Miu's POV

The steam from the tom yum soup rose between us, a spicy, fragrant veil that felt like the only honest thing in the room. We were at our usual corner table, the one where the paparazzi couldn't catch the light hitting our faces but the silence between us was different today. 

Lingling put her spoon down, her eyes narrowing as she watched me trace the rim of my glass for the tenth time.

"You're doing it again, Miu," she said, her voice dropping into that low, protective frequency she reserved for when I was spiraling.

"Doing what?" I didn't look up.

"Existing in two places at once. Your body is here at lunch, but your head is somewhere far away," She reached across the table, tapping her knuckles against the wood to get my attention. "Is it about Lena again? Did Vivat find something he wasn't supposed to?"

I finally looked at her, and the weight of the last two weeks came crashing down into my throat. "It is Lena. But it isn't her."

Lingling frowned, leaning in. "Explain. Before I order a double shot of espresso to handle this riddle."

"You remember the girl from the club? The silhouette in the alley that I chased like a lunatic?" I waited for the flicker of recognition in Ling's eyes. 

When she nodded, I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Mak hired her. She walked into my office a week ago. Her name is Ginny. She's our new lead for international legalities."

Lingling froze, a piece of shrimp halfway to her mouth. "The Lena look-a-like is on the payroll? Miu, that's... that's a hell of a coincidence, even for Bangkok."

"It's not just the look, Ling," I said, the words spilling out now, frantic and jagged. "It's the way she works. She corrected a liability clause yesterday using logic that I've only ever heard from one person. She talks about the necessity of the void and structural honesty. She drinks her coffee at a temperature that would scald a normal human. And when she looks at a document... she doesn't just see lines. She sees the failure points before they even happen."

I gripped my napkin until my knuckles turned white, mirroring the silver line hidden beneath my sleeve.

"Something about Ginny feels uncharacteristically familiar. It's like she's a translation of Lena. A different language, but the same cold, brilliant grammar. It's suffocating me, Ling. I feel like I'm being watched by a version of her that's been designed to be kinder, but the core... the core feels like my Lena."

Lingling stayed silent for a long time, her gaze shifting to the window where the Bangkok skyline was shimmering in the heat.

Then Lingling watched me for a long moment, then she shook her head, a pitying smile tugging at her lips. "Miu, babe... I think you're reading into things way too much."

"Ling, I'm telling you, the logic she uses—"

"Is probably just the logic of a top-tier lawyer who studied in an Ivy League university," Lingling interrupted gently. "Look, ever since that night in the alley where you mistook her for Lena, you've been primed to find her everywhere. You saw Lena in her once, and now your brain is trying to connect the dots to make it true. You're associating every professional habit or cold coffee preference with a woman who is thousands of miles away."

She reached out, squeezing my hand. "She's just a girl with a sharp suit and a good degree, Miu. Don't turn a new coworker into a conspiracy theory just because you miss Schuett. It's not fair to Ginny, and it's definitely not healthy for you."

I dropped the topic, forcing a tight nod as I looked back at the soup. Lingling was right. I was haunted, and haunted people saw ghosts in every flickering light. I needed to stop. 

But the curiosity didn't leave. It just settled into the marrow of my bones, a cold, persistent itch.

A few minutes passed in a fragile, forced silence until the bell above the bistro door chimed. I didn't look up, not until the shadow fell over our table.

"I thought I saw a familiar car out front," a smooth, melodic voice said.

I froze. Lingling's eyes went wide, her spoon stopping halfway to her mouth.

Standing there, bathed in the natural afternoon light, was Ginny. She looked effortless. Her blazer was draped over her arm, and her white shirt was neat despite the humidity. 

She looked like a fresh start, yet my heart reacted like she was a threat.

"Ginny?" I managed, my voice sounding thin. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting lunch," she said, her smile easy and unbothered. "This place is famous for its broth, isn't it? I didn't realize it was a private clubhouse."

"It's not!" Lingling jumped in, her social instincts kicking into high gear. She shot me a look that said Be normal before gesturing to the empty chair. "We were just finishing up, but there's plenty of room. Please, join us."

I opened my mouth to protest, to say we were leaving, to say I had a meeting but Ginny was already moving.

"I'd love to," she said.

She sat down, sliding into the booth next to me. She was close. A little too close for my liking.  Yet, the way she settled into the space, the way her shoulder brushed mine as she reached for a menu, felt like a calculated invasion.

"So, Ginny," Lingling began, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of a new interrogation. "London is a long way from Bangkok. What brings a seasoned lawyer like you to our little pond?"

Ginny reached for the teapot, her movements fluid and deliberate as she poured herself a cup. "Bangkok has a certain... energy," she said vaguely, a small smile playing on her lips while staring straight at me. "Opportunities here tend to be more complex. More rewarding if you know how to navigate the structure."

I stayed silent, watching the steam curl from her cup. It was a classic non-answer; polished, professional, and entirely vague.

Lingling, however, wasn't about to let her off that easily. She leaned in, propping her chin on her hand. "Complex, huh? Mak said you were top of your class at LSE, but did you spend your whole career in London before deciding to brave the Bangkok heat?"

Ginny took a slow sip of her tea, the heat seemingly not bothering her at all. 

"Actually, no," Ginny said, and for the first time, her voice carried a weight that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Right after I graduated, a private firm in Germany scouted me immediately. I spent my formative years there. That's where I learned everything, how to read a contract, how to spot a lie, and how to protect a legacy at all costs."

The air in the booth suddenly felt thin. I felt the blood recede from my face, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table until the wood bit into my skin.

Germany.

Lingling leaned in further. I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes; the conspiracy theory she had laughed off minutes ago was suddenly taking on a very solid, very German shape. 

She was no longer just making small talk; she was probing.

"Germany," Lingling repeated, her voice pitched with a calculated curiosity. "That's quite a jump for a London grad. When exactly did you start working there? Was it during the boom of the new architectural movement?"

Ginny took another slow, measured sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a soft, rhythmic ssound. "A long time ago," she said, her voice smooth and untroubled by the specifics of a timeline. "Long enough to see how the right structure can change a person's entire trajectory. I eventually moved back to London to handle their international interests, but the foundations I learned in Germany..."

She paused, her eyes drifting to mine. For a split second, it felt like she was looking right through my skin, past the designer blazer and straight into the ruins of my heart.

"...they still carry a great deal in me," she finished softly. "You never truly leave a place like that. You just carry its rules with you wherever you go."

The table went silent. Even the clatter of the busy bistro seemed to fade into a dull hum. I looked at my plate, my appetite completely gone. Ginny wasn't just talking about law or contracts anymore. 

She was talking about indoctrination. 

She was talking about a way of being that was so specific, so cold, and so undeniably Lena that I felt like I was being haunted in broad daylight.

Lingling reached for her water, her hand slightly less steady than it had been five minutes ago. "Foundations are important," she managed, her eyes lingering on me with a look of dawning realization and profound worry.

"They are the only thing that matters," Ginny added, her shoulder still pressed firmly against mine. "Without them, everything is just... aesthetics."

She turned back to me, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips—the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. 

The bell above the bistro door chimed with a light, mocking ring as Ginny stood up. She smoothed the front of her blazer, her movements as precise and economical as a blueprint.

"I'll head back first," Ginny said, her voice regaining that professional, clipped edge. "There's a specific clause in the land titles that's been bothering me, it feels... structurally unsound. I need to cross-reference it before our 3:00 PM."

I started to slide out of the booth, my heart doing a nervous gallop. "I should come with you. We can review it together."

"No," Ginny replied, her hand coming down lightly but firmly on my shoulder, pinning me to the seat for just a second too long. "Stay. Spend time with your friend. You've been working too hard, Khun Miu. You deserve a moment of... leisure."

The word leisure sounded foreign coming from her, a direct echo of how Lena used to say it, as if it were a luxury she was graciously granting me.

She offered a final, polite nod to Lingling and disappeared into the humid Bangkok glare outside.

The silence that followed was heavy. We watched her through the glass until she reached her car. Only when the car merged into the snarling traffic of Sukhumvit did Lingling finally move.

She exhaled a breath so long and shaky it sounded like a tire losing air. She slumped back against the booth, her face pale.

"Miu," Lingling whispered, her voice trembling. "That was.....something."

"You think?" I snapped, though there was no heat in it, only a cold, hollow fear. "An hour ago, you told me I was turning a new coworker into a conspiracy theory."

"That was before she talked about foundations and German mentors like she was reciting a cult's scripture," Lingling hissed, leaning across the table, her eyes wide. 

"The way she moved your glass? The way she looked at you? Miu, that girl isn't just a lawyer. She's a robot. It was like sitting next to a version of Lena that I knew pretty well, the one that hasn't learned how to be human yet.....before she met you."

I looked at the spot where Ginny had been sitting. The tea in her cup was still steaming, perfectly still, perfectly placed.

Lingling reached for my hand again, her grip tighter this time, as if she were trying to pull me back from the edge of a cliff. 

She saw the look in my eyes—that hungry, desperate flicker of hope that was more dangerous than any grief.

"But Miu," she said, her voice dropping into a firm, grounding tone. "I don't want to read too much into it. I refuse to."

I blinked, suddenly confused at the change of tone. "Ling, you just said—"

"I know what I said. She's cold, she's precise, and she's eerily efficient. But maybe Germany just has a way of making people feel like that," Lingling interrupted, her expression hardening into a mask of practical concern. 

"It's a culture of discipline. She probably worked for some high-pressure firm that breaks people down until they all sound like textbook architects. It doesn't mean it's her."

She leaned closer, her eyes searching mine with a painful level of honesty.

"I won't indulge this fantasy, Miu. I won't let you do this to yourself again. Every time you think you see a shadow of Schuett, you fall apart. You spent six months trying to find air to breathe, and I am not going to watch you suffocate yourself by chasing a ghost that might just be a very talented, very boring lawyer from London."

The steam from Ginny's tea was finally starting to dissipate, the liquid growing cold and stagnant.

"Let it go," Lingling whispered. "Stop searching for her in every sharp suit and every cold cup of coffee. Lena left. She made her choice. It's time for you to stop being a project that she fixed and start being a woman who lives her own life. Please. For the sake of your own heart."

I looked out the window at the blurred movement of the city. The logic was sound. It was the healthy, stable choice. But as I sat there, the phantom weight of Ginny's hand still seemed to linger on my shoulder, a silent command that I wasn't sure I could ever disobey.

"I'll try," I lied, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Don't try," Lingling said, standing up and grabbing her purse. "Just do it. Go back to that office and see a lawyer, not Lena's ghost."

The weeks that followed were a blur. I did exactly what Lingling said: I stopped looking for the Director in the shadows and started looking at the woman standing in the light.

I stopped analyzing the way Ginny held her pen and started listening to her laugh. I stopped bracing for a cold German lecture and realized that her precision was just a byproduct of a brilliant mind, not a hidden agenda.

It happened slowly, then all at once. 

Ginny became my shadow, but a welcome one. We spent late nights in the boardroom, fueled by overpriced takeout and shared exhaustion. I discovered that she had a dry, wicked wit. She could dismantle a pretentious developer's ego with a single, perfectly timed comment, then catch my eye and wink. 

I found myself looking forward to 9:00 AM. I found myself choosing my outfits with a little more care. I found myself... breathing again.

"You're staring again, Khun Miu," Ginny said without looking up from the merger filings. She was sitting on the edge of my desk, a habit she'd picked up that used to annoy me but now felt strangely intimate.

"I'm analyzing the integrity of your argument," I countered, leaning back in my chair.

Ginny finally looked up, her glasses sliding down her nose. She didn't push them back. Instead, she laughed, a warm, genuine sound that reached her eyes. "My argument is perfect. You're just looking for an excuse to keep me here past 7:00."

I didn't deny it. The hollow space in my chest....the one Lena had left behind wasn't gone, but it was being filled with something new. Something that felt like a sanctuary rather than a prison. 

Ginny wasn't a ghost; she was a woman who knew my coffee order, who handled my brother's chaos with a smile, and who made me feel like I didn't have to be perfect all the time.

"Maybe I am," I whispered.

The air in the office felt different now but in a way that didn't make it hard to breathe. The cold professional distance I had maintained for months was finally eroding, and for the first time, I didn't want to stop the landslide.

"Ginny," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "You can just call me Miu. I think we're well past the 'Khun' stage by now."

Ginny paused, her hand still resting near mine on the desk. She looked at me, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her face—one that reached her hazel eyes and made the sharp lines of her suit seem almost soft.

"Well, Miu," she said, testing the name on her tongue as if she were savoring a vintage wine. "Since we're finally past the formalities... can I invite you to dinner? Not a working dinner with blueprints and NDAs. Just dinner. Somewhere with a view and absolutely zero talk about work."

"I'd like that," I replied.

"Good," Ginny said, standing up and closing her laptop with a satisfying click. "Eight o'clock. Wear something that makes you feel like a person, not a Vice President."

Three hours later, we were sitting at a secluded table overlooking the Chao Phraya River. The city lights danced on the water like fallen stars, and the hum of Bangkok felt like a distant memory. 

Ginny was different tonight. She was warm, she was funny, and she told stories about her time in London that had me laughing until my sides ached.

She wasn't a ghost. She was a woman who liked jazz, who was secretly afraid of spiders, and who looked at me like I was the only person in the room.

"You're doing it again," Ginny said softly, leaning across the table, the candlelight flickering in her eyes.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like you're trying to solve a puzzle," she whispered. She reached out, her hand covering mine on the tablecloth. Her skin was warm, vibrant, and real. "I'm not a contract, Miu. You don't have to calculate me."

I let out a breath I'd been holding for three months. I turned my hand over, the silver scar on my arm was hidden beneath my sleeve, but for the first time, it didn't throb with the memory of the crash.

"I know," I said, and I realized I finally meant it. "I'm not calculating. I'm just... staying."

Ginny's thumb traced a slow, rhythmic circle on the back of my hand. "Then stay. Just be here with me."

The candles on the table flickered as a soft breeze rolled off the river, but the air between us suddenly felt electric, charged by a bluntness I hadn't expected. Ginny didn't pull her hand away. If anything, her grip tightened slightly, anchoring me to the present.

"I'm not a woman who enjoys wasting time, Miu," she said, her voice dropping into a low, steady register that vibrated against my skin. "I like you. And I want to get to know you. Just you. Deeper than anyone else is allowed to go."

I felt the breath catch in my throat. I was a woman built on subtext, on hidden meanings and architectural metaphors, but Ginny was handing me a direct foundation. I opened my mouth to speak....to deflect, to mention the office but she cut me off before I could find the words.

"I know you're not entirely ready," she added, her eyes softening but never wavering from mine. "I haven't forgotten the night in the alley. I saw the look in your eyes...the way you were searching for someone who wasn't there. I know you're still haunted."

The mention of the club, of that desperate night, sent a sharp pang through my chest, but Ginny didn't let the wound stay open.

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered, leaning closer until the scent of bergamot was all I could perceive. "You don't even have to promise me a next time yet. Just let me do my thing. Let me make you a priority. Let me show you what it's like to be... worshipped. To be the center of the structure, not just the person holding it up."

The word worshipped hit me like a train. 

It was the opposite of my life with Lena. 

With Lena, I was the Vice President, the project, the soul being fixed. But Ginny was offering to place me on a pedestal. 

She was offering a world where I wasn't the one doing the heavy lifting....and most importantly, she's offering me a world where I wasn't the one chasing.

"Ginny..." I breathed, my fingers finally curling around hers.

"Don't think, Miu," she smiled, that warm, genuine expression that I had grown so fond of. "Just feel. For once, just let someone take care of you."

The drive back was suffocating. When she pulled up to the estate, she didn't rush me out. She simply reached over, tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and gave me a look so full of promise that it made my knees weak.

"Goodnight, Miu," she whispered. "Sleep. Don't overthink it."

I walked into the house, the heavy teak doors clicking shut behind me, sealing out the humid night. The grand foyer felt colder than usual, the marble floors reflecting the dim, amber light of the chandelier. 

I felt like a bridge mid-collapse, suspended between the terrifyingly sweet things Ginny had said and the hollow, echoing silence Lena had left behind.

"You're home late."

I jumped, my hand flying to my chest. Mak was sitting in the sunken living room, a single lamp cast over him. He wasn't on his phone; he wasn't reading. He was just sitting there with a glass of water, staring out at the dark garden.

"Mak," I breathed, trying to smooth out my expression. "I didn't think you'd be up."

He stood up, his eyes scanning my face with that annoying, older-brother intuition he'd developed lately. He didn't ask about the merger or the morning's filings. He saw the flush in my cheeks and the way I was gripping my purse like a lifeline.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost, or you've just been kissed by one," he said softly, walking over.

I sank onto the edge of the sofa, the weight of the night finally catching up to me. "I had dinner with Ginny."

Mak sat down next to me, not crowding me, just being there. He didn't tease. He just waited.

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. How could I tell him that I am torn? Mak had been in the center of the storm. He had seen the wreckage Lena and I left behind, had witnessed the way she dismantled our lives to save them. But the past was a heavy anchor, and I could see that Mak had already cut his lines. 

He had moved on.

So, I told him. I told him about the dinner, the way the light hit the river, and the blunt, terrifyingly sweet confession Ginny had made. I told him about the worship and the priority.

When I finished, Mak didn't lecture me. He offered a comforting smile—a look of genuine relief that his little sister was finally trusting him with her heart again.

"Miu," he said, his voice soft against the quiet of the living room. "I've spent the last year reflecting on everything that happened. What you and Lena had... it was something straight out of a tragic romance book. It was real. I saw it. You two were annoyingly in love. You were meant to be in love, but fate and timing? They just weren't on your side."

He paused, looking at the dark garden outside. "But Lena is gone now. And if fate decides to play with the pieces of your life again, then maybe it just means your story with her isn't finished yet. It's just... changing chapters."

He cleared his throat before continuing, "But right now.....right now the universe has other plans for you and it involves a new person coming into your life. Asking you to just let her in."

He shifted, looking me directly in the eyes. "It isn't fair to Ginny to give her a chance if you're still holding onto the ghost of Lena. But Miu, it also isn't fair to you. You're depriving yourself of a new kind of love because you're afraid of betraying a memory."

I looked down at the silver scar on my arm. It felt less like a mark of shame and more like a closed door.

"You deserve to be a priority, Miu," Mak whispered. "Not a project. If Ginny makes you laugh...if she makes you smile the way you did when we were at the office, then that's enough. Let the ghost rest. Let yourself live."

I leaned my head on his shoulder, the conflict in my chest finally beginning to settle into a dull, manageable ache. For the first time in months, the future didn't look like a blueprint I had to follow; it looked like a blank page.

Morning came and as I walked into my office, the scent of my expensive perfume was replaced by something sweet, and undeniably alive.

Sitting right in the center of my mahogany desk was a massive bouquet of tulips.

Tucked into the stems were two gold-embossed tickets to a private architectural gala.

I picked up the small, handwritten card resting against the vase. The script was elegant but hurried, a professional's shorthand for affection.

I want to get to know you. I know you usually avoid these, but I'd like to show you off next week. Just us. — G.

I sank into my chair, the velvet fabric catching on my blazer, and for the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was waiting for a building to collapse. I felt like I was finally standing on solid ground. 

Mak was right. It wasn't fair to Ginny to keep her in the shadow of a ghost, and it wasn't fair to me to stay in the dark.

The gala was the social event of the season, a gathering of the elite, the visionaries, and important people of the industry. 

I looked at the tulips again. They were beautiful. They were new. It's like a message from the universe telling me to journey into new beginnings.

In the week leading up to the gala, Ginny managed to dismantle the last of my defenses without ever raising her voice or forcing a conversation. She turned my office—once a place of cold, monument of ghosts, into a sanctuary of consistency.

Every single morning, before I even set my bag down, there they were: fresh pink tulips, their stems still beaded with dew, sitting in a crystal vase that caught the morning light. And beside them, a cup of coffee at the exact, perfect temperature.

Ginny didn't hover. She didn't crowd my schedule or demand my attention. Instead, she mastered the art of being the constant presence. 

During board meetings, when my father's old associates would try to talk over me, I'd feel Ginny's gaze from across the room, steady, encouraging, a silent reminder that I wasn't alone in the structure.

I'd find a post-it note on a difficult contract that simply said, "Section 8 is a mess, but you aren't. Take a five-minute break."

When we did work late, she'd walk me to my car, keeping just enough distance to be respectful, but close enough that I could catch the faint scent of her bergamot perfume—a scent that was slowly replacing the lavender and vanilla that had haunted me for a year.

She made me feel like a priority. She made me feel... safe. By the time Friday arrived, the skepticism Lingling had planted was buried under a week's worth of gentle gestures and reliable warmth. 

I wasn't just trying to move on anymore; I was actually doing it.

Next week came in faster than I expected to. The black silk of my gown felt like a second skin, the side slit offering a sharp, modern edge to an otherwise classic silhouette. When Ginny arrived at the estate, she wasn't empty-handed; she held a single, fresh tulip that matched the bouquet from my desk.

"You look breathtaking, Miu," she whispered, her eyes traveling over me with that direct, worshipful intensity she had promised. "Like a masterpiece."

I felt a genuine flush creep up my neck. "You don't look so bad yourself, Attorney."

The drive to the venue was filled with easy conversation, a testament to how far we had come in just a few months. But the moment the valet opened the car door at the gala, the air changed.

The venue was a glass-walled marvel overlooking the city, but it wasn't the architecture that stopped my heart. It was the scent. Heavy, cloying, and heartbreakingly familiar.

White lilies. They were everywhere. Cascading from the balconies, arranged in towering crystalline vases, and pinned to the lapels of the staff. Thousands of them. 

The vibrant pink tulip Ginny had given me suddenly felt like a small, lonely island in a sea of someone's signature flower.

"Gosh," Ginny remarked, tucking her arm through mine as we stepped into the ballroom. Her touch was grounding, but her eyes were scanning the floral arrangements with a clinical curiosity. "That's a bit much, isn't it? It feels more like a cathedral than a celebration. Someone certainly has a dramatic flair."

We moved through the crowd, Ginny navigating the social waters with the grace. She introduced me to developers from Singapore and investors from London, always keeping her hand possessively on the small of my back. 

For an hour, I almost managed to ignore the white petals mocking me from every corner.

"The flowers are quite... bold, aren't they?" Ginny commented to a senior partner from a rival firm while we stood near a massive centerpiece.

The man chuckled, swirling his champagne. "Bold is one way to put it. I heard the primary host of the gala insisted on them personally. Apparently, the white lily holds a very specific, sacred meaning to them. A symbol of a structure that was lost and then rebuilt, or something equally poetic."

My grip tightened on my clutch. Lost and rebuilt. "Who is the host exactly?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"An international consultant," the man replied, looking past me toward the grand staircase. "They've been operating out of the EU for the last year, but they've just taken over the lead on the New Bangkok Landmark project."

The prayer in my head was a frantic, repeating loop. 

Please let me be wrong. Please let the world be big enough for two people with that much power. Please, let this just be a coincidence.

But the universe has never been kind to me when it comes to coincidences.

The lights in the ballroom didn't just dim; they seemed to surrender. For a heartbeat, the city skyline outside the glass walls was the only thing visible, a shimmering, distant grid. Then, a single, warm spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the landing of the grand staircase.

The announcer's voice didn't just echo; it commanded the air. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen. After a year of groundbreaking work in Europe, she has finally returned. Though the firm's headquarters remains in Frankfurt, she is coming home to the city where her vision first took root..."

I stood there, like a stick in an expensive black gown, my lungs straining for oxygen that wasn't there. 

My internal monologue had become a frantic, desperate prayer, a plea to a universe that had clearly stopped listening to me.

Please. Please, don't play games with me. Please let it be someone else.

"...Everyone, visionaries of the new era... please help me welcome the lead consultant of the New Bangkok Landmark project, and the host of this evening's celebration... Lalina Schuett."

My face went pale, the blood draining away until I felt the cold prickle of a cold sweat on my neck. My heart wasn't just hammering; it was a frantic, violent thing, slamming against my ribs as if trying to break free from the cage of my chest.

A wave of nausea rolled over me, thick and acidic. I felt the floor tilt. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to faint. 

She's back. She's here. And she's hopelessly, devastatingly, irrevocably.....beautiful.

****

Note:

Lena's back!!! Hope you guys are excited because I sure am 😏

Buckle up, this will only get more interesting from here on bwahahaha