Chapter 44

The next morning in Amalfi began like a dream soaked in sea breeze and sunlight.

I stirred awake to the sound of the waves crashing below the villa. For a moment, I forgot where I was—the silk sheets, the golden light slipping through the linen curtains, the weight of a scarred arm draped over my waist.

Lingling was still asleep beside me, her dark lashes resting gently against her cheekbones. The morning sun kissed her skin, softening the harsh lines of the woman who once walked through fire and war. Here, in this bed, with the ocean behind us and the world hushed, she wasn't the mafia queen. She was mine.

I traced slow fingers along her spine, and she stirred, her grip on me tightening like she feared I'd disappear.

"Mornin', Mrs. Almost Kwong," she mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

I let out a small laugh. "You're taking my name too, remember?"

She cracked one eye open and smirked. "Right. Lingling Sethratanapong. Has a dangerous ring to it."

"I think it makes you sound like a sweet doctor's wife."

Lingling rolled over and hovered above me, hair falling around her like a veil. "You're the dangerous one." she murmured, gaze flicking to my collarbone. "You cut me right here, remember?"

I flushed. "You deserved it."

Her grin deepened, but she leaned in to press a slow, sleepy kiss to my lips, her thumb brushing my cheek like she was still trying to make sure I was real.

"Let's skip the wedding," she said. "Let's just stay in bed forever."

"As tempting as that sounds, your tailor's probably going to kill you if you miss another fitting."

Lingling groaned and buried her face into the crook of my neck. "Remind me again why I decided to invite the entire underworld to this thing?"

I giggled. "Because you want them all to know you're taken."

"Damn right I do," she muttered. "I want them to choke on it."

We eventually got out of bed—reluctantly. The villa's air was warm, but not heavy. A salty breeze drifted through the open windows. I pulled on a robe, and Lingling followed suit, both of us padding barefoot into the expansive kitchen, where Jiang was already sipping espresso and yelling at someone on the phone in Mandarin.

He looked up when he saw us. "Morning, lovebirds."

Lingling narrowed her eyes. "You better not have messed with the flower arrangements."

He held up his hands. "I don't touch roses. I only touch bullets."

Lingling poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, eyeing me over the rim. "We've got today and tomorrow. The whole coast's ours."

I arched a brow. "So... what are we doing today?"

Her smile curved slow. "Whatever you want, wife-to-be."

The sun was already high when we wandered out to the massive terrace overlooking the Amalfi cliffs. The waves below were sparkling like a bed of shattered glass. Lingling leaned lazily against the stone railing, still in her robe, sipping her coffee like she was queen of the coast—and maybe she was. Her empire stretched far past the streets of Bangkok now, but here, she didn't need guards. She had me.

I stood next to her, both of us warm from the sunlight, the air smelling like salt and orange blossoms. I nudged her playfully with my shoulder.

"You're quiet this morning," I said, grinning. "Plotting another empire takeover or just daydreaming about our wedding night?"

Lingling didn't even look at me. She just took another sip and said, deadpan, "I was picturing you in that silk dress I told the designer to send from Milan."

I flushed. "You ordered me another dress?"

She glanced at me now, smirking. "I've ordered you seven. I just want to see which one drives me insane the most."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Jiang stepped onto the terrace, holding a glass of juice and wearing that insufferable smug look. He walked right between us like he owned the place and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Oh my god. Can you two not flirt for five minutes? I'm trying to digest."

Lingling blinked slowly. "Jiang, we're literally standing still."

He waved a hand. "You're mentally undressing her. It's offensive."

I bit back a laugh. "You've seen way worse."

He choked. "Yeah—in the car. Behind you. While the entire convoy was listening to a remix of you two trying to break the suspension. I'm still in therapy because of it."

Lingling rolled her eyes. "Go eat a lemon."

"I already did," Jiang said brightly. "Still sweeter than watching you two make googly eyes like teenagers. You're one step away from carving initials into a tree."

I took a slow sip of Lingling's coffee just to annoy her. "You're just jealous we're in love."

"Jealous?" Jiang scoffed. "I sleep like a baby every night knowing no one's going to rip my heart out and dance on it with six-inch Louboutins."

Lingling raised her eyebrows. "That sounds like a compliment to me."

"Oh, it is," he said, dramatically backing away. "You're terrifying. And grossly in love. I'm going to the pool."

As he disappeared back into the villa, Lingling leaned closer, brushing a hand against my lower back. Her voice dropped, teasing and low.

"He's lucky I like him. Otherwise, I'd have him gagged for ruining our moment."

I snorted. "You'd miss him if he was gone for even a day."

Lingling scrunched her nose. "Okay, maybe half a day."

I leaned in, touching my forehead to hers. "I love that even your chaos is filled with people who care about you."

She smiled at that. Soft, real. Her thumb grazed my hip. "I never knew love like this existed, Orm."

Neither did I.

Lingling's arm tightened ever so slightly around my waist as I rested against the railing. The waves below kissed the rocky shore in a rhythmic hush, the Amalfi sun kissing our skin. I turned my face to her, cheek slightly brushing her shoulder.

"I want to go out," I said softly. "Explore a little. The town... the little alleys, the beaches, the lemon trees."

Lingling didn't respond right away. Her jaw shifted slightly, her body stiffened. I could already feel the conflict rising in her, like a tide she couldn't control. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her dark eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in sheer concern.

"It's not safe," she said. "This isn't Bangkok. I don't have control here like I do back home."

I smiled gently, touching the corner of her lips with my thumb. "You've got half of Amalfi locked down with your people, don't pretend."

"That's not the point." Her voice was low. "I don't trust what I can't see. I don't want—" she stopped herself, swallowed her fear, and looked away for a moment.

I reached for her chin and guided her gaze back to mine. "Ling, I want to feel normal for a day. Just one day. I want to walk with you through the town like any other couple. I want to hold your hand and try gelato and maybe even take some cheesy pictures like tourists."

She blinked slowly. I could see the storm behind her eyes settling into something softer.

"You know I'd burn this coast to the ground if anything happened to you," she murmured.

"I know," I whispered back. "That's why I feel safe enough to ask."

Lingling exhaled, the tension slowly unwinding from her shoulders. "You're not going alone. I'm coming with you."

"I was counting on that."

She narrowed her eyes, then sighed—finally, a small grin breaking through. "And we're taking two of my guards. Jiang will scream if I leave without backup."

"He'll scream anyway," I teased.

Lingling laughed, quiet and real, then leaned in and kissed the side of my head. "Go get ready, beautiful. I'll have the car brought around."

As I stepped inside to grab my shoes and sunglasses, I heard her calling to one of the guards in rapid Italian, sharp and commanding. She might've agreed—but the mafia queen in her wasn't taking any chances.

I smiled to myself. I didn't need a perfect world. I just needed Lingling... and a walk through Amalfi with her hand in mine.

...

The black Porsche Macan purred down the narrow coastal road, winding along cliffs that dropped dramatically into the glittering Tyrrhenian Sea. I could see pastel buildings clinging to the hillside ahead, the streets of Amalfi spilling like paint into the harbor below. The windows were down, salty wind tangling in my hair as I reached over to squeeze Lingling's hand on the wheel.

She hadn't said much since we left the villa, but I could tell she was scanning every street corner, every passerby, like a hawk. Two SUVs followed behind us—her guards, tight formation, tinted windows, the kind of silent security that made a statement without ever speaking.

"Relax," I said, glancing at her. "I'm not going to wander off."

Lingling didn't look at me. "Don't even joke like that."

I leaned back in my seat, smiling despite her intensity. "This place is beautiful," I murmured. "Feels like a painting."

"It's still dangerous," she replied, almost absently. Then, after a beat, she added, "But I'm glad you're happy."

That cracked through the protective shell around her words. I saw it in her eyes when she finally looked at me—how she hated risking anything, how much I meant to her.

When we parked near the center of town, the guards moved into position without a word—two stayed close, one just far enough to keep people from getting too curious.

"I swear we're not trying to rob a bank," I whispered to Lingling, nodding at the muscle trailing us.

She smirked, slipping her sunglasses on. "You want to explore Amalfi? You do it my way."

"And what's that?"

She didn't answer. She just reached out and laced her fingers through mine.

We strolled through the cobbled alleys, the world around us like something out of a sun-drenched dream. Stalls with handmade ceramics, fresh lemons as big as my fists, linen dresses swaying in the breeze. Lingling never stopped being aware—her hand firm around mine, her eyes scanning every reflection in the shop windows—but there was a softness to her now, like she was letting herself enjoy this, even just a little.

At a little shop near the edge of the piazza, she bought me a gelato—pistachio and lemon, my favorite. I bit into the cold sweetness and hummed in delight.

Lingling tilted her head. "Good?"

"Perfect," I said, licking a bit from the corner of my lips. "Try."

I held the cone up to her.

She glanced around first—eyes flicking to the shadowed corners, to the men in mirrored sunglasses lingering a few meters behind us. Her jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought she'd refuse.

But then, slowly, she leaned in.

Her lips brushed the gelato as she took a small, cautious bite. She pulled back, paused, then let a smirk curve her mouth.

"Too sweet."

I gave her a knowing look. "You're just saying that because it reminds you of me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Exactly."

We walked for what felt like hours, slipping into the kind of rhythm that only came when the world stopped spinning so fast. At one point, I caught her looking at me—not scanning, not protective. Just... looking. Like she couldn't believe I was really there beside her.

"Ling?" I asked.

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

She squeezed my hand. "Yeah. Just thinking..."

"About what?"

"About how if someone tried to take you from me right now, I'd drop them off this cliff and kiss you immediately like nothing happened."

I blinked at her.

Then laughed.

God, I loved her.

Even in paradise, she was pure chaos wrapped in silk and a bulletproof heart.

We kept walking, the town glowing golden with late afternoon sun. The breeze off the sea tangled itself in my skirt and kissed my skin like it knew this was one of those rare days I'd remember for the rest of my life.

Lingling's hand was warm in mine—solid, steady. But her shoulders stayed a little too stiff, and I knew her mind was still split between the peace she wanted to give me and the threats she imagined in every shadow. Still, she was trying. And for Lingling, trying meant everything.

We walked past a tiny chapel—stone steps leading up to a crooked wooden door, old vines creeping over the side. Tourists milled about near the harbor below, but this little path was quiet, wrapped in the sound of the sea and distant chatter.

Lingling tugged gently at my hand. "Orm."

I looked back. "Yeah?"

She didn't say anything at first. Just stared at me, then up at the sky, then back at me again—her mouth tugging into that reluctant smile she wore when she was being serious but didn't want to look soft.

"You know, when I used to think about my future... there was nothing in it. Just deals. Guns. Revenge. Maybe a yacht and an early grave if I was lucky."

I stepped closer. "And now?"

Her brown eyes softened, a breath catching in her throat like she wasn't used to it still. "Now I see you. Always."

I bit my lip, the emotion tightening in my chest. "Even if I want to drag you into every random ceramics store and spend an hour choosing a stupid lemon-shaped mug?"

"Especially then," she said. "I'll carry the bags too."

I laughed, tilting down to kiss her cheek, but she turned her face just in time so our lips brushed instead—warm, slow, and full of a love that lived somewhere between silk sheets and silent gunshots.

A bell rang out from the chapel behind us, echoing like a heartbeat across the cliffs.

"We should take a photo," I said suddenly.

Lingling blinked. "Here?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "It's beautiful. And you look... I don't know. Good. Happy."

Lingling rolled her eyes but handed her phone to one of the guards, mumbling something about how they weren't that kind of couple.

But she pulled me into her arms anyway. Pressed her cheek against mine. And smiled.

Not the smirk. Not the cold, calculating expression she wore in her clubs and backrooms and boardrooms.

A real smile.

The kind that said, I've found the one thing I never thought I'd deserve.

Click.

The photo was taken. A piece of time, frozen.

And as we kept walking, her fingers looped between mine, I realized something:

No matter what came next, no matter how many walls we had to break or how many enemies we had to face—

We were already building a life together.

And in that moment, the most dangerous woman in Asia wasn't a threat.

She was just mine.

...

The cobblestone streets of Amalfi glittered with late sunlight, winding like spilled honey between pastel shops and arched windows lined with flowers. And there we were—two women walking hand in hand, utterly out of place in the best possible way. Tourists passed, glancing once, maybe twice, but not recognizing the infamous woman beside me.

Because right now?

Lingling didn't look like the shadowed queen of an empire.

She looked like my fiancée—mildly irritated and dramatically suffering under five glossy shopping bags.

"Orm," she groaned, adjusting the weight of two sleek boutique bags on her forearm, "are you trying to kill me before the wedding?"

I bit back a smile, slipping my hand into the crook of her elbow. "You said you'd carry the bags."

"I said I'd carry a bag. Singular. Not this—this luxury haul. You bought a capybara-shaped teacup, a linen scarf, three different kinds of bath salts, and an embroidered robe that looks like it was designed for an 18th-century opera singer."

"It was on sale," I replied sweetly.

She gave me a look. One of those daggered side-eyes, only half-serious. "If I didn't love you, I'd disappear into the cliffs and leave you to explain this to Jiang."

As if on cue, Jiang appeared a few feet behind us, pretending to examine a postcard rack while watching the streets like a hawk. Two other bodyguards flanked him, each of them clearly under strict orders to stay discreet. One of them—big, bald, probably named something like "Wan"—was barely hiding a smirk as Lingling adjusted her grip on the bags again.

"I could make them carry these, you know," she muttered, flicking her eyes at the men behind her.

"But you won't," I teased, brushing her wrist with mine. "Because you promised you'd carry them. For me."

She looked at me then, sighing like the most tragic figure on earth. "One day you're going to ask me to walk through fire barefoot while holding your lipstick and a sack of strawberries, and I'm going to say yes."

I leaned up, kissed the edge of her jaw. "Yeah, but you'll look hot doing it."

Lingling groaned, but I caught the way her lips curved, the quiet gleam in her eyes. She liked this. Even if she'd never admit it.

We stopped at a little stand that sold hand-blown glass charms, and I picked up one shaped like a tiny blue fish. "Cute," I said, holding it up.

"You're not seriously going to—"

I dropped it into the bag she was holding before she could finish.

"Oh my god," she muttered, dragging the weight higher on her arm. "I am going to have permanent nerve damage."

"You'll live."

She glanced sideways. "You owe me. So hard."

"I'll pay you back tonight," I said, voice low and just a little wicked.

Her steps faltered. Just for a second.

And then she smiled—one of those slow, dangerous, entirely-mine smiles.

"Oh yeah?" she murmured, leaning closer. "You better."

We walked on, her heavy with bags and me light as air, down the sun-drenched slope of Amalfi.

They say Amalfi feels like a dream you never want to wake from—and in that moment, walking through its terraced alleys with Lingling beside me, it did. The streets narrowed again as we passed under a stone arch draped in bougainvillea. I reached for Lingling's hand, her fingers warm and slightly calloused from the gun she never carried when she was with me.

Her hand relaxed into mine instantly, the bags shifting again.

"You know," I said, glancing up at her as we walked, "for someone who used to lead entire arms deals blindfolded, you're awfully clumsy with shopping bags."

Lingling narrowed her eyes. "Do you want me to make you carry them?"

"No," I said innocently, "I want you to keep being my handsome bag girl. You're doing so well."

That earned me a long, drawn-out sigh and a muttered "I married a menace."

I stopped. She took another two steps before realizing.

"You will," I corrected, pulling her gently back by her fingers. "You will marry this menace."

Her expression softened instantly. She looked up at me, sunlight catching in the dark gloss of her hair, casting her eyes in this golden flicker like the last seconds before sunset. "Don't remind me. My terrifying, beautiful downfall."

"And your salvation," I whispered back.

She didn't say anything—but she bent forward and kissed me, right there on the cobbled path, with the sea breeze threading around us and strangers glancing over and then quickly looking away.

We were in our own world.

After a moment, she pulled back, her voice low. "I should've made Jiang carry the bags."

We both looked over. Jiang was standing beneath a fig tree, very visibly pretending to scroll on his phone, clearly eavesdropping. When he noticed our gaze, he raised an eyebrow.

"Everything alright, boss?" he called, too loudly, too smugly.

"Yeah," Lingling said, deadpan. "Just shopping for a new head of security."

"I'd like to see you try," he replied, grinning, and disappeared around the corner.

We kept walking. Eventually, we reached a quiet square with a little fountain in the middle and sat on the worn stone edge. I leaned into Lingling's shoulder, and she let the shopping bags rest at her feet.

"It's nice," I said, watching the water ripple. "To just be. With you. Without anyone bleeding out on a marble floor or—"

"—dodging snipers?" she finished.

I laughed. "Exactly."

"I know," she murmured, brushing her thumb across my knuckles. "I've been thinking about that. That I could get used to this."

I turned to her. "Could you really? Just... quiet days? Errands? Loving someone without all the war behind it?"

Lingling didn't answer right away. Her gaze fell to the worn hem of my skirt, the soft sway of my foot against the fountain.

"I think," she finally said, "that loving you made me understand what peace actually feels like. And now I want more of it."

I rested my head on her shoulder. "You already have me."

She exhaled like it meant everything.

And in that gentle moment, in that old sunlit square by the sea, it really did.

The sun had started its slow descent behind the Amalfi cliffs by the time we wandered back toward the car. The gold sky poured honey over the sea, catching the chrome of the Macan parked just by the coast. Lingling walked slightly ahead, her shoulder brushing mine when the cobblestones narrowed, the bags swinging at her sides like we hadn't just bought half the street.

We reached the car. Without hesitation, she opened the passenger door and looked at me with that soft, teasing gaze that was just for me—never for anyone else.

"Your chariot, princess."

I raised a brow. "You're really leaning into this mafia-wife thing."

Lingling smirked but didn't say anything. Instead, she leaned in and gently ran her fingers along the inside of my wrist before I stepped into the seat. I watched from the passenger mirror as she carefully placed every single bag into the trunk—no bodyguard, no assistant, no Jiang. Just Lingling, in her white shirt now slightly creased, sleeves rolled, moving with that same calm, dangerous grace I'd fallen in love with.

She closed the trunk, exhaled, and walked around the front of the Macan. I could still see her eyes lingering on me through the windshield. Her jaw was tight with something unreadable for a second—until I saw it. That small smile.

She slid into the driver's seat. "We've officially committed fashion homicide," she said, turning the engine.

I laughed, reaching across to fix her slightly mussed shirt. "You love it."

"I love you," she said without missing a beat, eyes locked forward as if saying it out loud still stunned her a little. "But I'll admit, you shopping like you're trying to bankrupt Europe is... a look."

"I'm only practicing for our honeymoon."

"Oh no," she murmured, mock-dread in her voice. "Italy won't survive us."

The convoy behind us was ready—Jiang was already back in his car, giving a small nod toward our window like he'd been watching us the whole time. Of course he had.

Lingling took my hand as she pulled us into motion. Her grip was warm, protective.

The Macan hummed softly beneath us, tires tracing the winding roads like silk over skin. The sea stretched out endlessly on one side, while wildflowers and cliffs swayed gently on the other. The soft golden hour bathed everything in warmth, but none of it compared to the heat between our hands, fingers still laced together on the center console.

Lingling drove with one hand, confidently, like she didn't even need to look. She was relaxed now, her posture easing as the weight of the day peeled off her shoulders like layers. I watched her from the passenger seat, the way the light brushed her profile—sharp cheekbones, strong jawline, lashes fluttering with each blink. She was breathtaking. Even with half a dozen shopping bags in the trunk and three SUVs trailing us like shadows, she was still just mine.

"Did you enjoy today?" she asked, her tone almost casual, but I knew her well enough to hear the anticipation underneath.

"I did," I said, smiling. "Even though you kept insisting I didn't need those earrings."

"They cost more than a gun," she muttered under her breath.

"They sparkle better," I teased.

She chuckled, turning briefly to glance at me. "They looked good on you. Everything does."

I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the Mediterranean sun.

We drove in silence for a little while longer, until I noticed her thumb tracing small circles into my palm.

"I like seeing you like this," I said softly.

"Like what?"

"Not just powerful. Soft. Carrying my bags like a tired wife."

Lingling gave me a dramatic sigh. "Jiang was literally right there. I had soldiers everywhere. You made me carry everything."

"You volunteered."

"You smiled and said, 'Please,' and I lost the ability to say no," she said, faux bitter. "You're the most dangerous woman I've ever met."

I leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering there for a second. "You're not so bad yourself."

The villa came into view soon after, nestled into the hillside like a secret. As the gates opened and the convoy pulled in behind us, the staff were already at the entrance—Jiang already standing at the steps, arms crossed, smirking like he'd been counting every bag Lingling carried.

"Oh my god," Lingling groaned when she saw him in-front of the entrance. "He's going to say something."

"You know he will."

She parked the car and got out before me, tossing a glare over the roof. "If he makes one 'wife' joke, I swear."

Jiang shouted from the entrance, "Do you want me to carry your wife's things next time, boss?"

Lingling turned slowly, deadpan. "Don't you have enemies to torture?"

He grinned wider.

Still, when she opened the trunk and began to gather the bags, she caught sight of the designers waiting just inside—the flashes of white and black fabric, the posture, the portfolios. Lingling froze for a heartbeat, then sighed and thrust the bags into Jiang's chest without looking at him.

"Take these," she muttered. "We've got fashion warfare to handle."

"Yes, ma'am." He slung them over his shoulder, thoroughly unbothered.

I barely held back a laugh as I joined her. She glanced at me sideways, murmuring, "I was not emotionally prepared for this today."

"You're the one who said you wanted perfection," I teased.

Lingling groaned but kept her hand locked with mine as we stepped into the villa.

The doors opened to soft classical music and the scent of jasmine tea brewing somewhere nearby. Inside, the space had transformed—flashes of delicate fabrics, racks of garments, and two designers standing respectfully near the marble foyer, portfolios in hand, eyes lighting up the moment they saw us.

Jiang passed us with a smirk, heading toward the stairs. "Your wives are here," he said to the designers over his shoulder.

"Jiang," Lingling warned.

He disappeared upstairs, still laughing.

The lead designer, a woman in her late 40s with silver streaks through her hair and grace in every gesture, greeted us with a respectful bow. "Dr. Kornnaphat, Miss Kwong. We're honored. Everything is ready for final fittings."

They led us into one of the salon rooms where full-length mirrors had been set up alongside screens for privacy. My dress was displayed like a piece of art—pure white silk, flowing and soft, embroidered with golden peonies and phoenixes that shimmered when the light hit them. It was traditional, elegant, stunning. I stared at it for a moment, a quiet lump forming in my throat.

Lingling's outfit was next to mine. A deep black mandarin-collared suit, tailored sharp with intricate white and gold embroidery crawling over the chest and cuffs. A matching cap rested nearby, understated yet regal.

"God," I whispered, brushing the fabric of her sleeve gently. "You're going to look like a prince."

Lingling gave a crooked smile, stepping behind me. "And you're going to look like you walked straight out of a legend."

We tried them on behind the screens. The designers bustled around us with gentle touches and endless pins, adjusting, tucking, nodding, measuring. When I stepped out, Lingling was already in front of the mirror, cap in her hand, her back impossibly straight. She turned as I approached, and her jaw visibly slackened.

She didn't say anything for a second. Just stared. Then, quietly—almost too quietly—she said, "I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful."

The heat crept into my cheeks. "You're just saying that."

"I swear to God," Lingling murmured, walking toward me with slow, reverent steps. "You look like everything I've ever wanted. Everything I never thought I'd be allowed to have."

She slipped her fingers into mine and pulled me closer until our foreheads touched. Her other hand found the silk at my waist and curled gently there, holding me steady.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, "I'm going to marry you, Orm Kornnaphat. In front of the entire world. And if they try anything—if even a single soul threatens to touch this—" she kissed my temple, "—I'll burn everything to the ground."

I let out a soft, shaky laugh. "You'll wrinkle your suit with all this passion."

She leaned back slightly, just enough to smirk. "Then I'll get married in a bloodstained shirt if I have to. Just as long as it's with you."

The designer cleared her throat gently, smiling like she was trying not to cry.

Lingling, ever so composed, gave me a wink before turning back toward the mirror and slipping the cap on. My heartbeat roared in my chest. Tomorrow—tomorrow, I'd marry the most dangerous, most loyal, most ridiculous woman I'd ever met.

The designers moved like dancers—quiet, precise, reverent. Pins were tucked into seams, hems were adjusted with the finest care, and silk whispered against skin as they made their final assessments. Lingling stood still, unusually patient, arms at her sides as the older tailor stepped back to admire the fit of her suit.

"You've got shoulders like a warrior," the designer muttered with a fond smile, straightening the collar of the jacket one last time.

Lingling smirked. "That's because I am one."

Across the room, I held up my arms slightly as they examined the last few folds of my wedding dress. The gold thread shimmered with every movement, and I caught myself staring at my reflection. It didn't even feel like me—it felt like something sacred, something out of a story told by lantern light.

"Perfect," the younger designer whispered. "You both are."

With final nods, they removed the pins and helped us both out of our outfits with the utmost care, folding the garments as if they were made of starlight. When we stepped behind the screens and changed into our home clothes, the shift felt grounding. The white silk slipped off and was replaced by soft cotton and the familiar scent of our own perfume. The glamour of the moment faded, but the anticipation stayed.

Lingling emerged first, in an oversized white shirt and black linen pants. I followed, dressed in one of her shirts too—something I'd swiped weeks ago because it smelled like her.

Jiang peeked into the room again, this time with a toothpick in his mouth and zero shame. "So? Are we getting married in heaven or just really expensive fabric?"

Lingling gave him a withering look. "Get out."

He grinned and disappeared.

The designers bowed once more before gathering their things. "We'll return early in the morning with the garments," the older one said. "We'll steam them, press them again, and help you dress. Congratulations, truly."

"Thank you," I said softly, touched by the warmth in her voice.

After the door shut and silence settled into the villa again, Lingling collapsed onto the couch with a groan. "I've never stood still for that long in my life. I think I'm paralyzed."

I laughed, curling up next to her, legs tucked beneath me. "You looked... breathtaking."

She turned her head and met my eyes. "I thought I wouldn't cry until the wedding day. But when I saw you in that dress, Orm, I almost did. Swear to God."

My fingers reached for hers, lacing them gently. "Well, good. You'll have no tears left by tomorrow."

She smiled tiredly and kissed the back of my hand.

The soft hum of the villa's quiet settled around us like a silk sheet. I was still nestled into the crook of Lingling's arm, her shirt warm with her body heat, when I felt her shift slightly beneath me. She tilted her head down, eyes gleaming with that teasing spark I'd come to know too well.

"So..." Her voice dropped an octave, playful and low. "About that payback you mentioned earlier." She drew the word out like honey on her tongue. "You haven't forgotten, have you, Doctor Kornnaphat?"

I glanced up at her, narrowing my eyes in mock warning. "Are you trying to collect debts now, Miss Kwong?"

"I'm just saying," she said, eyes gleaming. "You whispered something dangerous in that boutique when I was carrying all those bags like your personal assistant." She made a dramatic show of stretching her shoulder. "Back-breaking labor."

I tried to bite back a laugh and failed. "You're literally the most feared woman of the underworld and you're complaining about shopping bags."

Lingling leaned closer, her voice lowering again. "Not complaining. Just saying I deserve a little... compensation."

I arched a brow, the corners of my lips lifting into a smirk. "You're lucky I didn't ask you for compensation for all the drama you've caused lately. Jealousy-inducing nightclub stunts? Distractions while I'm trying to work? Oh, and this." I gestured to the faint shadow of a bruise on my neck—the result of one of our more aggressive reconciliations.

She gave me a wolfish grin, unapologetic. "That was love."

"Mhm," I said, pushing her gently back against the couch. I climbed onto her lap, straddling her with practiced ease, my hands resting against her chest. "And this is payback."

Lingling blinked once, smirking wider. "I am absolutely terrified."

"You should be."

Her hands gripped my waist, and her smirk shifted into something darker, deeper. "Prove it."

I leaned in, our noses barely touching. "After dinner."

She groaned, flopping her head back dramatically against the cushion. "You're cruel."

"And you love it."

Her arms snaked around me, pulling me down so we were chest to chest again, her breath warm against my neck. "You're going to kill me one day, Orm."

I kissed her temple gently. "Then I'll save you first."

Lingling hummed lazily against my neck, still sprawled beneath me on the villa's velvet couch. Her arms hadn't let go since I'd climbed into her lap, and I could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat under my palm.

I pulled back slightly, brushing a loose strand of her brunette hair behind her ear. "Let's use the pool after dinner," I murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb.

Lingling tilted her head, eyes half-lidded. "The pool?"

"Mm-hmm." I leaned in, teasing. "Unless you're too exhausted, Miss Kwong."

A slow smirk spread across her face. "Exhausted? I carried ten bags through the cobblestone streets of Amalfi for you. I could swim the entire coast if you dared me."

"Oh, I dare you," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Her grin widened. "Then it's a date."