"I am obsessed with you," Rhea says quietly.
"And obsession doesn't know how to be clean."
She grabbed Rhea from the waist and pulled her in hard, like she's afraid distance itself might erase her.
Rhea gasps, hands instinctively clutching Ling's shoulders.
Ling's grip was tight — almost bruising — not possession now, panic.
"I loved you," Ling says, voice breaking completely for the first time.
"I swear I loved you."
Her forehead pressed against Rhea's. She was shaking.
"I loved you enough to ruin myself," Ling said, words tumbling out raw and uncontrolled.
"And I did."
Rhea's breath stutters. She wraps her arms around Ling's neck without thinking, holding her like she's fragile glass.
"My mother kept telling me to leave you," Ling whispers.
"Again and again."
Her fingers dig into Rhea's waist as if anchoring herself.
"I never heard her," Ling says, a broken laugh slipping through tears.
"I chose you every time."
Rhea's chest tightens painfully.
"Ling—"
"I defended you against my own blood," Ling says, pulling back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes were red, devastated, still burning with obsession.
"I told myself they didn't understand you," she says.
"That they were scared of how much I loved you."
Her voice drops.
"I thought love was supposed to hurt like that."
Rhea's tears fall freely now.
"I never wanted you to destroy yourself," Rhea whispers.
Ling smiles faintly — shattered.
"That's the thing," she says.
"You didn't have to. You already did."
She pressed her forehead to Rhea's hard, noses brushing, breath uneven.
"I did it willingly," Ling says.
"I broke every boundary because I trusted you with the pieces."
Her hands loosen slightly, sliding up Rhea's back — not possessive now, desperate.
"And now," Ling continues,
"I don't know what part of me was real — the girl who loved you, or the fool who ignored everything else."
Rhea cups Ling's face gently, thumbs brushing away tears.
"You were real," Rhea says urgently.
"Everything you felt was real."
Ling's eyes close for a moment.
"That's what scares me," she whispers.
She exhaled shakily, still holding Rhea close.
"I loved you so deeply," Ling says,
"that even now… even after everything…"
Her voice falters.
"I can't let go."
Ling's arms stay around Rhea — but the way she holds her has changed. It isn't comfort.
It's mourning.
She presses her face into Rhea's shoulder, breath shuddering, then slowly pulls back just enough to look at her. Her hands remain at Rhea's waist, but looser now, like she already knows she'll have to let go.
"I loved you," Ling says again, quieter, heavier.
"I loved you enough to betray myself."
Rhea shakes her head desperately, tears streaking down her face.
"No," she whispers. "You were never a mistake. I never betrayed you. I swear—"
Ling's lips curve into the faintest smile — the kind that hurts more than anger.
"You don't even hear it," Ling says softly.
"That's how I know."
Rhea grips Ling's arms tightly.
"I lied to my mother, not to you," Rhea says, voice breaking.
"I never meant to hurt you. Everything I did was to keep you—"
Ling gently interrupts, resting her forehead against Rhea's.
"Love doesn't need strategy," she murmurs.
"And it doesn't need an audience."
Rhea's breath stutters.
"I chose you," Rhea insists.
"Every time. Even tonight."
Ling's eyes fill again, but she doesn't look away.
"No," she says.
"You chose the version of me you could control."
The words land like a blade.
Rhea freezes.
Ling continues, voice trembling but certain.
"You let me fall harder because it made your lie believable," Ling says.
"And I let myself fall because I thought being loved meant being owned."
Rhea sobs openly now.
"I never owned you," she cries.
"I worshipped you."
Ling exhales shakily.
"That's worse," she whispers.
"Because worship doesn't stop when it starts hurting."
Her hands slide from Rhea's waist to her sides — still touching, but barely.
"I defended you when my mother begged me to walk away," Ling says.
"I told myself she was cruel. Paranoid. Wrong."
She lets out a broken laugh.
"She saw what I refused to."
Rhea cups Ling's face urgently.
"Look at me," Rhea begs.
"Please. I'm right here. I'm not your enemy."
Ling leans into her touch for half a second — eyes closing, breath hitching.
Then she opens them.
"You don't betray someone by leaving," Ling says quietly.
"You betray them by staying and lying."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"I was going to tell you—"
Ling nods slowly.
Her voice breaks at last.
"You were always about to tell me," Ling whispers.
"And I was always already ruined."
Rhea presses her forehead against Ling's, crying uncontrollably.
"I love you," she says desperately.
"I love you. I love you."
Ling's eyes close again. Her voice comes out barely above a breath.
"I can't believe that you believe it."
That sentence destroys the room.
Rhea collapses against her.
Ling holds her — not because she believes her, not because things are fixed — but because this is the last place her love still knows how to exist.
"I'm not angry anymore," Ling says softly.
"I'm just… finished believing."
Her arms tighten once more, briefly, like muscle memory.
Then loosen.
She stays.
But something essential in her has already left.
Ling's hands tremble as they slide up Rhea's back.
Not desperate now.
Not clinging.
Resigned.
She leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of Rhea's head — slow, reverent, like a goodbye she never planned.
"You won," Ling whispers.
Rhea stiffens violently.
Ling's voice is calm, exhausted, stripped of fight.
"I'm weak," Ling continues.
"Destroyed. For life."
Rhea pulls back, sobbing. "Don't say that—please—"
Ling cups Rhea's face before she can finish.
Her thumbs brush away tears automatically, instinctively — the same way she always did.
"I'm sorry," Ling says quietly.
"Not to you."
Her voice breaks just enough to betray her.
"To myself."
She leans in and kisses Rhea's lips.
It isn't hungry.
It isn't possessive.
It's empty and final, like muscle memory acting after the heart has already died.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against Rhea's.
"You killed me tonight," Ling whispers.
"So I guess this is what I am now."
Her lips curve faintly — not a smile.
"A living dead body."
Rhea shakes her head, choking on her breath.
"No… no, Ling, I didn't—"
Ling silences her with another gentle kiss — brief, tender, devastating.
"Be happy," Ling says softly.
"Always."
Her eyes shine, but her face is eerily still.
"Because I'll never be."
The words aren't said with accusation.
They're said like a fact she's already accepted.
Rhea collapses into her, crying uncontrollably.
Ling holds her one last time — not tightly, not desperately.
Just enough to remember the shape of her.
Her chin rests on Rhea's head.
Her eyes stare at nothing.
Rhea clutches Ling desperately when she hears that distance in her breath.
"Listen to me," Rhea begs, voice breaking apart.
"Just once. Please."
She presses her forehead to Ling's neck, gripping her like she's afraid Ling will disappear if she loosens her hands.
"Everything will be alright," Rhea whispers through sobs.
"I promise. I'll fix it. I'll fix everything."
For a moment — just a moment — Ling doesn't move.
Her body reacts before her heart can stop it.
Then she gently, carefully removes Rhea's hands from her waist.
Final.
Rhea looks up, panic flooding her face.
"Ling—"
Ling steps back.
Her eyes are empty now — not cold, not angry — vacant.
"You still don't understand," Ling says quietly.
"Promises don't reach dead things."
Rhea shakes her head violently.
"You're not dead. You're right here. You're breathing—"
Ling interrupts softly.
"My body is," she says.
"But the part of me that believed you isn't."
She stared at her emerald blazer slowly, mechanically — the same one she chose for Rhea.
"I waited for 'alright'," Ling continues.
"I waited through warnings. Through lies. Through humiliation."
Her voice doesn't rise.
"And tonight," she says,
"I ran out of waiting."
Rhea steps forward again, tears streaming.
"I need you," she cries.
"I love you."
Ling pauses at the door.
Her hand rests on the handle, but she doesn't turn around.
Rhea sinks to her knees.
"Please don't go," she sobs.
"I can't survive this without you."
Ling closes her eyes.
For one terrifying second, it looks like she might come back.
Instead, she exhales.
"You already did," Ling says.
She opens the door.
Before stepping out, she adds — voice barely audible:
"Take care of the life you chose."
Then she leaves.
The door closes without a sound.
Rhea is left on the floor, shaking, surrounded by candles burned too low and flowers meant for a future that never arrived.
And somewhere down the hallway, Ling walks forward without stopping —
not because she's strong,
but because staying would mean believing again.
And that's the one thing she can no longer do.
The obsession was still there.
The love was still there.
But belief — the thing that kept her alive — was gone.
A heart already buried.
And Rhea realizes too late:
She didn't lose Ling's love.
She lost Ling herself.
Ling grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles go white. For a few seconds she just sits there, staring forward, chest rising too fast, breath uneven.
Then she starts the car.
She pulls out roughly, tires screeching against the pavement.
The road blurs.
Her vision blurs faster.
"No—no—no—" Ling shouts suddenly, voice cracking as it tears out of her chest.
She hits the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.
"Why did I love you like that?" she screams into the empty car.
"Why did I give you everything?"
Tears spill freely now, uncontrolled, streaking down her face as she drives too fast, not caring.
"I ruined myself," she sobs, voice breaking into something almost feral.
"I ruined myself for you."
She laughs through tears — sharp, hysterical.
"My mother begged me," Ling cries.
"They all begged me."
Her voice drops into a whisper as another sob tears out.
"And I chose you."
She pressed her forehead briefly against the steering wheel at a red light, shaking.
"I would've died for you," she whispers.
"And you wanted me fall."
The light turned green.
She drives again, faster, tears still coming, shouting once more into the night like it might answer her.
"I'm still alive," Ling screams.
"So why does it feel like I'm already gone?"
The city lights streak past her windshield.
She keeps driving.
She doesn't know where she's going.
She just knows she can't stop.
Rhea's room
The silence after Ling leaves is worse than any scream.
Rhea is still on the floor at first, knees pulled to her chest, shaking.
Then her eyes lift.
The bouquet on the bed.
Still perfect.
Still untouched.
She crawls toward it like it might hurt her if she looks too closely.
Her fingers brush the petals.
She breaks.
A sob rips out of her so hard it steals her breath.
"I didn't mean it," Rhea cries.
"I didn't mean to kill you."
Her gaze shifts to the emerald blazer Ling left behind.
Over the chair.
Proof she was here.
Proof she's gone.
Rhea grabs it and presses it to her face, breathing in desperately like she might still find Ling there.
"I was going to tell you," she sobs into the fabric.
"I swear I was."
She collapses onto the bed, clutching the blazer and bouquet to her chest like lifelines.
"I love you," Rhea whispers into the empty room.
"I love you. I love you."
The candles flicker low, wax pooling like tears.
The proposal lights still glow softly, mocking her.
Rhea curls inward, crying harder, body shaking uncontrollably.
She finally understands what she lost.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
A living person who chose her over everything else.
And somewhere on the road, Ling screams again —
while Rhea cries into the proof of a love that arrived too late and left too deep a wound to survive.
Ling goes back to the places she swore she'd never enter again.
The clubs don't recognize her pain — only her face.
Lights flash.
Bass pounds.
Bodies press in.
It's loud enough that she doesn't have to think.
She drinks.
Then drinks again.
And again.
Glass after glass, burn after burn, until her throat is numb and her hands stop shaking.
Someone offers something she quit a long time ago.
She doesn't hesitate.
She doesn't even ask what it is.
————
Ling loved her. Rhea loved her.
But love was born from a lie.
And that was the tragedy.
Because the instant Ling believed love had made something hers, it stripped her bare. What followed was not possession, but ruin. Not victory, but surrender disguised as strength.
Rhea's love came real, but it came too late. After truth. After family. After a revenge that did not need intention to be complete.
Some loves do not end because they fade. They end because they arrive at the wrong time, in the wrong shape, carrying the wrong blood.
This was not a beginning. Not a forgiveness. Not peace.
It was the place where everything stopped.
Whether it would remain an ending—or become the start of something far more unforgiving— only what comes next would decide.
"Ling ruled until she became hers,"
"And the moment Rhea tried to save her… She destroyed 'us' between them."
Was this the end—or just the beginning of everything Ling would never forgive?
She Ruled Until She Became Mine ends,
But The story doesn't end here.
Continue with: Fate Broke Us Through Love.