miu Taechamongkalapiwat's future anymore. Not me, not your brother, and not even Lena."

I slumped back against the pillows, my breath coming in short, shaky hitches. The monitor's beep slowed down, finally finding a rhythm that didn't sound like a scream. My father's words were a lifeline, but the silence of the room was still heavy.

Somewhere in the city, the two people who had broken my world were facing each other, and all I could do was wait for the sun to rise on the wreckage.

The sky outside the hospital window was a bruised, sickly purple, the first light of dawn bleeding over the Bangkok skyline. 

My father's words, his insistence that Lena wouldn't decide my fate without me were the only thing keeping the walls from closing in.

But the Director I knew didn't just calculate; she anticipated. And she knew that as long as she was in the frame, the Taechamongkalapiwat family would always be a broken machine.

Suddenly the heavy door creaked open.

I held my breath, my heart stuttering against my ribs, expecting the sharp click of expensive heels or the scent of rain and expensive perfume. 

I expected her.

Instead, a shadow slumped into the room.

It was Mak.

He looked like a man who had been hollowed out from the inside. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, and the guilt radiating off him was so thick it was suffocating. 

He stopped three feet from the bed, his hands shaking at his sides, looking at my bandaged arm as if it were a ghost he couldn't stop seeing. He was cautious, terrified, like a wounded animal waiting for the final blow.

He looked at our parents, his jaw tightening as he braced himself for the roar of our father's fury, for the cold shunning he deserved.

He didn't get it.

My mother moved first. With a soft, broken cry, she stepped forward and pulled him into a full, fierce embrace. Mak stiffened, a sob catching in his throat, before he finally collapsed into her shoulder. 

My father approached him, not with a fist or a contract, but with a graceful, weary sorry smile. He reached out and squeezed Mak's shoulder, a silent, heavy acknowledgment.

"Talk to your sister," my father whispered, his voice thick.

Without another word, they both turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind them to give us the one thing we hadn't had in years: a moment where we weren't assets, but siblings.

Mak stood there, his head bowed, the silence between us screaming.

"Miu..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "I... I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't even finish the sentence. He just broke, sinking into the chair beside me, burying his face in his hands. "I'm a monster. I looked at you and I only saw what I was losing. I didn't see you. I'm so sorry. Please... please just tell me you're okay."

I looked at him—my brother, the boy I used to play with in the gardens of the estate before we were taught how to be projections of a brand. 

He was here. He was seeking forgiveness. The family was stitching itself back together. But the air in the room felt thin, as if the most vital part of it had been sucked out.

"I'm okay, Mak," I said softly, my voice trembling. "We're going to be okay."

"Look at me, Mak," I added.

He hesitated, then slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a raw, agonizing shame. "I almost killed you, Miu. I looked at Lena, and I saw everything I was supposed to have, everything that was being stolen from me and I just... I snapped. But when I saw you fall... when I saw the blood..." He choked back a sob, his hands trembling on his knees. "I'd give anything to go back." 

"I was so consumed," Mak whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the floor, unable to hold my gaze for more than a second. "I was so wrapped up in my own pride, my own jealousy... I forgot how to be human, Miu. I forgot how to be your brother."

He let out a jagged, self-loathing breath. "I told myself I loved Lena. I told myself she was the prize I deserved for following all the rules. But when I saw you hit the floor... when I saw the red spreading across your sleeve..." 

He looked at his hands as if he could still see the glass. "Everything just stopped. The company, the legacy, Lena—none of it mattered. In that second, the only thing that was real was that I had hurt the one person I was supposed to protect."

He looked up at me then, his face a mask of absolute ruin. "I'm a brother first, Miu. I always should have been a brother first. I've spent years being a businessman, an heir, a rival... and I let all of that poison me. It's my fault. Everything is my fault. The blood, the pain, the way this family has fallen apart... it's all on me."

I didn't let go of his hand. I squeezed it tighter, forcing him to stay anchored here, in this moment of truth, rather than letting him drift away into his own guilt.

"Mak, listen to me," I said, my voice gaining strength. "It's not just you. We were all living in a house made of glass, waiting for someone to throw a stone. Yes, you threw it but we all helped build the walls that trapped us inside."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he choked out.

"Maybe not," I replied softly, a sad smile touching my lips. "But I'm giving it to you anyway. Because I don't want to live in that glass house anymore. I want us to be able to sit at a table and not talk about stock options. I want us to be siblings who actually know each other."

Mak let out a long, shuddering sob and finally leaned forward, resting his forehead against the edge of my bed. 

He didn't look like the future CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire. He looked like my brother.

The silence that followed wasn't cold anymore. It was the quiet of a wound finally being cleaned, the first step toward a scar that wouldn't hurt to touch.

"Mak," I whispered, my voice trembling with a sudden, sharp realization. "Where is she?"

Mak frowned, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. He wiped his eyes and looked around the room, then back at me. "Who? Lena? I... I thought she'd already be here. I figured she'd be the one breathing down the doctor's neck."

My heart hammered a frantic, hollow thump-thump against my ribs. "She went to find you. Papa said she went to the estate, or the site...you're telling me you didn't see her?"

"No," Mak said, his voice dropping into a confused, low register. "I mean, I did see her, Miu. She found me at the apartment. I was sitting in the middle of all that... all that glass. I was lost, Miu. I didn't know where to go or how to face any of you."

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to piece together a map that had been redrawn overnight. "We talked. For a long time. She didn't yell at me. She didn't even look at me with disgust or pity. She just sat there with me in the dark. We found a way... she made me see that if I kept running, I'd never be able to come home. She was the one who told me to come here. She told me the family needed to be whole again."

My breath hitched. The monitor gave a sharp chirp. "Then why isn't she here, Mak? If she sent you to me... why didn't she come with you?"

"I honestly don't know, Miu," Mak replied, his voice echoing my own hollow confusion. He looked around the room as if Lena might be hiding in the shadows, waiting to reveal this was all part of a larger plan.

"After we talked... we just sat there. In the silence of her apartment. It was the first time in years I didn't feel like I had to perform for her. Then she just... stood up. She looked at the blood on the floor, then at me, and said she had to go. I assumed she meant here. I assumed she was racing back to you."

Mak ran a hand through his hair, his expression twisting with a new kind of guilt. "I stayed behind for a bit. I needed to collect my thoughts, to figure out how to face our parents...and you. I thought she'd be the one holding your hand when I walked in. I'm just as surprised as you are."

My heart didn't just skip; it felt like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest. The monitor's chirp grew faster, more insistent, a frantic alarm for a crisis that wasn't physical.

"She didn't come here, Mak," I whispered, the cold realization sinking into my marrow. 

"I...I have to call her," I rasped, my good hand fumbling blindly for the phone on the nightstand.

Mak reached out to help me, but his face was tight with worry. "Miu, slow down. You're going to pull the IV—"

"I don't care!" I snapped, my fingers finally finding the cold glass of the screen. I hit her name. I waited. 

The number you have dialed is currently out of reach or has been disconnected.

I tried again. And again. The mechanical voice on the other end became a taunt, a flat line in a world that was suddenly losing its pulse. "No, no, no... Lena, pick up. Please, pick up."

The monitor was screaming now, a high-pitched, staccato beep-beep-beep that mirrored the frantic slamming of my heart against my ribs. I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed, the world tilting and spinning.

"Miu, stop!" Mak cried, catching my shoulders.

The door burst open. My parents rushed in, their faces pale as they saw the chaos. My mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, while my father moved to help Mak hold me down.

"She's gone! Papa, she's leaving!" I was hysterical, the tears streaming down my face, hot and blinding. "She's doing it again! She's deciding for me! Call her! Tell her she can't go!"

"Get a nurse!" my father shouted over the noise of the monitors.

Everything became a blur of motion and sound. I felt the sharp prick of a needle in my shoulder, a sudden, cold bloom of liquid fire that started to slow the world down. I fought it. I clawed at the air, calling her name until my voice was nothing but a raspy whisper.

"Lena... don't... leave me..."

Then, the gray water pulled me under.

When I woke up, the room was silent.

The sun was much higher now, cutting a bright, indifferent path across the white floor tiles. The frantic beeping had settled into a slow, rhythmic hum. 

My parents were gone. Mak was gone. The room felt unnaturally still, as if the air itself had been emptied of its weight.

I turned my head slowly, my neck feeling stiff and heavy from the sedatives. There, sitting on the bedside table where my phone had been, was a heavy, cream-colored envelope.

My heart gave a weak, painful thud. I reached for it with trembling fingers.

I tore it open. My breath hitched as I saw the sharp, elegant slant of her handwriting.

Miu,

I'm not coming to the hospital. I can't. If I walk through those doors and see you lying in that bed, if I see the bandages on your arm and the paleness of your skin, I will lose whatever logic I have left. Every time I look at you now, I don't just see the woman I love. I see the damage I've caused. I see the blood I let you spill for me.

Tonight, as I sat with Mak, I kept thinking about Chiang Mai. I remembered the heat, the smell of the rain, and the way you jumped in front of me without a second of hesitation. I thought that was the only time. 

But tonight, you did it again. You threw yourself into the path of a broken bottle for a woman who has spent her life building walls to keep people out.

You love me too deeply, Miu. You love me dangerously. And that is why I have to go.

I am the reason your brother lost his mind. I am the reason your family became a battlefield. If I stay right now, I am only giving you more reasons to bleed, and I cannot be the person who watches you wither away while you try to save me. 

You need your family back. You need to be the daughter and the sister you were before I forced my way into your world.

I love you enough to know that walking away is the only way to stop the bleeding. I know you'll resent me for this. I know you'll say I'm deciding for the both of us, and you're right—I am. 

I'm playing the Director one last time because I can't trust my heart to stay away if I hear you ask me to stay.

The only sure thing in my life—the only absolute truth I have ever known, is the love I have for you. Please, don't ever question it. 

It is because I love you with all that I have and all that I am that I am doing this. I will do anything to keep you safe, even if that means walking away from the only person who makes me feel human.

I don't know when I'll be back, Miu. I don't even know if I can ever come back. I cannot fathom the fact that our love has caused this much pain and suffering. 

It makes me believe that maybe, despite everything, this simply isn't our time. The stars are aligned for us to be apart so you can heal.

Please, don't wait for me. Don't stop time for me. I don't want you sitting by a window waiting for a woman who is still learning how to exist without a blueprint. 

Keep living. Paint. Breathe. Find the colors I took away from you.

Please, just for a little while, let me be the one to carry the heartache. I hope in time you'll understand why I had to walk into the dark alone.

Forever yours, 

— Lena

****

Note:

And now we're back with the angst. Sorry guys 😭 but I did tell you to enjoy the fluff and the domesticity while we're at it. 

But don't worry or maybe worry a bit 😭 idk. All I know is that I have multiple drafts of how this story could go and I couldn't make up my mind which version is the best. I guess we'll both just find out as the story unfolds 🤪