Note:

The reactions to the last update were so intense that I actually felt the heat all the way over here! I couldn't let you guys sit in that cliffhanger for too long—I think I've put you through enough emotional angst 😭 so consider this an early delivery to make up for the heartbreak lmao I'm sorry 😭

ALSO: Stoppp the Lena slander 🛑✋

Don't hate on my girl too hard. Yes, her choices are... questionable (to say the least), and her communication skills are basically a "No-Fly Zone," but she loves Miu too much for her own good.

Aaannd I also know this story has taken a full 360-degree turn, and honestly? I'm loving it 🤣 I HAVE ALL THESE NEW IDEAS SPRAWLING IN MY HEAD

To be honest, I was thinking of ending it here and doing a second book, but I scratched that idea. It would take way too long for me to upload it, and I don't want to do that to you guys. So, it's safe to say we'll be seeing much more from them right here in this story!

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THE UPCOMING CHAPTERS hehe. All I can say is... prepare yourselves 🤭

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Miu's POV

The silence of the hospital room wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, like the air right before a ceiling collapses. I sat there with the cream-colored paper clutched in my hand until the edges were damp with my sweat and the ink of her name was blurred by the first few teardrops I couldn't hold back.

Heartbreak was the first wave. It was a cold, hollow ache that made my lungs feel too small for the air in the room. She was gone. The woman who had tasted like rain and looked like a thunderstorm had simply... evaporated.

Then came the sadness, a thick, gray veil that made the sunrise outside look like a mockery. I traced the curve of her 'L', remembering the way she looked when she was sleeping, the way her guard only ever dropped for me.

She was carrying the heartache for me? I didn't want her to carry it.

I wanted to carry it with her.

But as the minutes ticked by and the sedatives fully wore off, the grief began to sharpen. It started to simmer.

Denial set in like a protective shell.

She's not really gone, I told myself, my eyes darting to the door. This is just another test. Another one of her elaborate maneuvers to see if I'll blink. She's probably downstairs in the cafeteria, or she's in the parking lot, waiting for me to call her bluff.

I grabbed my phone again, redialing the number until my thumb went numb. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach.

And then, finally, the shell cracked. And what poured out wasn't tears.

It was Anger.

A hot, jagged rage surged through me, more potent than any painkiller they had pumped into my veins.

"How dare you?" I whispered, my voice trembling with a fury I didn't know I possessed. "How dare you, Lalina Schuett?"

I had jumped in front of glass for her. I had walked away from my family's legacy for her. I had stood in the middle of a storm and told the world that she was my only truth.

I had chosen her over and over again, fiercely and loudly, through the blood and the scandals and the fear.

And she? She was running.

She wasn't being noble. She wasn't being a hero. She was being a coward.

She was deciding that my love was a burden she wasn't strong enough to bear. She was leaving me in the dust of the very family she had fixed, as if I were a piece of furniture to be moved back into its proper place.

"You think you're saving me?" I hissed, crumpling the expensive paper in my fist. "You're just quitting. You're giving up because you're too scared to fight for something that is real."

She didn't want me to wait? Fine.

But she was wrong about one thing: I wasn't the daughter she thought I was anymore. And I wasn't going to let her have the last word on a life that belonged to me.

The door clicked open, a small, clinical sound that felt like a thunderclap in the vacuum of the room.

My mother led the way, followed by my father and Mak. They moved slowly, their footsteps hesitant, as if the air around my bed was made of the same fragile glass that had shattered the night before. They stopped a few feet away, a wall of familial grief and relief that I suddenly couldn't find the strength to face.

I didn't look up. I couldn't. I just sat there, my spine rigid against the hospital pillows, staring at the crumpled cream-colored paper in my lap.

My cheeks were tight with the salt of dried tears, and my eyes felt like they had been scrubbed with sand.

The silence stretched, agonizing and thick.

I waited for the questions. I waited for my father to ask what Lena had decided, or for my mother to fret over my blood pressure, or for Mak to apologize again.

But no one spoke.

I finally lifted my gaze. My mother's eyes were rimmed with red, her hand pressed against her mouth as if to hold back a sob. My father stood with his shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the letter in my hand with a look of profound, weary recognition. He knew that stationery.

And Mak... Mak just looked hollow. He looked at the letter, then at my broken expression, and his jaw tightened.

They didn't ask. They didn't have to.

They saw the way I was clutching that paper like a lifeline that had already snapped. They saw the distant look in my eyes, the look of someone who was physically in a hospital room in Bangkok but whose soul was already chasing a jet engine across the horizon.

In that silence, a terrible understanding passed between us. My father had spent my whole life trying to trade me like an asset. My brother had nearly destroyed me out of envy for a shadow.

And now, the woman who had promised to be my exception had traded me back to them for the price of my own safety.

"She's gone, isn't she?" my mother whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the monitor.

I didn't nod. I didn't cry. The anger was still there, a cold, hard coal in the pit of my stomach, but beneath it was a void so vast it made the room feel like it was tilting.

The days that followed were a blur of white halls, physical therapy, and a silence that lived in the marrow of my bones.

By the time I was finally discharged, the heavy bandages were gone. In their place was a jagged, silver-pink line that snaked across my forearm, a permanent map of the night the glass shattered.

It was a brutal, unadorned mark. I didn't hide it. I wore sleeveless top and let the world see the price of my freedom.

Every time Mak's eyes landed on it, I saw him flinch. He didn't hide his guilt anymore; he carried it like a penance. He had become my shadow, anticipating my needs before I even realized them, walking a half-step behind me as if he were guarding a temple.

"Miu," he whispered one evening as we stood on the terrace of the family estate, the Bangkok humidity thick around us.

He looked at the scar, his throat working as he swallowed back a sob. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying to erase that. I know I can't. But I swear... until the day I die, I will be the brother you deserved that night."

I looked at the scar, then at him. "You don't have to be a martyr, Mak. The scar isn't just about you. It's about the woman who thought leaving it behind was enough to save me."

The anger hadn't faded; it had simply crystallized.

It was a cold, sharp diamond sitting in my chest. Lena had vanished into the Schuett empire, leaving no trail, no calls, no further blueprints.

She had given me my family back on a silver platter, and Mak was doing everything in his power to prove she was right to do so.

She was the smartest woman I had ever met, but she was a fool if she thought a scar could replace a soul.

I drove back to the one place that still held her ghost: her apartment.

I still had the key. It felt heavy in my palm, a cold piece of metal that used to be my pass into a sanctuary. When the door clicked open, I steeled myself for the wreckage. I expected to see the shards of the bottle, the dark stains on the rug, the physical proof of our ruin.

But the apartment was pristine.

Every piece of glass had been swept away, every drop of my blood scrubbed into oblivion. It looked exactly like it did in the brochures—perfect, clinical, and utterly dead.

I walked into the bedroom, my hand trembling as I opened her closet. Our clothes were still there, rows of sharp blazers and silk shirts hanging like hollow skins. I pressed my face into a dark grey suit, desperate for the scent of her, but there was nothing.

Just the smell of dry cleaning and abandonment.

The laughter that had once filled this space, the quiet, intimate sweet nothings we had whispered into each other's skin was gone. The silence was suffocating, a physical weight pressing against my chest until I had to stumble back into the hallway, gasping for air.

I didn't stop there. I couldn't.

I drove through the night to Pattaya, the speedometer climbing as if I could outrun the realization that she was truly gone. I pulled up to her parents' house, the engine clicking as it cooled in the salt-heavy air.

"Hans!" I called out, pounding on the heavy wooden door. "Lena! Is anyone there?"

Silence. Not even a dog barked. The windows were dark, staring back at me like empty eye sockets. The gardens were perfectly manicured, but the house felt hollowed out.

No Hans, no parents, no staff, and no Lena.

It was as if the Schuett family had been erased from the map, leaving only a perfectly maintained monument to their absence.

The defeat hit me then, a wave so cold it made my teeth chatter. I walked back to my car, my legs feeling like a dead weight.

The drive back to Bangkok was a heartbreak disguise as romance. I cried until my throat was raw, the tears hot and bitter as they tracked down my face.

How could she do this? How could she fix my life so perfectly and then vanish into the shadows, leaving me with a healed family and a shattered soul?

She had designed my happiness without asking if I wanted it.

She had decided that I was better off without her, and she had used her power to make it an absolute, inescapable reality.

She had given me a house that was finally safe to live in, but she had taken the light with her.

The transition from the lonely, howling silence of my car to the suffocatingly polite clink of silverware at the family estate was jarring.

One moment, I was screaming her name into the humid night air of the highway; the next, I was sitting under a crystal chandelier, watching my mother meticulously slice a piece of sea bass.

The dining room was a masterpiece of restored order.

My mother was mid-sentence, her voice a gentle, rhythmic hum as she discussed the guest list for an upcoming charity gala. Beside me, Mak sat like a statue of penance, his eyes fixed on his plate, barely touching his food.

He was there, present in body for the first time in years, but the air between us was still thin, haunted by the memory of the blood on the floor.

I felt my father's gaze. He hadn't said much since I sat down, but his silence wasn't the cold, calculating distance of the past. It was hesitant. He kept glancing at the silver scar on my arm, his throat working as if he were trying to swallow a confession.

Finally, he cleared his throat. The sound was sharp, cutting through my mother's chatter like a blade through silk.

"I spoke with Klaus today," he said, his voice low and carefully neutral.

The fork in my hand clattered against the porcelain. I didn't look up, but my entire body went rigid.

The name alone felt like a spark in a room full of gasoline.

"He wanted me to know that the Schuett family has returned to Germany. He, his wife, and Hans... they all flew out early this morning. They will be overseeing all business operations from the Frankfurt office for the foreseeable future."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Germany. Halfway across the world.

"Did he..." I started, my voice cracking. I forced myself to look up, my eyes searching my father's face for the one detail that actually mattered. "Did he say anything about her?"

My father's expression softened into something almost like pity, a look I had never seen on the face of the man who ran an empire.

"No, Miu. He didn't mention Lena's whereabouts. And I... I didn't ask."

He didn't have to. It was the silent, mutual understanding between two fathers who had spent their lives protecting legacies, only to watch those legacies nearly devour their children.

Klaus was protecting his daughter's choice to vanish, and my father was respecting the distance she had demanded for my sake.

They were gone. Not just moved, but excised. Lena hadn't just walked away from me; she had uprooted her entire world, leaving no bridge, no trail, and no way back.

"I see," I whispered.

I stood up, the chair screeching against the floor, a jagged sound that echoed the state of my nerves. I didn't wait for the dessert. I didn't wait for my mother's concerned call or the apology I knew was sitting on Mak's tongue.

I just needed to get away from the smells of expensive food and the suffocating comfort of this repaired life.

"Miu," my father's voice stopped me.

It wasn't a command. It was heavy, laden with a type of weariness I hadn't heard before. I paused, my hand gripping the back of the chair, my knuckles white.

"Klaus... he wanted me to let you know something else," he said, staring into his wine glass as if the words were difficult to fish out. "He said it wasn't easy. Not for her, and certainly not for you. He knows the situation you two are in right now isn't fair. It isn't just."

I turned slightly, my heart hammering a painful rhythm against my ribs. "Fair? That's one word for it."

"He said she made a decision," my father continued, finally looking up at me. His eyes were somber. "A decision she thought through with every bit of her logic. You know how Lena is, Miu. She doesn't do anything halfway, especially not when it comes to you. She truly believes this is the only way you survive this without more scars."

He let out a long, slow breath. "Klaus just hopes... and I suppose I do too... that one day, when the air is clearer, you both might finally be able to see eye to eye. But for now, she is the Director again. And the Director has ordered a withdrawal."

I stared at him, my vision blurring. She didn't do anything halfway. That was the problem.

She didn't just walk away; she amputated our connection to save the rest of me. She had decided that I was a project that needed to be abandoned for the safety of the structural foundation.

"She's a fool," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "She thinks she's protecting me, but she's just leaving me to drown in the safety she built."

I didn't wait for a response. I walked out of the dining room, the sound of my footsteps hollow on the marble. Behind me, the silence of the Taechamongkalapiwat family settled back into place, perfect, polished, and utterly broken.

The weeks turned into months, and the seasons in Bangkok shifted with a humid indifference to the hole in my life.

I buried myself in work. It was the only thing that made sense—the only thing that could compete with the deafening silence Lena had left behind. I threw myself into the family firm's new creative wing, designing spaces that were the opposite of her cold, structural perfection. I painted until my fingers cramped and my vision blurred, filling canvases with the colors she thought I had lost.

I worked because if I stopped, even for a second, the ghost of her perfume would catch me in the hallway, and I would shatter all over again.

But I wasn't just working for the company. I was working on us.

Slowly, painfully, Mak and I began to stitch the pieces of our childhood back together. He stayed true to every word he whispered in that hospital room.

He was my brother again.

He checked on me without being stifling; he brought me coffee when I stayed too late in the studio; he became the shield he was supposed to be the night the glass shattered.

We started having weekly family dinners, sometimes at the estate, sometimes at a quiet restaurant where the paparazzi couldn't find us. For the first time in our lives, the conversation wasn't about mergers or stock prices. We talked about books, about the weather, about the mundane things that make a family real.

Somewhere deep down, I knew this was exactly what Lena had intended.

She had sacrificed herself to give me this, a father who looked at me with pride, a mother who didn't just see a debutante, and a brother who was my best friend.

She had traded our love for my peace.

I hated her for it every single day.

Through it all, Lingling was the anchor that kept me from drifting out to sea. We grew closer than we had ever been—not in the way I loved Lena, but in the way of platonic soulmates.

The Kwongs and the Taechamongkalapiwats remained fierce rivals in the business world, but their heiresses became inseparable. Lingling would join our family dinners, her sharp wit cutting through the lingering tension, and I would join hers, a silent pact of solidarity between two women who refused to be pawns anymore.

I was slowly getting myself back. I could laugh again without it feeling like a lie. I could look at my scar without feeling the phantom sting of the glass.

My parents were glowing, convinced that Lena's intervention had been the miracle they needed.

But every night, when the house went quiet and the lights went out, I would stand by my window and look toward the horizon, toward the cold, distant air of Frankfurt. My life was perfect. My family was whole.

But the space beside me in the dark remained a vacuum that no amount of success or sibling love could ever fill.

My train of thoughts were disrupted by Lingling's teasing tone.

"Still thinking about Schuett?" Lingling asked, her voice dry but not unkind.

In the months since Lena had vanished, Lingling had become the only person who didn't treat Lena's name like a forbidden word. My parents avoided it out of guilt; Mak avoided it out of a misplaced sense of protection.

Only Lingling dared to throw it into the middle of the table like a challenge.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, my gaze returning to her.

"To anyone who isn't a Taechamongkalapiwat? Yes," she replied, finally putting her phone down and leaning forward. "You have that look in your eyes again. Like you're trying to calculate exactly how many miles of ocean are between here and Germany."

"I'm just enjoying the view, Ling," I teased, though the lie tasted like paper.

"The view is a brick wall and a BTS track, Miu. Don't give me that," she countered with a smirk. Then, her expression softened, the playful edge giving way to the kind of honesty only a soulmate can offer.

"You're doing great, you know. Your dad is happy, Mak is actually being a human being, and your last gallery showing was a sell-out. Lena got exactly what she wanted. She won."

"I know," I whispered, the word heavy. "That's the part that stings the most. She was right. About all of it."

"She was right about the family," Lingling corrected, reaching across the table to tap the silver scar on my arm. "But she was wrong about the rest. She thinks she saved you, but all she did was give you a perfect life with a missing piece."

I laughed again, but this time it was genuine, a small, sad sound that felt more real than the polished smiles I gave at family dinners.

Lingling stirred her latte, the ice clinking against the glass like a rhythmic countdown. She looked at me, her eyes sharp and unblinking. "Did you ever think about it? Just... buying a ticket to Frankfurt or hopping in your family's jet? Tracking her down in Germany and demanding an explanation?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and familiar.

"Every single day for the first three months," I admitted, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I'd stare at my passport. I'd imagine walking into their office, seeing her look up from a blueprint, and watching her face crumble. But then I'd remember the letter. I'd remember that she didn't just leave; she chose to leave. She decided I wasn't worth the fight."

I looked down at my hands, tracing the faint, silvery line of the scar.

"I'm done chasing, Ling. You know better than anyone that my entire relationship with her was a chase. I chased her through her coldness, I chased her through her secrets, and I even chased her through my own family's ruins. I've had enough. If she has the balls to come back, then so be it. But right now? I'm too hurt to even imagine seeing her face."

Lingling let out a long, slow breath. "Good. You deserve to be the one who is found for once."

She leaned back, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "So... does this mean the legendary Miu Taechamongkalapiwat is officially back on the market? Should I start vetting suitors for the next gala?"

I let out a genuine laugh, the sound bright and clear. "Why bother? Why don't we just date each other? It would certainly save our fathers a lot of headache if the two biggest rivals in Bangkok just merged their heiresses instead of their companies."

Lingling threw her head back and laughed out loud, attracting a few curious glances from the other patrons. "God, imagine the headlines. The Great Merger: Love or Hostile Takeover?"

She calmed down, but she didn't look away. Her expression shifted into something softer, more vulnerable than she usually allowed. "You know, when I found out Lena left... a part of me thought, 'Finally. This is it. This is my chance.' I really thought I could win you over, Miu."

My heart gave a small, sympathetic squeeze. "Ling..."

"No, it's okay," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I knew better. Even when she's thousands of miles away, your heart still has a Schuett-shaped space on it. I stayed, not because I was waiting for you to fall for me, but because I realized you didn't need a lover. You needed a friend. And I cared enough about you to be that, even if it meant being the consolation prize to your ghost."

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're not a consolation prize, Lingling. You're the only reason I'm still standing."

Lingling looked down at our joined hands, her usual sharp composure softening for a fraction of a second. But before the moment could get too heavy, I felt that familiar spark of mischief, the one that had been buried under layers of grief for months, finally flicker back to life.

"Besides," I said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, "I think the real reason you aren't making any more grand romantic advances is because you're a little distracted lately."

Lingling pulled her hand back, reaching for her latte with sudden, suspicious intensity. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm a busy woman, Miu. The Siriluck Group doesn't run itself."

"Oh, really?" I arched an eyebrow, propping my chin on my palm. "Because every time I've called you this week, you've been in a meeting with your new executive assistant. And yet, when I saw you at the office yesterday, you weren't looking at spreadsheets. You were looking at her like she was the last glass of water in a desert."

Lingling's face went from its usual porcelain pale to a shade of pink that rivaled the cherry blossoms on the cafe mural. "She's efficient! She's a Harvard grad! It's professional appreciation!"

"It's professional something," I teased, laughing as she furiously stirred a drink that was already well-mixed. "What was her name again? Orm, right? Quiet, brilliant, and has you blushing like a schoolgirl every time she brings you a file?"

"I am not blushing!" Lingling snapped, though the heat was practically radiating off her cheeks. "And her name is... yes, it's Orm. But that is entirely beside the point. We are discussing your tragic love life, not my impeccable staffing choices!"

I leaned back, a genuine, warm feeling spreading through my chest. Seeing Lingling flustered was a gift I hadn't expected today. "She's cute, Ling. And she clearly handles you better than any of your previous assistants. Maybe you should take your own advice and get out there."

Lingling finally gave up the fight, letting out a defeated huff as she hid her face behind her hands for a moment. "She's... she's very dedicated. That's all I'm saying."

"Right. Dedicated," I echoed, my voice soft but full of affection.

For the first time in six months, as I watched my best friend struggle with a crush, the shadow of Germany felt a little less cold.

Lena had left me with a perfect life, but Lingling and the messy, beautiful reality of new beginnings were the one actually teaching me how to live in it.

I laughed as Lingling's phone buzzed on the marble tabletop, the screen lighting up with a brief, professional notification.

"She's here," Lingling announced, smoothing her skirt with unnecessary precision. "Parked right out front. I have a meeting with the board in twenty minutes."

"A meeting with the board? Or a twenty-minute drive with a very dedicated assistant?" I teased, sliding out of the booth. I didn't miss the way Lingling's eyes darted toward the cafe's glass door. "Don't trip on your way out, Ling. It's hard to maintain an air of authority when you're swooning."

"I do not swoon, Miu! I have excellent inner ear balance," she huffed, but she was already walking toward the exit with a pace that was definitely faster than usual.

As we stepped out into the humid Bangkok afternoon, a sleek, black executive sedan was idling at the curb. The door opened almost immediately, and a young woman stepped out.

She was dressed in a sharp, charcoal suit that managed to look both modern and impeccably professional. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she held a tablet against her chest with practiced ease.

It was Orm.

She had a face that seemed to radiate a quiet, steady intelligence, the kind of person who could probably navigate a corporate takeover and a coffee order simultaneously without breaking a sweat.

When her eyes landed on us, her expression softened into a respectful but genuine warmth.

"Good afternoon, Khun Miu," Orm said, bowing her head slightly in a perfect show of formality. Her voice was calm, a soothing contrast to Lingling's current high-strung energy. "It's good to see you looking so well."

"You too, Orm," I replied, matching her smile. I couldn't resist casting a side-eye at Lingling, who was suddenly very interested in the stitching of her designer handbag. "I hear you've been keeping Lingling very busy lately. My apologies if our lunch ran over."

"Not at all," Orm said, her eyes twinkling with a hint of something, amusement, perhaps?—as she stepped forward to open the rear door for Lingling. "The schedule is flexible when it comes to your friendship, Khun Miu. Miss Kwong always prioritizes what's important."

Lingling practically dove into the backseat, muttering something about "unprofessional chatter."

Orm turned back to me one last time, her gaze steady. "Take care of yourself, Khun Miu."

"I will. And Orm?" I leaned in slightly, lowered my voice so only she could hear. "Keep her on her toes. She needs it."

Orm didn't say a word, but the slight, knowing curve of her lips was answer enough. She closed the door, walked around to the driver's side with effortless grace, and pulled the car away into the stream of traffic.

I stood on the sidewalk, the heat of the city pressing in on me, watching the red taillights disappear. For a moment, the world felt light.

Lingling was moving forward. Mak was moving forward. My parents were finally at peace.

But as the car vanished around the corner, taking the laughter and the teasing with it, the silence returned.

I reached down, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the silver scar on my arm. Lena had left me a perfect stage, but as I stood there alone, I realized I was still the only actor who didn't know the next line.