Chapter 40

The smell of disinfectant still clung to my scrubs as I stepped out of surgery, peeling off my gloves and sighing with the kind of exhaustion that always followed a long, delicate operation. My mind was still half in the OR—running through sutures and blood pressure spikes—when Priya came up beside me, clutching a clipboard.

"Patient's stable," she said, smiling. "Great work as always, Dr. Kornnaphat."

"Thanks," I replied, brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek. "That was a tough one."

We were just starting to go over the post-op notes when Charlotte suddenly appeared at the nurse's station, grinning like a gossip columnist on caffeine.

"Dr. Kornnaphat," she said, sing-songing my name in a way that made Priya immediately arch a brow. "There's someone waiting for you out front."

I looked up from the chart. "A patient?"

Charlotte practically bounced on her heels. "No. A woman. Scary. Hot. Like, if looks could kill and seduce at the same time? You'd be dead and blushing."

I blinked. Slowly. "Charlotte..."

She smirked. "I'm not saying who. I don't want to ruin the surprise. But she's wearing heels. Expensive ones. And a suit. A really well-fitted suit."

My stomach did a slow flip. She hadn't told me she'd come. I hadn't seen her in a few days—things had been quiet, business-like between us since the warehouse. She'd been dealing with keeping Sen Yui locked up, her empire's shifting gears in the background. But she hadn't let me in much. Not fully.

And yet...

I already knew who it was before I even turned down the hallway.

"She's leaning against the reception desk," Charlotte added as I passed her. "Like she owns the building. I think the security guard bowed. I'm not kidding."

I stepped out into the clinic's front lobby, my pulse fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with medicine. And there she was.

Lingling.

Hair smooth and sleek, black heels that clicked with silent precision, and a tailored navy suit with her coat draped over one arm. She had one hand resting casually on the front desk, the other holding a takeaway coffee cup. Not from some nearby café. No—she definitely had it brought in. Because of course she did.

When her eyes landed on me, her entire expression changed—softened, then sharpened, like I was the first and only thing she wanted to see.

I crossed my arms, trying not to let the warmth bloom too obviously across my face. "You're not a patient," I said, walking over.

"Not today," she replied, her mouth curving into that smug little smile she knew I liked too much. "But I figured if I'm going to be completely obsessed with my doctor, I might as well drop by."

I sighed, trying not to grin. "You scared half my staff."

"Good. That means they respect you." She handed me the coffee. "You haven't eaten all day, have you?"

I looked down at the cup, then back at her. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Lingling leaned in slightly, her voice low just for me. "I missed you."

And just like that, the chaos of the OR, the coldness of the warehouse, the pain of memories—all of it melted under her gaze.

She was dangerous. She was difficult.

But in that moment, all I could think was:

God, I missed her too.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

Lingling never acted like this—shifting her weight between her feet, glancing around the clinic like she was waiting for someone to interrupt her grand plan. Her confidence was still there, unmistakable in the crisp lines of her suit and the way her gaze cut through the room like glass—but beneath it all, there was something... soft. Nervous, even.

That alone was suspicious.

"You're up to something," I said, sipping the coffee she gave me.

"I'm not," she replied too quickly, then took the coffee back from me and held out her hand. "Okay, maybe I am. Come outside with me for a second."

I gave her a look. "Ling, I'm literally working right now."

She stepped closer, her voice dipping into that gentle persuasion that I was far too susceptible to. "It'll only take a minute. I promise. I just—need to show you something."

I sighed, glancing back toward the hallway. "If Priya starts yelling, I'm blaming you."

"I can handle Priya."

"No one can handle Priya," I muttered under my breath, but I let her take my hand anyway.

Lingling led me through the automatic doors, out into the golden light of the late afternoon. The sky was still overcast with winter clouds, and the air smelled faintly like rain and asphalt. I was mid-sentence—asking her if she was about to pull another dramatic mafia-style stunt—when suddenly she turned, stepped behind me, and gently covered my eyes with her palms.

"Hey!" I laughed. "I just did surgery. I need my eyes."

"Shhh," she murmured near my ear, her voice tinged with that giddy note I rarely heard from her. "Just walk."

"You're kidnapping me."

"I'm escorting you, doctor."

God.

I let her guide me across the lot, her hands firm but careful. She paused, then whispered, "Ready?"

"No."

She laughed—and it was such a rare, warm sound. Then she took her hands away.

I blinked in the soft light—then froze.

There, gleaming under the gray sky like a polished pearl, sat a brand new white Range Rover Velar. The sleek curves, matte black trim, custom red leather interior visible through the tinted windows... My jaw dropped.

"Ling..." I turned to look at her, completely stunned. "What is this?"

She looked smug now—back to her usual self, but with a softer edge. "You said you liked the Cayenne, but I figured... this one's more you."

"I was joking," I whispered. "That night—I was joking."

"I wasn't." She stepped closer, brushing her knuckles against mine. "You've driven yourself everywhere since I met you. Back and forth from the clinic. From your apartment to my penthouse, to my safehouse. Even after everything... even when you were hurt, you kept going."

I looked back at the car, stunned.

"And now," Lingling continued, her voice lower, "I want you to have something safe. Something that's yours. Not a gesture. Not a symbol. A promise."

I swallowed, my heart climbing into my throat.

A gift like that would be overwhelming from anyone.

But from her—from Lingling Kwong, the terrifying, beautiful, powerful woman who'd walked through fire and bullets and heartbreak

It meant everything.

"You're ridiculous," I murmured.

She smiled. "You like it though."

"I love it," I admitted, turning toward her. "But you're still ridiculous."

She leaned in, brushing her lips against mine.

"I'll take ridiculous," she said softly, "if it means I get to see you smile like that."

Then, before I could say anything else, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

She held them out to me, the metal catching the light—sleek, silver, unmistakably expensive.

"For you," she said simply.

My hands closed around the keys before I even realized what I was doing.

They were cold against my palm, heavy, the silver Range Rover emblem glinting beneath my fingers like something sacred. I looked down at them, then up at her—Lingling, standing a few steps away with her arms folded, her eyes drinking me in like I was the masterpiece instead of the machine parked behind me.

I blinked. "You really did this."

"I really did," she said, lips curved in that proud, smug way that made my stomach twist with equal parts awe and affection.

I turned back to the car. The car. It was so sleek, so powerful. Rain dusted the edges of the roof and windshield, making it look like something out of a movie poster. I ran my fingers along the curve of the hood, my heart beating too loud in my chest.

"I don't even know what to say," I breathed.

"'Thank you, my incredibly generous, devastatingly hot girlfriend' would work," she teased, stepping closer.

I looked at her over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes. "You're impossible."

"And you're stalling. Get in. Try it."

God, I didn't know what was more intimidating—Lingling's intensity or the reality that this wasn't a dream.

I opened the driver's side door and slid in, fingers brushing the steering wheel like it might vanish if I gripped it too tight. The leather interior cradled me like a second skin. Every button, every stitch, felt precise. Powerful. It didn't feel like just a car. It felt like armor.

Like I mattered.

I looked back at her, still standing there in her long black coat, sun catching in her hair like glitter. Her gaze was soft now, but proud—like watching me in this moment made her feel more than I could begin to understand.

"I feel like I should be in a movie," I whispered, grinning as I tapped the screen.

"You look like one," she said. Then, her voice dipped into something teasing: "You're kind of giving off 'wife of a mafia' vibes right now."

I choked on a laugh. "Stop."

"I'm serious. All that's missing is a ring and a gun in your purse." She leaned into the open door frame. "Mrs. Kwong... has a nice ring to it."

My face went hot. I tried to play it off. "I'm not married to you."

"Not yet," she said, smirking.

I stared at her, heart jumping, and she only grinned wider. My mouth opened, then shut again.

She always did that—dropped a line like a grenade and walked away with that arrogant strut like nothing happened.

"You're annoying," I said again, but this time my voice was softer.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers along my jaw, her thumb gently tracing the corner of my lips. "You're worth it."

That guilt that had been coiled in the pit of my stomach—about accepting something so extravagant, about being the daughter of the man who hurt her so deeply—it lingered. But it was quieter now. Quieter beneath her touch, her eyes, the way she saw me not as someone broken or burdened, but as someone chosen.

I looked down at the keys in my hand.

Then I smiled.

"Fine," I said, "but I'm not calling you my sugar mama."

Lingling laughed, deep and low and beautiful. "You will eventually."

The air was crisp, clear, and sharp enough to kiss the skin. No snow—just the dry, biting coolness of early morning Bangkok, the sky pale blue and the sun sliding between city buildings. My breath clouded slightly as I stepped out of the car, still holding the keys like they were some delicate piece of treasure I hadn't yet earned.

Lingling was watching me from where she leaned against the hood, arms crossed loosely, her black coat billowing gently with the breeze. Her sunglasses sat pushed up into her hair, exposing that sharp, unreadable look that had sent grown men into panic—but right now, there was a flicker of softness tucked beneath it. Pride. Amusement.

And something warm, something only I ever got to see.

"Get in again," she said, nodding toward the driver's seat like she was testing me. "Start her up."

"Her?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

"All beautiful things are 'her' until proven otherwise," Lingling said smoothly.

I rolled my eyes but slipped back into the car anyway. The engine purred to life, low and strong, like a satisfied growl. I tapped the digital dashboard, letting my fingers explore all the little controls—temperature settings, terrain modes, music presets.

I could feel her eyes on me the whole time.

"This is too much," I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around the sheer weight of the gift.

Lingling leaned in through the open window, the tips of her fingers ghosting over my arm.

"You're too much," she said quietly, her voice teasing but edged with sincerity. "And I've never liked the idea of you driving that beat-up Mercedes after everything that's happened. I want you safe. And... I want people to know who you belong to."

That last part came out almost lazily, like she wasn't daring me to argue—but I heard the claim in it anyway.

I turned my head toward her, smiling. "Oh, so this is about marking your territory."

"Exactly," she replied with a grin. "Like a very classy, luxury-brand wolf."

I laughed despite myself. "I still feel a little guilty, you know."

Lingling's gaze flickered slightly. "Because of him?"

Because of my father—Sen Yui.

I nodded, lips pressing together. "He's still your enemy. And I'm still his daughter. No matter what I do."

Lingling's face didn't harden like I expected. Instead, she reached in further and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, her fingers brushing warm against my skin.

"You're mine," she said simply. "Everything else... I'll handle."

The finality in her voice made something in my chest relax. I looked at her, really looked—at the way her coat hung open just enough to show her suit underneath, the way she always looked so at home in chaos, yet completely focused on me.

God, she was something else.

I stepped out of the car again, and without a word, walked right up to her. Lingling raised an eyebrow, like she was about to ask what I was doing, but I cut her off by kissing her cheek softly.

Then I whispered, just low enough for her to hear, "If you keep buying me cars, people really will start calling me Mrs. Kwong."

Lingling's smirk was slow and full of mischief. "That's the goal."

I laughed under my breath and turned toward the clinic.

"I really have to get back to work," I said, glancing at her over my shoulder. "There's a post-op waiting on me, and if I leave Priya alone with the charts any longer, the whole clinic might burn down."

But before I could take another step, Lingling reached for my wrist, her fingers curling gently, like she wasn't trying to stop me—but to make me pause. I looked back.

Her expression had completely changed.

Gone was the confident, razor-sharp mafia boss who could command an entire army with a glance. Standing before me now was... soft Lingling. Puppy-eyed, lips in a subtle pout, that rare tenderness breaking through all the layers she wore like armor.

"Do you really have to go back in?" she asked, voice lower, hopeful.

I blinked, fighting the smile already tugging at my mouth. "Ling..."

"I barely get to see you," she added quickly, stepping closer, her voice dropping into that silk-sweet tone that always twisted my stomach up. "You've been in surgeries for days, barely slept. Don't you think you deserve a break? We could go somewhere. Even just for coffee. Just for twenty minutes."

She said it like twenty minutes with me was the only thing keeping her sane.

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. "Is this you flirting to kidnap me again?"

"Not kidnap," she said innocently. "Persuasion."

"Mm." I raised an eyebrow. "This is you being manipulative, Kwong."

She grinned—so uncharacteristically adorable I wanted to both laugh and kiss her. "Maybe. But in a nice way."

"In a mafia way."

"I'm being sweet," she argued. "Look at me. I even brought you a car like a nice boyfriend."

"Girlfriend," I corrected with a smirk.

She stepped in close, her hand slipping around my waist. "I'll be whatever you want if you stay."

I exhaled slowly, letting her warmth pull me in for just a breath. Her scent, sharp and familiar, her voice smooth like something dangerous disguised as gentle. I leaned in until my lips nearly brushed her ear.

"You're hot when you beg," I whispered.

Lingling's breath caught. Her hands twitched on my waist, grip tightening just slightly.

"But," I continued, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, "I've got three patients waiting and a teenage girl in recovery. You want me to skip out on her check-up just so you can flirt with me in a coffee shop?"

Lingling's eyes narrowed playfully, like she hated how right I was.

"I hate that you're so nice," she muttered.

I leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "That's why you like me."

She sighed, letting go. "Fine. Go be a hero. But I'm picking you up for dinner tonight."

"Deal," I said, already walking backward toward the clinic doors, smiling. "But don't get jealous when Priya keeps trying to ask me out again."

Lingling's expression immediately sharpened. "Tell her I'm buying you a house next time."

I laughed, pushing the door open. "I'll put it in the calendar. Right after my 2 PM check-up and your next illegal weapons deal."

But even as I stepped through the door, something tugged at me. I hesitated, glanced back—and there she was, still standing there with that impossible mix of smugness and softness. My heart twisted.

I turned around, walked right back through the entrance, and before she could even speak, I wrapped my arms around Lingling's waist, pulling her close. The sun filtered faintly through the clinic's tinted windows, catching in her hair. Her body was warm against mine, solid and grounding in a way I hadn't known I needed. The scent of her—clean, expensive, and just a little like the soft cologne she always wore—was familiar now. Comforting.

"Okay," I murmured, my lips brushing her jaw. "I really have to go now."

"Mm-hmm," she replied, but didn't let go either. Her hands held the small of my back like she was afraid I might vanish if she blinked. Her head dipped forward, and she kissed me gently—slowly, the kind of kiss that lingered and hummed with something unspoken beneath it.

When we pulled apart, I looked down at her, my breath catching at how genuinely she was looking at me. Like I was everything in her world right now.

"I'll have Jiang drive the car to your apartment," Lingling said softly, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. "And after work, I'll come pick you up myself."

I smiled. "Driving duties now? How gentlewomanly."

"I'm always a gentlewoman," she smirked, then added more seriously, "I'll take you home so you can change. Then we'll go to dinner. No delays. I want you to myself tonight."

I laughed quietly, running my fingers along the hem of her jacket. "Bossy."

"Always," she said with a proud tilt of her chin.

I leaned in and kissed her one last time, quick and warm. "See you after work, Kwong."

"Stay safe, Dr. Kornnaphat," she murmured, watching me as I backed toward the clinic door, that unreadable softness still in her eyes.

I didn't look back until I was almost through the door—and there she was, hands in her pockets now, watching me like I was something fragile and rare in her violent world.

And as the door closed behind me, I was already counting down the hours until I could fall back into that warmth again.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, the sharp smell of antiseptic and sterile linens met me like a familiar greeting. The echo of heels against polished floors followed me as I moved toward the staff wing, still smiling faintly despite myself.

And of course—right on cue—Priya materialized beside me, grinning like she'd been waiting all morning for a scoop.

"You're smiling," she said, falling into step beside me. "Like, smiling smiling."

I kept walking, holding back a smirk. "That's called good dental hygiene."

"Oh please," Priya scoffed, nudging me with her elbow. "Don't dodge me with sarcasm, doctor. What did she do this time? Send a private helicopter? Shower you in diamonds?"

I waved her off. "I have patients, Priya. Unlike some people, I'm still working."

"Fine," she said with a dramatic sigh. "But I will get the details. Just know that."

I ducked into my office before she could prod further. The moment the door clicked shut, a different version of me slid into place—the doctor.

I moved toward my desk, grabbing my tablet and reviewing the next file. A middle-aged woman, Type 2 diabetes, recent lab results showing elevated A1C. I took a breath, setting aside all the emotions Lingling stirred in me, letting focus and professionalism take over.

A soft knock on the door.

"Come in."

The patient stepped inside, clutching her bag nervously. I stood up and offered a gentle smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Anuwat," I said, motioning to the chair. "Please, have a seat."

She sat down, and I leaned forward, tablet in hand. "I've gone through your recent labs, and I see your A1C is higher than we'd like. How have you been feeling?"

"Tired," she admitted. "My vision's been blurry sometimes."

I nodded thoughtfully, tapping through her results. "That's common when your blood sugar levels are elevated. Have you been taking your medication regularly?"

She hesitated. "Sometimes I forget..."

"That's okay," I said gently, jotting a quick note. "We'll work on a routine that fits your day better. And I'll have the nurse set you up with a continuous glucose monitor—it'll make it easier for you to keep track without pricking your finger every time."

Her shoulders relaxed a little. I smiled reassuringly. "You're not alone in this. We'll get you feeling better soon, okay?"

She nodded, and I could see the weight lifting just a bit from her face.

I walked her through adjustments in her diet, minor changes in medication, and the next appointment for her eye screening. By the time she left, she looked a little less scared, and a little more seen.

I checked the time. Seventeen minutes until the next patient. I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself one second—just one—to let the ghost of Lingling's kiss drift back through my mind.

Then I picked up the next file. Back to work.

...

The sun was dipping low by the time I stepped out of my last consultation, the golden light slanting through the frosted windows of the clinic like a gentle curtain call on the day. I glanced at the wall clock—nearly 6:30. My heart picked up a little.

Lingling.

I peeled off my white coat, folding it over my arm, and unclipped my stethoscope from around my neck with a practiced flick. The cool metal left a faint imprint against the skin of my collarbone. I smoothed down my blouse, did a quick once-over in the mirror, then headed toward the nurse's station where Priya sat, already eyeing me with a smirk.

"Off to your mafia girl?" she teased, not even looking up from her screen.

I rolled my eyes, half-smiling. "Just send me the bloodwork for Mrs. Chan once the results are in, okay? And remind her to fast for her next test."

"Yes, Doctor," she said sweetly. "Say hi to your bodyguards."

I shook my head and walked out before she could say anything else.

The air outside was cooler now, the sky washed in streaks of lavender and rose gold. The last warmth of the day hung over the sidewalk. There she was—leaning casually against the G-Wagon, dressed in another suit that somehow made her look even more dangerous in the low light. The wind tugged gently at a strand of her dark hair.

She straightened up as she saw me, her gaze trailing over me in that quiet, smoldering way she always did. It sent a ripple straight down my spine. I didn't even try to stop the smile that pulled at my lips.

Lingling held the passenger door open like some movie character reimagined—dark, deadly, but hopelessly in love. "Doctor," she said lowly, almost teasing, like the word meant something secret between us now.

I slipped into the passenger seat, heart full. The door shut with a gentle click, sealing us into our own world again.

Lingling slid into the driver's seat beside me, the soft leather groaning under her weight. She didn't start the engine right away. Instead, she turned to me with that expression she sometimes wore—quiet, a little unsure, like she was still surprised I was really here with her. Her hand reached across the center console, fingers gently brushing my knuckles before tangling with mine.

"I was waiting," she murmured, voice low and warm.

"I know," I said softly, squeezing her hand. "You always do."

She finally started the car, and the quiet purr of the engine filled the silence between us as she pulled away from the curb. The streets were washed in amber light now, reflections gliding across the windshield like waves. I could see the familiar silhouette of her convoy in the rearview mirror—discreet but present.

She didn't talk much on the way to my apartment. Her hand stayed in mine most of the drive, thumb drawing lazy, absent circles on my skin. I didn't need her to say anything; I could feel it in the way she drove slower than usual, as if savoring each moment.

When we reached my building, she pulled into the parking space right outside the entrance. Before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, she was already out and opening the door for me.

Always the gentlewoman.

"Go up and change," she said, eyes lingering on my blouse that still held the scent of antiseptic and hospital air. "I'll wait here."

"You're not coming up?" I raised an eyebrow.

Lingling leaned in closer, voice barely above a whisper. "If I go up, we'll never make it to dinner."

That made me laugh—soft and quiet, the way she always made me laugh without trying.

I kissed her cheek quickly and turned toward the lobby. As the glass doors closed behind me, I looked back just once. She was leaning on the hood of the car, arms folded, that proud smirk back on her face, watching me like I was the only thing in her world.

I stepped into my apartment with a flutter in my chest I couldn't ignore. The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it for a second, exhaling.

Lingling's face kept replaying in my head—how her eyes followed me when I walked away, the way her fingers hesitated when she let go of mine. There was something in her tonight, something quieter, almost reverent. It made me want to match her in every way—not just in clothes, but in presence. In energy. In devotion.

I moved quickly, stripping out of my clinic clothes and heading straight to the wardrobe. I slid hangers back one by one, eyes scanning the rows. It had to be something elegant but understated. Powerful but soft. Sexy, but not loud.

I finally settled on a deep navy slip dress with a slit up the side—silk, classic, something that would hug me just right. I held it up against myself and smirked. Lingling was down there still leaned against the car, still looking like every expensive, dangerous thing you weren't supposed to touch but couldn't help craving.

She's in one of her designer suits again—black, tailored to perfection, jewelry carefully placed, scent addictive. I imagined her in that look she wore when she stepped into a room and everyone forgot how to breathe.

I wanted to match that.

I slipped into the dress, pulling the straps over my shoulders and letting the silk cascade down my body. Then I moved to the vanity. My hands worked quickly—subtle contour, a soft smoky eye, a hint of red to my lips. Something alluring but not too done. I pulled my hair into soft waves, letting them fall naturally around my shoulders.

Heels. Simple, strappy, black.

I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and paused.

There she was. The woman who could stand next to Lingling Kwong and not disappear. The woman who knew what it meant to walk through fire and come out blooming.

I grabbed my phone, keys, and purse, and headed out the door with a smile tugging at my lips.

Let her see me now.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the golden blush of sunset filtering through the apartment building's glass walls. The air was crisp, warm with the last breath of daylight, and I felt it wrap around me like a whispered promise.

I knew I looked good. I felt it, in the curve of the silk on my hips, the gentle sway of the slit with every step, the way my heels clicked confidently against the pavement. I rarely gave myself that—permission to feel sexy. But tonight? I let it live in my bones.

Lingling was leaning against the hood of the G-Wagon, black suit clinging to her like it had been custom-forged in fire and silk. Her hands were in her pockets, posture relaxed but commanding, and her gaze—sharp even from a distance—shifted the second I stepped outside.

She didn't move at first. Just watched me.

Walked around the car, slow, calculated. Her heels tapped with soft precision against the ground, and her long coat fluttered just enough to make my breath hitch. It wasn't just the way she looked, though she was maddeningly beautiful. It was the weight she carried—power, poise, and something softer, reserved just for me.

Normally, she would've been lighting a cigarette, holding it between her fingers like something sacred. But I noticed the absence immediately. The air around her was clean. Clear. And it hit me: she hadn't smoked once since that night I found her shirtless, cigarette in hand, haunted by old wounds. Not even now, with all the tension of the past week clawing at her spine.

For me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

When I reached her, she pushed off the hood with lazy elegance and swept her gaze down my body like it was a ritual.

"God, you look..." She exhaled, a low, slow breath. Her lips parted as if the words she wanted didn't quite form fast enough. "Incredibly hot."

I tilted my head, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "Trying to seduce me in the parking lot already?"

Her jaw flexed slightly, her tongue pressing against her cheek as she fought a smile—that smile. The one that made heat stir low in my stomach.

She stepped closer, voice lower now. "I'm trying not to throw you into the backseat of the car."

I laughed, soft and breathless. "Dinner first, Miss Mafia."

She held out her hand. I took it.

And just like that, I was hers for the night.

Inside the G-Wagon, the door shut with a satisfying thud, muffling the city's buzz into a soft hum behind the tinted windows. The leather was warm from the setting sun, and Lingling's perfume lingered faintly in the air—dark and something distinctly her.

She started the engine with one hand, the other still resting on the gear shift like she owned the road.

I crossed one leg over the other, smoothing my dress, still catching her glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "So..." I said, turning slightly toward her. "Where are we going, exactly?"

Lingling's lips quirked into something between a grin and a smirk. "A nightclub."

I blinked. "A nightclub?"

She nodded once, casually, like it was just dinner and not a complete curveball.

"The last time you took me to a nightclub..." I gave her a look, raising a brow. "You dragged me into my apartment, got me bent over my dinner table, and then punished me like five times."

Lingling chuckled under her breath. "I remember." Her voice was lazy, low. "You were wearing a sexy dress then, too." Her eyes flicked toward my legs, not even trying to be subtle anymore. "It's becoming a pattern I quite like."

I rolled my eyes, though my skin flushed warmly. "So what's the occasion? Or is this just another ploy to misbehave in a public setting?"

She turned the steering wheel as we slid onto the expressway, city lights glittering across her windshield. "It's business this time," she said, almost innocently. "Sort of. It's the launch party for a new Éclipse chain. We're opening one outside Bangkok. I wanted you to see it."

"Oh..." I sat back, a little surprised. "Wait, like an actual expansion?"

Lingling nodded. "We already have Hong Kong. Then Singapore. Then Seoul."

I stared at her. "You're building a huge empire."

She glanced at me again, and for a second her expression softened. "You helped me heal, Orm. I need to do something that reminds me I'm still alive."

My chest tightened just a little.

And just like that, the city became a blur around us—music thumping somewhere in the distance, the night curling open like a secret.

And I had a feeling... this night wasn't going to be about business for very long.

Lingling's fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel in time with the beat of whatever soft house track she had playing through the speakers—something deep and hypnotic. Her jaw was sharp in the glow of passing neon signs, lips pressed into that unreadable line she wore when her mind was working overtime. But her gaze kept drifting to me, softening every time our eyes met.

Eventually, the G-Wagon rolled into a gated lot behind a sleek new high-rise. The building glittered with cool steel and tinted glass, a glowing Éclipse sign in icy blue perched like a crown over the entrance. The new nightclub. Not just a club—her club.

I whistled low. "You weren't kidding."

Lingling gave a smug little smile. "You haven't even seen the inside yet."

Two bodyguards in black stepped forward immediately, opening my door before I could even touch the handle. Lingling was already circling around to my side like she always did, offering her hand, such a gentlewoman despite the command she carried in her every move. I took her hand, stepping out carefully in my heels, and felt the eyes on us. Lingling didn't notice—or maybe she did and just didn't care.

Inside, the new Éclipse was breathtaking. Dark walls veined with gold. Subtle lights dancing on the ceiling like constellations. The air was thick with music and money and something magnetic.

But it was quiet in this early hour—exclusive. Just close friends, trusted business partners, and probably more armed men than I could count.

Lingling leaned down close to my ear, her breath warm. "This club's different," she said. "High security, no nonsense. But still fun. Private floors. A rooftop lounge with a view."

I turned to look at her. "You're trying to impress me."

She didn't deny it. "Is it working?"

I let my lips curve slowly. "Maybe."

She led me through the club like she owned every inch of it—duh she did. People nodded as she passed. A few whispered. She didn't even flinch. And I was right beside her, heart pounding, my heels clicking across marble floors as if I belonged.

At the bar, two champagne glasses appeared without us ordering. The bartender was too polished, too calm—definitely one of Lingling's people. She handed me a glass and raised hers lightly. "To expansion," she said.

I clinked her glass. "And empire," I added, teasing.

Lingling didn't look away from me as she drank. Neither did I.

The city pulsed just outside the glass. Her world wrapped itself around me like velvet and steel.

And I didn't mind at all.

The bartender began placing small, intricate plates on the counter one by one. Slivers of toro with gold leaf, seared scallops resting on rice glazed with yuzu, tiny bowls of marinated uni and ikura layered with care. Each dish more delicate, more luxurious than the last.

I glanced up at him. "We didn't order."

"He doesn't need you to," Lingling said casually, reclining back on her seat with a half-smirk. "I told them what you like. What you hate. How you like your wasabi under the fish, not on top."

I blinked, then narrowed my eyes. "Stalker."

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "Wife privileges."

That made me laugh. God, she could make the most dangerous words sound like the most romantic things.

I picked up the first piece and chewed slowly, savoring. "It's good," I admitted.

"I know." She sipped her drink, eyes never leaving me.

For a while we ate in silence, the kind that feels full rather than empty. Then, after another sip of champagne, I finally asked what had been hovering in the back of my mind all day.

"My father," I said softly, watching the rim of my glass. "How's he behaving?"

Lingling's expression didn't change immediately, but her fingers paused at the base of her drink.

"Better than expected," she replied, her voice steady. "He's in one of my holding properties outside the city. My people rotate shifts every six hours. No contact with the outside. He's being fed. Watered. Watched."

"And?"

She looked at me now. "And he hasn't tried anything yet. No tricks. No words that mean something else. But that doesn't mean he won't."

I nodded slowly, pushing a piece of uni around the plate with my chopsticks. "Do you talk to him?"

Lingling's jaw flexed slightly. "Not directly. Jiang gives the reports. I don't... trust myself to be in the same room again. Not yet."

I looked at her, the sharp lines of her face caught in the moody lighting of the bar, the faint scar near her temple that only revealed itself under certain angles.

"You're protecting me," I said quietly.

"I always am," she said simply, her voice softer now. "Even when it hurts."

My chest tightened. I reached out and placed my hand over hers. Her fingers closed around mine instantly, like they were meant to.

"And I see that," I said. "Even when it hurts."

The music slowed. The air between us thickened again—not with danger this time, but with something far more terrifying: the weight of everything we hadn't said out loud.

But we didn't need to.

Not here. Not now.

Not when our hearts were already speaking fluently.

Lingling's grip around my hand remained firm—warm, grounding. I could feel the thrum of her pulse against my fingers, steady but strong, like she was holding back something buried deeper than she wanted to admit.

The lights from the bar refracted off the glasses and polished metal behind her, casting soft glows across her face. She looked almost unreal in this moment—dangerous and beautiful, powerful and vulnerable. And mine.

She finally looked away, back toward the half-eaten omakase in front of us, her other hand lifting her drink to her lips. But I could see it now—the way her shoulders relaxed a little, just from the fact that I'd asked about my father without anger. She wasn't used to that kind of grace. She expected resistance. Rage. Distance. She didn't expect understanding.

I leaned in slightly. "You know... I can't pretend it doesn't hurt. That it's not complicated. Because it is." My voice was quiet, intimate, just between us in the hum of the nightclub's lounge. "But I also know what he's done to you. What he's taken."

Her eyes flicked back to mine. That same sharpness, that fire in her, was still there—but behind it was something softer now. Something that had learned to trust.

"I don't know who I am with him anymore," I continued. "But I know who I am with you."

She exhaled slowly. I saw her reach for something she wanted to say—but for once, she didn't speak. She just looked at me, like seeing me was enough to say it all.

We finished the omakase slowly. Lingling let her body lean closer, the side of her knee brushing against mine under the counter, small contact sending sparks up my spine. I saw her glance once, twice at my legs in this dress—and I didn't miss the quiet inhale she took each time.

"Stop staring," I teased, lips brushing against the rim of my glass.

"You wore that to kill me," she muttered, low enough only I could hear. "Successful assassination."

I let out a soft laugh, then turned my seat slightly toward her. "So, what now? Dance floor?"

She lifted a brow. "You want to dance?"

"I want to see you lose that suit jacket," I whispered, leaning in so my lips almost touched her ear. "Just for a little while."

Her jaw twitched, amused—and aroused.

She set her drink down. "If I lose mine, you're losing yours," she said, eyes drifting over my neckline.

My smile only deepened. "Deal."

And with that, she stood and held her hand out to me like some villainous prince straight out of a noir fairytale—deadly, polished, and mine. The music shifted to something slow and pulsing with bass. I took her hand, stood, and let her guide me into the dim lights of the dance floor where shadows kissed every surface and nothing else existed but the heat between us.

The music throbbed through the darkened club like a second heartbeat, the bass low and sultry. The kind of rhythm that curled around your spine and made you move before you even realized it.

I let Lingling lead us onto the dance floor, though it wasn't long before I took the lead—swaying my hips in sync with the music, my hands drifting up her chest, fingers brushing the edge of her lapel with teasing grace. Her eyes followed every movement like they were tethered to me. I could feel the heat in her gaze, see the way she tried to keep it cool—mafia leader cool—but I knew better.

She was completely taken.

I turned, back pressing to her front, and rolled my body with the beat. I felt her hands hesitate for a split second before settling lightly on my waist, fingers splayed, firm but reverent. I leaned my head back against her shoulder, hair brushing her jaw, and caught her smirk in the mirror across the floor.

"You're going to start a war like that," she murmured in my ear, low and rough.

"Already did," I whispered back, twisting slightly to meet her eyes.

But even in this heat, this moment, Lingling was still alert—her gaze scanning the upper balconies of the club, eyes flickering to exits, to reflections in glass, to every unfamiliar face that moved too close. Her hand stayed steady on me, grounding, but I could feel the weight of her vigilance.

She never let herself fully relax, not when we were outside the safety of her penthouse or my clinic. Not even now.

Still, when her attention came back to me—when her eyes locked on my lips, my neck, the way my dress moved with every sway—something in her cracked open. Just a little.

I turned around again, facing her, and ran my hands up her chest, slowly, deliberately, hooking my arms around her neck. "You good?" I asked softly, reading the tension behind her eyes.

Her gaze met mine—deep, dark, and burning. "I'm good," she said. "Just don't stop dancing."

I smiled and pressed even closer, and together, we moved. Amidst the pulse of music and the shimmer of lights, it was just her and me. Her tailored suit, my dress. Her watchful eyes, my touch. Her world colliding with mine.

The air shifted.

One moment, the beat was still thrumming through my chest, Lingling's hands were on my hips, her mouth brushing close to my ear as we danced — and the next, everything in her went still.

I noticed her eyes flicking just past me, over my shoulder, and before I could turn, I heard a voice.

Silky. Polished.

"Well, well... If it isn't Lingling."

A pair of arms slid around Lingling from behind, and I watched — felt — Lingling tense beneath my hands, her shoulders stiffening, her expression blanking just a second too late.

I stepped slightly aside. And there she was.

Tall. Elegant. Dressed in what had to be custom couture. Diamond earrings, blood-red lips, not a hair out of place. The type of woman who didn't walk into a nightclub — she owned the room the moment she stepped in.

Her arm lingered around Lingling's neck a moment too long.

"I've been dying to know how you've been," she said, her voice like champagne with poison laced in the bubbles.

Lingling gave a short breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a warning. "Didn't expect to see you here, Alisa."

Alisa. Of course she had a name like that.

I kept my expression even, the same one I used in the operating room — neutral, unreadable — but inside, I was boiling. Lingling hadn't moved yet. Not enough, anyway. Her arm hadn't slipped around my waist like I thought it would. She hadn't even looked at me. She was still frozen, like her past had just walked through the door wrapped in silk and red lipstick.

"Still as cold as ever," Alisa said, leaning in slightly. "But I see your taste has changed." Her eyes flicked to me, her smile sharp. "Though I have to say, she's adorable. A little... vanilla, but cute."

My jaw twitched. Lingling opened her mouth, about to speak, but I stepped forward first — calm, composed, and in heels taller than comfort allowed.

"Hi," I said, my voice velvet wrapped around steel. "Doctor Orm Kornnaphat. Not exactly vanilla. But thank you for the compliment." I offered a hand I didn't mean to be polite.

Alisa didn't take it. She just tilted her head like I was a houseplant someone forgot to water. "How charming."

Lingling finally stepped forward, gently but firmly untangling herself from Alisa's hold. "That's enough."

Her voice was low. Final. She didn't even look at Alisa anymore — her eyes were on me now, sharp but soft at the edges, something like guilt flickering there.

"I didn't know you were back in town," she said to Alisa, cool now. Back in control. "But I'm not available. And I don't do reunions."

Alisa's lips curled, but her eyes had gone cold. "Pity."

She flicked a last look at me, then turned and disappeared into the crowd like perfume fading into air.

Lingling turned back to me — finally, really looking at me — and reached out, brushing a hand along my arm. "Orm..."

I raised an eyebrow. "Vanilla?"

She winced slightly, and I smirked. But only for a second.

Because deep down, I wanted to ask a thousand things. Who was she? What did she mean to you? Why did you freeze like that?

But I didn't.

Not yet.

Instead, I took Lingling's hand, threading our fingers together as I pulled her back toward the bar.

"Get me a drink," I said, casual. "Something strong."

And without letting go, I added, quiet enough for only her to hear:

"She touches you like that again, I'm not responsible for what happens."