Chapter Text
Her heels clacked as she walked towards the office. Her boss dropped her a text while she was in class, asking for a meeting at her earliest possible availability. Orm knew Namtan wouldn’t disturb her if it wasn’t something urgent and important, which is why the meeting was set up for now, right after her last class of the day.
“Looking for me?” Orm asked as she swung the door open, mischievous, carefree, and a little unbearable as usual.
Faen Agency—Faen, meaning lover—was Thailand’s most discreet fake dating service. Discreet because they only accepted male clients with a decent reputation, men who had more to lose if they were exposed for engaging a fake dating service, and had enough to pay 350 thousand baht to hire any of the girls here for an event.
Orm knew the rules by heart:
- No kissing on the lips.
- No sex.
- No catching real feelings.
In between working master’s coursework and two night shifts a week at the university café, Orm “dated for money,” as she put it. She acted cute, charming, and—when required—slightly intimidating. All normal. All easy. All safe.
Until today.
“I’ve a job for you.”
“You usually text them to me.”
“This time, it’s different.”
Raising an eyebrow, Orm looked at her boss, accepting her offer of whisky. “Different. How?”
Orm stood in the agency office staring at the client file Namtan had placed in her hands, her light brown hair falling over her eyes as she leaned in closer.
“She’s a friend.”
“She?”
Namtan nodded, sliding a file across the table. “I know we only deal with men, but she is different. She asked for help, and I told her I’d try.”
“Help is like…you give her fifty baht for noodles. Not bending your rules…”
Namtan sighed. “Orm, sweetie. She’s Lingling Kwong.”
Orm’s brain did a full restart. Lingling Kwong. Heiress of Kwong Medical. The family that owned half the hospitals in Thailand. Thirty years old. Ridiculously successful, elegant, beautiful in the kind of way Orm knew would ruin her life.
“Why does she need a fake date?” Orm asked faintly.
“Family gala next week,” Namtan said. “Her dad is testing if she can balance having a personal life and being CEO. If she shows up alone again…the position might go to her brother instead.”
Orm winced. “That’s awful.”
“That’s rich-people awful. A special category.”
“And me? Why me? Bonnie is the sweeter one amongst us. The one people bring home to family.”
“Because she specifically asked for someone who wouldn’t be too sweet, able to deal with her family and the asshole of a brother.” Namtan grinned. “You’re like a golden retriever with a student debt problem. Perfectly harmless, but yet ridiculously bratty when needed.”
“Wow,” Orm deadpanned. “I love being spoken about like a pet.”
“Woof woof.”
--- --- --- --- ---
The meeting was scheduled for the next day at a quiet private café Lingling often frequented. It was the kind of place Orm would only enter if she were forcibly escorted by security. Everything looked expensive, wood polished to a shine and minimalist décor that probably cost her entire grocery budget.
Orm arrived early, giving Lingling’s name and being brought to a quiet corner. Fidgeting nervously, Orm adjusted her shirt for the tenth time before the door opened, and then promptly choked on air when the heiress walked in.
Long black hair cascading down her back, a slight tan, and elegance in every motion. The beauty mark on her cheek had only made her smile more mesmerising. She wore a white Dior blouse, black slacks, and an effortless air of competence.
Orm forgot that breathing was a required activity.
“Orm?” Lingling asked, approaching with gentle steps.
“Hi—yes—hello,” Orm stammered. “Hello. I’m yes. I m-mean I’m Orm. Hi.”
Smooth. Like sandpaper. Seriously, Orm?
Lingling’s lips curved, amused. “It’s nice to meet you.”
They sat. Lingling folded her hands neatly. Orm nearly knocked over the water glass. “Well,” Lingling began softly, “thank you for agreeing to help me.”
“Of course!” Orm said too loudly. “Happy to! F-Fake dating is my—my job. I do it. Professionally. Yep. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this loud,” Orm said, voice hushed to a whisper at the end.
Kill me, Orm thought. Just kill me.
But Lingling only smiled politely. “I know it’s unusual for Faen Agency to accept a female client. I’m grateful.”
“Why me, though?” Orm blurted, then immediately regretted it.
Lingling tilted her head, studying her.
“I wanted someone who would make my father believe I’m capable of choosing a partner for myself,” she said. “Someone genuine. Warm. Maybe a little mischievous. Someone who feels real.”
Orm blinked.
“You’ve met me for two minutes,” she whispered. “I choke on air.”
Lingling laughed softly, light, warm, breathtaking. “You show your feelings honestly. It’s refreshing.”
“You are nicer to me in two minutes than Namtan ever was.”
The heiress laughed, and Orm decided it could be her favourite sound.
“Let’s discuss our dating story,” Lingling said, pulling out a notepad.
Their fingers brushed when she set it on the table.
Orm knew she would be a goner by the end of this session.
--- --- --- --- ---
They drafted it together:
- Orm was volunteering at a university charity event that Lingling funded.
- They clicked immediately and went out on coffee and dinner dates.
- They had been seeing each other exclusively for about a month.
- Scheduling was hard, between Orm’s school and cafe job and Lingling’s hospital duties, but they made it work.
- They bonded over late-night cuddles and drives.
“Have you been on a late-night drive before?” Lingling asked. “They clear my head.”
“No,” Orm admitted. “But I can act like I have! I’m…adaptable and can pretend emotions? I think.”
Lingling softly laughed again. “Let’s practice then.”
“Huh?”
“Before the gala,” Lingling said calmly. “We should go on a few practice dates. We need to be comfortable.”
Practice dates. With Lingling. The world was testing Orm.
“When is your next free evening?” Lingling asked.
“Tonight,” Orm said immediately.
She had a paper due. She did not care. She would miss sleep if she had to, but she would not miss a date with Lingling Kwong.
Lingling nodded. “Then tonight. Not for a drive, but let me take you out for dinner instead. ”
--- --- --- --- ---
Their first meeting had gone surprisingly well, if Orm were honest. She kept replaying Lingling’s soft laughter in her head as she walked back to her dorm, clutching the client file like it was a love letter instead of a job description.
Orm had exactly four hours to finish her paper, look and dress human, and pray that she didn’t make a clown out of herself. The last part would be the hardest, she believed.
Still, that evening, Orm arrived at the high-end restaurant. She tried very hard to appear confident. But her first interaction with the maître d’ was:
“Reservation under Ling—Lingling K-Kwong! Sorry. Tongue spasm.”
The maître d’ blinked, confused. “This way, miss.”
But the moment she saw Lingling at the table, elegant blouse, hair pinned to one side, greeting her with a soft smile, Orm forgot to be embarrassed.
“Hi, Orm,” Lingling said. “You clean up nice.”
Orm did not. She wore her best button-up, but her shoes squeaked, and her hair had a mind of its own. One strand stood up to embarrass her at the worst moments, and nothing, water, gel, or even saliva can keep it down.
Still, Lingling’s eyes warmed at the sight of her.
“You look…” Orm swallowed. “You look like royalty.”
Lingling blinked, surprised, but pleased. “Thank you.”
Orm had never been to a restaurant with more forks than she had fingers. She branched her hands over the table, counting silently. “Use the one on the outside first,” Lingling whispered, leaning slightly closer. Her perfume, a sensual accord of white musk with floral notes, brushed past Orm’s senses, short-circuiting her brain.
“Outside,” Orm repeated. “Yes. I know. I totally know.” She did not know.
But with Lingling guiding her gently, demonstrating, occasionally suppressing a laugh, Orm navigated dinner like someone pretending to be cultured on live TV.
“What would you like to drink?” the waiter asked politely.
“Water,” Orm answered. “The expensive one.”
“The…expensive one?” the waiter repeated.
Orm panicked. “Yes. The most hydrated water you have.” Lingling bit her lower lip to hide laughter.
Later, over dessert, they talked more naturally. Lingling told Orm about her workdays, her love for night drives, and her difficult relationship with her brother, who felt the position should’ve been his.
“You don’t owe him success,” Orm said bluntly. “P’Ling, you’re good at what you do. Wait, I can call you, P’Ling right?”
“You can call me darling if that’s what you like, N’Orm.”
Orm blushed, shaking her head. “You were chosen because you deserve it, P’Ling.”
Lingling paused. “Thank you,” she murmured. It was the first time someone had said it without coating it in business jargon or political conditioning. “That means a lot.”
Heat rushed up Orm’s neck. She wanted to say anything for you, honestly, but she pressed her lips together. They ended the night walking to Lingling’s car, the air warm and breezy.
“We were believable?” Orm asked.
Lingling nodded. “More than believable.”
--- --- --- --- ---
That night, Orm read every line of Lingling’s profile, even the parts with medical terminology she absolutely did not understand.
Orm remembered Lingling shared about her family, why she needed to appear with a partner. “My family is traditional. All work and no play makes Lingling a dull CEO, apparently,” the CEO shared, “But thankfully, they didn’t need me to be paired with a man.”
Lingling wasn’t just successful. She was brilliant. Graduated early. Launched two new hospital research programs that had already uncovered a medical miracle. Led charity initiatives, not just posing for photos but doing the legwork with her staff. She donated heavily to youth-related programs and started the Kwong’s Scholarship for medical students.
“And I have been dating fake boyfriends for fun money,” Orm thought.
--- --- --- --- ---
Two afternoons later, Orm arrived at the Kwong Medical headquarters, a towering building of glass where everything looked more expensive than a year of her rent. She felt like a peasant child entering a royal palace. Everyone wore suits. She wore a hoodie and jeans.
“Confidence,” she whispered to herself.
The lobby reception couldn’t hide her surprise when Orm said she was there for Lingling. A call up to the 38th floor confirmed Orm’s appointment, and she was swiftly directed to the lift, a security guard following closely behind.
The receptionist on the 38th floor brightened when Orm appeared, greeting her with more warmth than she expected. “Miss Kwong has been expecting you.”
In Lingling’s office, Orm watched as the CEO flipped through paperwork on the couch. Orm, however, immediately gravitated to the CEO chair.
Lingling, in all her seriousness, would have never allowed anyone else in her chair, even if it was empty. But something about Orm’s puppy eyes, even after her “N’Orm, no…”, and that bottom lip jutting out in a pout, made the CEO cave.
Orm spun once. Twice.
“N’Orm,” Lingling warned gently without looking up from her paperwork.
“I’m stable,” Orm lied.
“You are going to fall.”
“P’Ling, don’t underestimate me.”
Spin. Wobble. Crash.
Lingling burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re a menace,” Lingling teased, shaking her head.
“Thank you,” Orm replied, rubbing her elbow.
Later, they practised talking points while Lingling signed more documents.
“So,” Orm said, leaning on the desk like she was the CEO, “we met at a charity event your company sponsored. You saw me handing out water bottles. You were impressed by…uh…my… hydration distribution skills.”
Lingling choked on air. “Hydration distribution?”
“You saw me give water to a child and thought, ‘Wow, this woman could be my girlfriend.’”
“No one is going to believe this,” Lingling covered her face with her hand as she laughed harder.
“And I,” Orm continued proudly, “saw you being very serious and CEO-like and thought, ‘Damn. I am extremely gay.’”
“That part is believable,” Lingling said, smiling at her in a soft, open way.
--- --- --- --- ---
The next date was the most unexpected.
Lingling drove them out of Bangkok, past the busier roads, into quieter outskirts. They talked more easily in the car as the city surrendered to fields and patches of forest.
Orm telling funny stories about terrible fake dates, Lingling sharing fragments of her childhood.
“P’Ling, you grew up surrounded by expectations,” Orm said softly. “That sounds… suffocating.”
“It was,” Lingling admitted. “But my mother always told me to find my own space in the world, even if it had to be carved out forcefully.”
Orm nodded. “I like your mom already.”
Lingling smiled faintly. “I think you’d have no issues charming her.”
That comment nearly made Orm combust.
The hidden spot was a quiet cliff overlooking the ocean. A maintained, secret place with a small bench and a railing, the air cool and salty. “This is where I come when things get too loud,” Lingling murmured.
“And you are sharing with me? Things are gonna get louder,” the girl warned and was rewarded by Lingling’s carefree laughter. “It’s beautiful,” Orm continued. “No wonder you escape here.”
Lingling leaned against the railing, hair swaying gently in the wind. The ocean reflected in her eyes. She looked unreachable, like someone carved from calmness and quiet power.
And Orm couldn’t stop staring.
Not until Lingling turned her head and caught her.
Their eyes met, just for a moment, Lingling didn’t look away, but Orm did, flustered, her cheeks burning. “S-so,” Orm coughed, “we should, um, practice… holding hands?”
“Practice?” Lingling repeated, amused.
“For the gala,” Orm said. “You know… realism. Method acting.”
Lingling stepped closer. Much closer. Her hand brushed Orm’s. “Like this?” she whispered.
Orm’s heart screamed. “Y-yes. Professional hand contact.”
Lingling interlaced their fingers. Orm stopped breathing.
“I think we’ll be convincing,” Lingling murmured, looking out at the water, face calm. Orm’s hand in hers, the warmth was something that Lingling hadn’t felt in a while, grounding, reassurance, and…safe.
Orm looked at their intertwined hands, feeling the world tilt. She tried to stay calm. This was only practice. A job, an illusion.
But the warmth of Lingling’s hand felt painfully real.
--- --- --- --- ---
They didn’t plan the fourth date. It just happened. Orm was grabbing cheap noodles near the university when she heard a soft voice behind her.
“N’Orm?”
She turned. “P’Lingling?!”
Lingling was in casual clothing, a white T-shirt and jeans. Orm was in her usual hoodie and jeans. Same casual clothing, but Lingling looked unfairly good. “What are you doing here?” Orm blurted.
“I had a meeting nearby,” Lingling said.
“Oh! Would you…uhh…want to join me? It’s just noodles.”
“I’d love to,” Lingling said with a smile that made Orm’s stomach flip.
They sat at the small plastic table. Lingling looked hilariously out of place. Some students stared. One whispered, “Is that the hot CEO lady from the news?” Orm tried to hide her face behind her bowl.
Lingling, however, seemed happy. Peaceful. She asked about Orm’s classes, her master’s thesis, and her goals after graduation. “You’re incredibly hardworking,” Lingling said softly.
“P’Ling, I’m incredibly broke,” Orm corrected, deadpanned.
Lingling laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “Still,” Lingling continued, “you’re doing what you can to build a life for yourself. That’s admirable.”
Orm’s heart clenched.
“Plus,” Lingling lowered her voice to a whisper, “You’ll be a lot richer after next week.”
Noodles were consumed over more small talk, Lingling sharing the happiness she felt whenever a kid was discharged, and Orm gossiping about the latest university happenings.
All warm and satisfied, Orm gave 80 baht to the noodles aunty, smiling as she stopped Lingling from paying. “It’s only 80 baht. I can treat…a friend…yup, a friend to noodles.”
When they parted ways, Lingling touched Orm’s arm gently. “I enjoy these moments,” she said softly. “More than I expected.”
--- --- --- --- ---
By now, they didn’t need any more practice. Orm had accepted she had a tiny crush, or possibly a catastrophic crush, on a woman who was paying her. Lingling, meanwhile, seemed quieter. Thoughtful. Like she was becoming comfortable in Orm’s presence.
That worried Orm more than anything. Faen Agency had rules, and Orm had never been good with rules.
Namtan noticed immediately. “You’re smiling at your phone,” Namtan said, leaning against the agency counter. “That’s gay.”
“P’Lingling sent me a picture of her dog,” Orm muttered. “Charsiu. He’s cute.”
“You’re gay and doomed,” Namtan declared.
Orm groaned. “She’s my client. She’s out of my league. We’re fake!”
“Fake dating always becomes real in lesbian stories,” Namtan said. “It’s the rule of the universe.”
“No, the rule of my job is don’t catch feelings, P’Namtan,” Orm said.
“You already caught them,” Namtan replied. “Just try not to die.”
“You’re gonna fire me if I fall in love.”
“Let’s be honest, you think P’Ling would let you fake-date other men if you are dating her?”
“And how am I supposed to pay my tuition fees otherwise?”
“N’Orm…you got yourself a permanent sugar mama if you are dating Lingling.”
“Oh no no no, you’re not putting that image in my head.”
Namtan laughed, throwing her head back. “You are thinking about her boobs, aren’t you?”
“Shut up. Please.”
--- --- --- --- ---
The boutique Lingling booked was far fancier than anything Orm had willingly stepped into. Everything was white marble, soft light, and mirrors that somehow made her look both fabulous and painfully aware of her own existence. Tailors moved like elegant shadows, tape measures flicking around her waist, murmuring to each other in that terrifyingly polite way that rich people's service staff always had.
Lingling, of course, looked like she’d been born here.
When Lingling emerged from behind the curtain, Orm’s breath caught. The gown was made of rich suede, soft and velvety, with a matte finish that swallowed the light yet held onto a deep, sensual glow when it was on Lingling. The gown hugged Lingling’s figure like a second skin, tapered at the waist, and then flowed downward in a smooth sheath style that whispered power rather than screamed for attention.
The colour was a muted, deep charcoal, near-black with subtle warmth, the kind of shade that made every faint curve seem like it was carved by careful strokes of shadow and moonlight. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal a gentle slope of collarbone and chest; not a plunge, but a tasteful threshold, elegant and confident.
The back was the nail in Orm’s coffin; the backless gown was adorned with thin strips of hand-beaded diamonds. As Lingling moved, a slow turn, the suede caught the boutique’s light in faint, shifting gradients of dark grey and richer black, twinkling in sparkles.
Her long black hair cascaded over one shoulder, contrasting against the gown’s texture, and the beauty mark on her cheek flickered under the overhead lights like a secret signature.
Orm knew she was staring. She also knew the tailor noticed. She did not stop. Not even when she saw Lingling turn around.
Lingling glanced over with a small, amused smile. “N’Orm…Are you okay?”
“No,” Orm answered honestly. “You look… illegal.”
Lingling’s cheeks warmed. “N’Orm…”
“I’m serious. If you showed up like that anywhere near the public, the national birth rate might spike.”
The tailor snorted before pretending she didn’t. Lingling hid her laughter behind her hand. “Focus on your fitting.”
“I’m trying,” Orm whispered. “But then you exist. Who can blame me?”
She refused to look away as another tailor adjusted the lapels of her own suit, silky black, subtly sheened, fitted to her waist and shoulders. It looked beautiful, far too expensive, and far too grown-up for someone who usually wore university hoodies and panic.
Lingling’s eyes drifted over her—slowly, appreciatively, lingering a fraction too long at Orm’s waist. Then her collar. Then her face.
“You clean up well,” Lingling murmured.
Orm felt her soul leave her body. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re evaluating me.”
“I’m not evaluating,” Lingling said softly. “I’m admiring.”
Orm almost fell off the platform. “P'Ling,” she whispered, mortified by how warm her face felt. “You can’t say things like that. I’ll malfunction.” Lingling’s laugh was warm and melodic, and Orm wanted it sealed for later.
“Could we have her shirt unbuttoned?” Lingling requested. Orm looked at her like she had grown a second head, but the tailor clapped, happy with the question.
“K’Lingling, if that’s what you prefer, I have something that might fit K’Orm better,” the tailor suggested. Lingling gave a nod to go ahead, and the curtains closed as the tailor and her assistants hurried to get the suit.
Lingling felt her breath leave her the moment the curtains were drawn open.
The suit was a study in clean lines and deliberate understatement, black on the outside, white on the inside, masquerading as a white shirt like it was sewn onto the suit, impeccably tailored, and shockingly grown-up on a twenty-three-year-old who usually lived in hoodies. The blazer fit her like it had been cut to follow the exact shape of her shoulders. There was nothing fussy about it, no excessive shine or sequins, just a whisper of satin at the lapels that caught the light when she moved.
The trousers were high-waisted and long, the kind that skimmed the shoe and lengthened the leg, a perfect counterpoint to the jacket. They made Orm look taller, leaner; the straight, elegant cut softened her usual laidback angles into something sleek and composed. The whole set sat between masculine and glamorous in a way that felt startlingly new on her.
Powerful without trying, sexy without shouting.
Orm felt strange and thrilled all at once. The fabric was cool against her pale skin; the fit made her chest stand prouder, her shoulders back. She caught Lingling’s eye in the mirror across the room.
Lingling’s look wasn’t just approval. It was reverence, the kind that made Orm suddenly very aware of the way the sleeves hugged her arms, the way the neckline suggested rather than announced.
“Wow,” Lingling said softly, truth in the single word.
Orm grinned, a little wild. “Do I look like I belong in your world?”
“You look like you belong beside me,” Lingling answered, and the quiet certainty of that sentence made Orm’s smile break into something almost stupidly happy.
The suit didn’t hide Orm’s youth; it honed it into an unexpected polish. Where a gown might have softened her, the pantsuit sharpened her, and for the first time in weeks, Orm liked the person she saw in the mirror: loud, awkward, and suddenly, stylishly dangerous.
“But I think I need a new bra.”
--- --- --- --- ---
Orm jumped up when her alarm rang. Mornings are difficult for the student, and she usually snoozes her alarms until she has to skip breakfast to make it to class on time, but today, today was different. Granted that she had 9 hours before the gala, but every second counts today. Orm made a list last night before sleeping, not trusting her chaotic self to remember everything she had to get done before showtime.
THINGS TO DO BEFORE MEETING THE FAMILY:
- Eat breakfast, skip lunch. Don’t want to puke in front of the family.
- Buy a new bra.
- Call Namtan for a pep talk.
- Get to Lingling’s by 3 PM.
- Don’t die before the gala.
A knock cut through the silence in Orm’s shoebox of an apartment. With a look of confusion and her toothbrush in her mouth, Orm opened the door to a deliveryman, who looked equally confused.
“A delivery for K’Kornnaphat?”
Orm smiled, toothpaste and all, “I-Itsh me.” She would have joked a little if not for the toothpaste dripping down the sides of her mouth, looking like a true disaster. Taking over the boxes and closing the door behind her, Orm rushed to the toilet to wash away the traces of chaos.
Before she could examine what she received, her phone lit up.
Lingling 9:25 AM
I hope you like the gifts.
Orm 9:25 AM
Oh! I was just going to check who sent them.
Glad to know it’s not explosives.
Lingling 9:26 AM
You don’t know that. You just know the sender.
Orm 9:27 AM
I trust you more than I trust myself.
When Orm lifted the lid of the sleek, ribbon-tied box, she expected something, anything but this. Nestled in layers of tissue paper that felt softer than anything she had touched before, sat a black bra so delicately stitched and luxuriously minimal that it radiated expense.
She blinked, once, twice, as if the bra might vanish. The tag alone nearly made her choke — that number was higher than Orm’s monthly rent. For a moment, she just stared at it, stunned, holding the box as though it might explode, wondering what on earth Lingling was thinking, sending a piece of lingerie worth so much.
Orm 9:32 AM
That bra costs more than three months' rent.
Lingling 9:33 AM
You deserve more than your rent.
Orm 9:33 AM
I’m afraid to open the other boxes.
Lingling 9:35 AM
The other boxes are probably…the cost of my rent. If I am renting.
Orm 9:36 AM
I hate you.
Lingling 9:33 AM
You love me.
Orm stared at the second box for a long moment before touching it, as if it might sprout legs and scamper away. It was small, elegant, and far too heavy for its size. The kind of weight that whispered expensive the moment her fingers brushed it. She cracked the lid open, and the soft glow of gold and diamonds hit her so hard she actually shut it again out of reflex.
“Nope,” she muttered. “Absolutely not. That’s at least… three months of rent sitting in there, minimum.” But curiosity won, as it always did. Orm opened the box again and found a Cartier necklace curled inside like a sleeping serpent, delicate yet unmistakably extravagant.
The next box held a pair of bracelets that glittered with quiet authority, and the smallest one, a ring, sleek and minimal in the way that screams wealth, not simplicity.
Orm sat back on her heels, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Altogether, this pile of boxes probably cost more than two years of her rent, or maybe three, Orm wasn’t sure. She definitely does not look at the prices of Cartier normally.
Orm let out a shaky laugh. “P’Ling… what are you doing?” she whispered, fingertips hovering before she dared touch anything.
Each piece was beautiful and thoughtful and so very her, a style she never said aloud but somehow Lingling just knew. And that made everything inside her twist.
Warmth bloomed first, the kind that spread through her chest, slow and tender, the kind she’d been feeling more and more around Lingling lately, dangerously easy and impossibly sweet.
But then, creeping in like tidewater, came the other feeling. The one that tightened her throat, the one that whispered truths she hated.
Lingling lived in a world where sending Cartier jewellery was a casual gesture. Orm lived in a world where she budgeted shampoo by the millilitre and celebrated when instant noodles went on sale. They weren’t in the same league. Not even the same planet. They should never have been in each other’s orbit.
Orm swallowed, blinking hard as she carefully, reverently closed each box, hands shaking. She had to hide these feelings. She only knew Lingling for a week, and the love was curling stronger in her chest, the longing she had no right to have. Lingling had her kindness, her generosity, her warmth… but Orm couldn’t risk wanting more.
Not when she already felt like she was standing on borrowed ground.
--- --- --- --- ---
Orm brought everything to Lingling’s place, reaching the penthouse 30 minutes before the agreed-upon time. Lingling sounded surprised when the security called up to confirm Orm’s arrival when her Grab tried to turn into the compound. Standing before the elevator with only one button inside, Orm took a deep breath. It’s not like this is something new, being a fake girlfriend, going to a fancy gala.
Nope, this is totally something new for Orm. Being a fake girlfriend who had caught feelings, going to the fanciest gala in a bit, and dealing with more than business. Lingling’s reputation and, maybe, her entire inheritance were at stake, and Orm refused to be the one who fucked it up for her.
Lingling’s door was already open when Orm stepped out of the elevator. A small smile on the heiress's face as she observed the other girl. “You seem nervous,” Lingling said as a greeting.
“I’m trying not to be,” Orm said, stepping into the penthouse.
“I hope you are not having cold feet.”
“I had an epiphany earlier. Your family is big. Your influence is big. You’re big.”
Lingling raised a brow.
“I mean—not big big. You’re small. Compact. Perfectly proportional—”
Lingling bit her lip. “Orm…Are you sure you are okay? You have done a gala before, haven’t you?”
“I’ve done three dates,” Orm grumbled. “Fake ones. For the agency. But those were with… medium-rich men. Not… ultra-mega-hospital-mogul-family rich.”
Lingling softened, reaching out and lightly touching Orm’s wrist.
“You don’t need to be scared,” she said. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”
Orm looked up, and Lingling was already looking at her. Warm, reassuring. Breathtaking.
“Okay,” Orm whispered. “But you need to stop staring before I melt into the floor.”
Lingling smiled. “I make no promises.”
--- --- --- --- ---
“Anyway, I brought the rent,” Orm announced flatly.
Lingling blinked. “…The what?”
“This bra. This bra is my rent. My landlord would take this in exchange for a three-month lease, easy.”
Lingling laughed, that soft, warm sound that made Orm’s stomach flip a little. “It suits you. And it’s just a gift.”
“Yeah,” Orm muttered.
Lingling rolled her eyes with fond amusement. “Just get dressed, Orm. Everything is ready in the guest room.”
Orm changed in the guest room, slipping into the sleek black suit and fitted trousers that made her look taller. The bra felt like silk on her, warm, comfortable, and very expensive. “Good support,” Orm whispered, “But I think I’d take P’Ling’s hands instead.”
From the other side of the penthouse, Lingling was slipping into her suede gown that clung, dipped, and framed her figure like a whispered confession.
Orm didn’t see her yet, but she felt it, like the air shifted.
They both stepped out at the same time.
And they froze.
Lingling’s hand tightened subtly around the edge of the hallway wall, her breath catching before she smoothed her expression. But it was too late, Orm had seen the flicker of shock, of appreciation, of something warm and unsettled. Orm thought she was hallucinating.
“You…” Lingling exhaled softly. “Orm, you look—”
“I know,” Orm cut in, cheeks flushing. “Like someone who absolutely cannot afford to wrinkle this suit.”
Lingling laughed again, but this time it wavered, her gaze lingering a moment too long on the way the suit framed Orm’s shoulders, the way the black bra peeked out from between the suit, and how that strand of mischievous brown hair refused to be tamed.
Orm stared right back, eyes roaming down the suede gown that was beyond stunning on Lingling. With her tan glow, the curve of her back, the soft sweep of her collarbones?
It was dangerous. Deadly.
“I know why you could send me this expensive bra,” Orm muttered, “You took your bra allowance and gave it to me.”
Lingling laughed, twirling once more with a little more flair, showing her bareback to the other girl. “I hope you like what you are seeing.”
Before either could say more, the doorbell chimed. The glam team is here.
They were ushered into seats in front of a massive mirror. Yes, the team brought their own mirrors.
Orm tried to sit still, but her knees bounced, her fingers fidgeted, and her breath kept coming too fast.
Lingling noticed immediately. She angled her chair slightly, voice low and gentle. “Orm. Hey. Breathe. You’re doing fine.”
Orm swallowed hard. “I’ve only…you know…three people before, okay? And none of them had a family worth more than my entire neighbourhood. I’m… out of my league.”
Lingling’s eyes softened, warmth spreading across her face. “You’re not out of place with me.”
That shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but Orm’s chest tightened. Lingling looked forward again as her stylist swept her long black hair up into a soft bun, leaving a few wisps intentionally loose to frame her face. She looked regal and effortless, exactly the kind of beautiful people wrote songs about.
Orm’s hair was left down, styled in soft, glossy waves that brought out the hazelnut tones. She didn’t dare look at herself too long in the mirror. She was afraid she’d panic. Never mind that she was already panicking.
Lingling, on the other hand, kept stealing glances. Every time she did, something thrummed under her ribs, unfamiliar and disobedient. It had been years since anyone made her heart race. Years since she’d let someone close enough to feel it.
And yet here was Orm, in a suit that fit too well, eyes still wide with nervousness, bracelets glinting on her wrist like constellations.
“Orm,” Lingling said quietly, almost like she couldn’t help herself.
Orm turned, lips parted slightly. “Yeah?”
Lingling’s breath caught again. “You’re going to make it very hard,” she murmured, “for me to pretend you’re my date for tonight.”
Orm’s heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t trust herself to answer.
Orm wasn’t pretending anymore.
--- --- --- --- ---
By the time the car pulled up to the Kwong family’s gala, Orm was convinced she could hear her heartbeat over the engine. Lingling, sitting poised beside her, looked ethereal, calm, elegant, and unreadable. Except Orm kept catching the way Lingling’s fingers curled and uncurled in her lap, betraying nerves she would never admit to.
“Ready?” Lingling asked lightly, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from Orm’s sleeve.
“Define ready,” Orm whispered. “Ready like… ready to charm everyone? Or ready like… ready to be murdered by your aunties for not being rich enough to breathe the same air as you?”
Lingling pressed her lips together, failing spectacularly at suppressing a smile. “Nobody is going to murder you.”
“Not physically. But Thai aunties have spiritual powers. They can end me internally.”
Lingling’s laugh was soft, warm. “You’re fine, Orm. Just stay close.”
The car door opened, and Lingling stepped out first — cameras flashing, the event staff bowing politely. Then Orm emerged, and she heard a whisper ripple through the crowd.
“Who’s that with K’Lingling?”
“She’s so tall.”
“That suit—!”
“She couldn’t be from our circle.”
“I think I just turned gay.”
Orm straightened her back, trying to channel the confidence of someone who regularly interacted with billionaires, instead of someone who compared lingerie prices to rent.
Lingling extended her hand, and Orm took it.
Her palm was warm.
Her grip was steady.
And together, they walked into the gala.
--- --- --- --- ---
The first person the pair saw was Lingling’s father — tall, authoritative, with a face that looked terrifying until he smiled, and then he looked like a giant marshmallow pretending to be stern. “So,” he said, studying Orm. “You’re the girlfriend.”
Orm panicked.
Lingling panicked harder.
“…Yes,” Orm replied automatically.
Lingling stiffened.
Papa Kwong raised a brow. “You seem honest.”
Orm blinked. “I… broke my ankle in primary school by trying to kick a mango off a tree.”
Lingling closed her eyes.
“And I choke on air when I first saw P’Ling.”
Her father laughed, a deep belly laugh. “I like her!”
Lingling’s heart dropped to her feet. Orm’s shot straight to her throat.
“Papa—” she started, but he cut her off with a firm pat on Orm’s shoulder.
“You’re exactly the type Lingling needs. Someone with personality. And humour. And poor decision-making skills.”
“I excel at poor decisions, sir,” Orm said proudly.
Lingling pinched the bridge of her nose.
--- --- --- --- ---
Orm’s nerves were still prickling when she noticed a new presence approaching the corner where Lingling’s father had been speaking to them. Lingling had stepped slightly aside, giving space, but Orm’s attention snapped to the woman moving gracefully toward them.
She was striking, but not in the sharp, intimidating way of high-society women Orm had encountered in the past. Her presence was soft, welcoming, with an effortless elegance. Black hair pulled neatly into a low bun, a few delicate strands framing her face, identical to how Lingling’s hair was styled tonight, and eyes that were intelligent and curious, as if they could read Orm’s racing thoughts through the carefully constructed façade of nerves and forced composure.
“Lingling,” the woman said, her voice rich and melodic, “Darling, there you are.” She wrapped her arms around Lingling briefly before turning her gaze to Orm. “And you must be…?”
Orm straightened, clutching the edges of her suit jacket like a lifeline. “Orm,” she said, voice small. “Orm Kornnaphat. It’s really… nice to meet you, Mrs.—?”
“Kwong,” the woman replied, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “But please, call me Mama Kwong. I’ve heard so much about you already.”
Orm blinked. Already? Her stomach flipped. “Oh, um… I hope it was good.”
“Oh, very good,” Mrs Kwong said warmly, stepping closer so that her presence was comforting rather than imposing. “Lingling has been telling me how clever you are… and how funny.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as they landed on Orm’s suit-clad frame. “And I do love a sense of humour.”
Orm’s shoulders loosened, and a small, nervous laugh escaped. “I… try,” she said. “Though most of the time I think I just sound chaotic.”
“Chaotic,” Mrs Kwong repeated, nodding as though evaluating a fine wine. “No, my dear, chaos can be delightful. Especially when it makes someone you love laugh. And I can see you’ve got Lingling smiling, even now.”
Orm flushed. She looked down, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. “I—well, she’s… she’s easy to talk to. I mean… I didn’t expect—”
Mrs Kwong chuckled softly, a sound that made the nerves in Orm’s chest loosen like ropes unravelling. “You’re perfectly right where you belong. You fit in, Orm. Tonight, here, with us.”
Orm’s throat tightened, her eyes stinging slightly. No one had ever said that to her like it was a fact, not a compliment, not a test. Just… acceptance.
“And don’t worry about perfection,” Mrs Kwong continued, glancing over at Lingling with a soft smile. “Being polite is lovely, but being real is far more memorable.”
Orm felt a small, genuine laugh escape. “I…I’m trying not to be memorable, Mama Kwong,” she joked. “I’ll try not to break anything,” the tension in her chest easing slightly.
“I can already tell you’re going to do more than fine,” Mrs Kwong said, her eyes sparkling as she studied Orm for a moment longer. “Besides, a little chaos keeps the party interesting.”
Orm couldn’t help grinning, a blush rising across her cheeks. The warmth from Lingling’s mother was disarming, completely different from the icy, calculating aura of high-society women she’d been bracing herself for. And for the first time since arriving at the gala, Orm felt the tiniest bit of confidence blooming inside her chest. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she didn’t have to pretend every second to survive.
“Thank you,” Orm said quietly. “I… I really appreciate it.”
Mrs Kwong reached out, patting Orm’s shoulder lightly. “No, my dear. Thank you. You’re already part of the family tonight — whether you’re pretending or not, you’re welcome here.”
Before Orm could panic further, Mrs Kwong excused herself, leaving the pair a little breathless and slightly nervous, now more than before.
“Do you think your mom…”
“No, it’s just the way she is.”
“You sure?”
“More than sure.”
And somewhere deep in the back of Orm’s mind, a thought whispered, “Maybe this night wouldn’t be so impossible after all.”
--- --- --- --- ---
The pair was exchanging pleasantries with guests from Kwong Medical’s Board of Directors when Lingling’s older brother interrupted. Perfect hair slicked back, expensive suit, and the smirk of someone who would lose his family’s hospitals and still blame the economy.
“So this is your girlfriend,” he said, eyes dripping scepticism.
Orm felt the hair on her neck rise.
“Yes,” Lingling replied coolly.
He circled Orm like a shark. “Strange. You’ve never brought anyone home before. And now suddenly, this?”
“Wow,” Orm said sweetly. “And to think I practised being on my best behaviour tonight.”
He blinked, thrown off. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused, P’Dan,” Orm smiled. “I was just thinking about how your tie looks like it strangled a better shirt in a past life.”
Lingling choked.
Her brother bristled. “You seem… mouthy.”
“Oh, I’m very mouthy,” Orm said innocently. “Ask Lingling.”
Lingling, absolutely losing her soul inside, gulped.
Brother scoffed. “This relationship seems fake. Too sudden. Who knows where N’Ling picked this scruffy little thing from?”
A hush fell over the nearby guests.
Lingling stiffened, panic crawling up her spine—
And Orm turned to her, gently cupping Lingling’s jaw. Lingling froze.
“Oh, really?” Orm murmured. “Fake?”
And before Lingling could breathe, Orm leaned in and pressed a slow, confident, devastatingly spicy kiss to her lips. Not too vulgar, not too chaste, but undeniably real.
Lingling’s heartbeat skyrocketed.
Orm pulled back first, eyes a little glassy but steady. “Still looks fake to you?”
Her brother stumbled over his own silence, huffed, and stomped away.
--- --- --- --- ---
After the kiss, after the whispers, after the crowd moved on, Lingling leaned close, voice trembling ever so slightly. “Orm,” she whispered. “That kiss wasn’t in the script.”
Orm wiped her lip softly. “Yeah. You’re welcome.” Orm knew she was breaking the agency’s rules, her own rule, but hey, Namtan broke the rule first. And honestly, other than making it harder for Orm to stop her feelings, it wasn’t anything she didn’t want to do.
Lingling stared at her. Something was different now. Something warmer. Something she wasn’t supposed to feel. “Orm…” she breathed.
But Orm only gave her a shy, lopsided grin, the kind that hit straight under the ribs, on her heart. “Lingling, relax,” she whispered back. “I’ve got you.”
Lingling’s carefully guarded heart reacted in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
She was in trouble.
And for once, she didn’t mind.
--- --- --- --- ---
The taste of Orm’s lips lingered like fire even after the brief, public kiss. Lingling tried to steady herself, blinking against the swirl of murmurs and raised eyebrows, but the heat in her chest refused to settle. She kept her hand lightly brushing Orm’s sleeve as they navigated the glittering ballroom, trying to anchor herself.
Orm, for her part, was an outward picture of calm.
Smooth, confident, the same easy charm she brought to her Faen Agency dates. Yet under the surface, her heart was hammering like a festival drum, thundering in her chest with every sideways glance at Lingling, every flicker of a smile. She told herself: Breathe. Don’t embarrass yourself. Keep it cool. But every time Lingling laughed, every subtle tilt of her head, Orm felt a sudden, dizzying pull toward her, reckless and sweet.
Lingling, meanwhile, was trying not to analyse every thrum of heat in her chest. She had prided herself on control, on logic, on being unshakable in every room. But now, watching Orm charm a small group of other guests with a joke about a champagne flute wobbling precariously, she felt that control slipping. Her mind scolded her: Remember this is pretend.
Her heart ignored that warning entirely.
A song swelled, and before either of them fully realised, they were being gently guided onto the dance floor. Orm placed a hand lightly on Lingling’s waist, the other holding hers with confident ease. She leaned in slightly, resting her chin near Lingling’s shoulder, and whispered with her trademark teasing lilt, “Try not to step on me. I promise to keep the sparkling floor from killing you.”
Lingling chuckled, but it was softer, uncertain. “Orm…” she started, then stopped. She didn’t know whether she meant to chastise or… feel. Her fingers tangled in Orm’s, and the warmth seeping from her skin was more than just friendly comfort.
Orm’s grin was infuriatingly calm. “See? You’re smiling. Mission accomplished.” Inside, though, her pulse was threatening to explode, every nerve ending singing Lingling’s name, every inch of her wanting to press closer, but knowing they were still in the public eye. She took a slow, deep breath, telling herself over and over: Calm. Keep it together. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Yet every beat of the music, every sway of Lingling in her arms, undid that calm in a delicious, terrifying way.
After a few dances, they moved toward the refreshment table. Orm, still standing just a little too close to Lingling, picked up a canapé, examining it with mock seriousness. “Do you think this is the sort of thing one could politely throw at someone’s brother if they’re being unbearable?” she whispered.
Lingling laughed, head tilting back just enough for her hair to brush Orm’s arm. “Only if it is my brother”
Orm winked. “Good. Because I have a personal vendetta.” Her voice carried that playful cadence that made even the stoniest shareholder grin. She leaned over, handing Lingling a sparkling water, and added, “You’re welcome. Your aura of intimidating CEO power is going to look much better hydrated.”
Lingling couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips, warmth blooming in her chest.
Papa Kwong appeared then, taking the pair aside. “Orm,” he said with a commanding but friendly tone, “I’d like you to meet some of our shareholders.”
Orm’s eyes sparkled, but at the same time, tinged with worry. She straightened her suit jacket, gave a mock bow, and followed him with Lingling in tow. She charmed them effortlessly, mixing humour with wit: a small joke about overstuffed canapé trays here, a clever observation about the lighting there, a quick tease of her own nervousness, all delivered with the perfect amount of polish.
Lingling watched from the side, breath catching repeatedly. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking, She’s dazzling. She’s so… alive. And it wasn’t just the way Orm carried herself. It was the light in her eyes when she laughed, the mischief in her grin, the warmth of her gestures. For the first time in years, Lingling’s chest felt full in a way she couldn’t name.
Mama Kwong, watching from nearby, smiled softly. She had noticed the subtle exchanges, the teasing touches, the hidden gazes, the way Lingling’s shoulders relaxed whenever Orm was near. She leaned closer to Lingling, speaking so quietly that only she could hear:
“Lingling, my dear,” she said, voice gentle but deliberate, “I see it. I see how you look at her. Don’t be afraid to enjoy it, even if this is… pretend. Pretending doesn’t mean lying to yourself.”
Lingling blinked, caught off guard. “Mama…”
“I know it’s complicated,” Mama Kwong said, smiling knowingly. “But love doesn’t always wait for permission. It doesn’t always arrive in a perfect, neat package. Sometimes it’s chaotic, sometimes messy, and sometimes… it is shaped like Orm. She’s exactly what you need.”
Lingling swallowed, the words striking deeper than she expected. She felt a flicker of something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time: hope.
--- --- --- --- ---
Meanwhile, Lingling’s brother kept circling them, trying to interject comments, make sly remarks, or overshadow the pair. But Orm, with a sharp quip here and a playful grin there, effortlessly drew the attention back. Every joke, every clever response, subtly highlighted how natural and genuine she was, in contrast to Dan’s strained attempts at superiority.
Lingling, watching, felt her heart swell. She wanted to smooth Orm’s hair down, tell her she was perfect, laugh with her, and steal her away from the party all at once. Yet she stayed poised, keeping her hands lightly resting on Orm’s arm, trying not to let the depth of her feelings slip through.
Orm, for her part, noticed the way Lingling’s gaze lingered on her, soft and attentive. She felt a flutter of something reckless and sweet in her chest. She wanted to grab Lingling’s hand, pull her close, whisper every thought she’d been trying to keep under control.
But instead, in between the pair’s polite exchanges with business partners, “Did that bastard strand of hair stand up without me knowing again?” Orm asked.
Lingling laughed, loud, warm, and carefree. She let loose more tonight than she had ever been at all the galas she had graced throughout the years. “No, darling, it’s still behaving, like you are.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to put some saliva on it to make it stick.”
--- --- --- --- ---
As the evening rolled on, the pair danced a few more times, ate snacks in quiet corners between formalities, and continued charming guests. Lingling’s mother occasionally appeared with quiet nods, words of encouragement, or playful hints, making Orm relax even more. Each time Lingling caught the subtle exchange, the shared smiles, the warmth in Orm’s eyes, she felt her heart tighten with unspoken affection.
By the time the gala’s more formal speeches began, Dan was clearly flustered. Every time he attempted to interject, Orm’s easy charm and quick wit gently overshadowed him, and Lingling, watching, realised with an almost painful clarity how protective she felt of Orm, how proud she was of her, and how much she wanted this — whatever this was — to be real.
Orm caught Lingling’s eye across the room once more, lips twitching in a teasing half-smile, eyes glinting with mischief. Lingling’s breath hitched, and the world around them blurred for a moment. For all the glamour, the expectation, the glittering pressure of the gala, there was only Orm.
And in that instant, the pretence didn’t matter.
Not to Lingling, and not to Orm.
--- --- --- --- ---
The room had been buzzing with polite conversation when Dan suddenly leaned forward, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Lingling, really… you’re showing up with… her? Do you think people will take you seriously with someone so… unpolished?” His eyes scanned Orm like she was a poorly written footnote in the grand ledger of the Kwong family. “You’re trying to impress us with this charade?”
Orm froze for a fraction of a second, the polite part of her brain warning her to stay calm, to smile and nod, but another part, the part that had spent years faking confidence and standing up for herself in far smaller but equally brutal arenas, flared to life. She straightened, smoothing the lapel of her suit jacket, and fixed Dan with a slow, measured stare.
“Oh, P’Dan,” she said, her voice calm, polite, but carrying an edge that drew the attention of several nearby guests. “You really think I’m unpolished? Funny, because your sister seems to like me just fine. And considering she’s the one inheriting the family business, I’d say her opinion might outweigh yours tonight.”
Dan bristled. “I’m just saying—”
Orm tilted her head, giving a mock thoughtful look. “You’re just saying, yes. Well, that’s cute. But I don’t think your opinion has any bearing here. You might want to check your facts before throwing shade in front of all these people.” She leaned slightly closer, her lips curving into a teasing grin, eyes sparkling with mischief and heat. “And if you doubt us again, I’m perfectly capable of showing you exactly how serious we are, and how mouthy I can be, even in public.”
Lingling, standing beside her, felt her chest tighten. Every muscle in her body was tense, partly from lingering adrenaline, partly from something warmer and sharper igniting inside her. Orm’s words had the effect of a dagger dipped in silk, firm but elegant, biting yet graceful. She’d never seen anyone put P'Dan in his place so effectively, without malice, without losing charm.
Papa Kwong, who had been watching quietly from the side, finally stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the murmurs. “Dan,” he said, firm and controlled, “that’s enough. I will not have my family’s name dragged through petty squabbles tonight. Orm, Lingling, you have my full support. And Dan,” His gaze was sharp, piercing. “Tonight is not your battlefield.”
Dan opened his mouth, flushed with embarrassment and indignation, but closed it again, realising that resistance would only make him appear smaller in front of the assembled guests. Orm gave a small, victorious smirk, squeezing Lingling’s hand gently as she did so.
The room fell into a quiet murmur, the tension lingering in the air. Lingling’s pulse was hammering, her cheeks warm, her mind a whirlwind. Orm’s hand felt impossibly steady in hers, the calm courage in her eyes a stark contrast to the chaos still swirling inside Lingling’s chest. And then, just as Dan muttered under his breath, doubting them again, Orm leaned forward and captured Lingling’s lips in a deliberate, fiery kiss.
It was brief, but charged — a perfect mix of teasing, ownership, and promise. The room froze for a heartbeat, whispers blossoming, but Lingling barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the feel of Orm’s lips, the soft pressure of her hands on her waist, the taste of courage mixed with mischief. When they pulled away, both were breathless, cheeks flushed, and eyes glittering with unspoken declarations.
They would have so much to talk about tonight.
--- --- --- --- ---
By the time they stepped into the limo, the hum of the city lights behind them, Lingling could no longer contain the torrent of emotion coursing through her. She turned toward Orm, her hands framing her face gently, voice barely a whisper:
“I… I’ve never felt like this before.”
Orm’s chest tightened, heart racing like a runaway train, but she managed a teasing, nervous smile. “You mean… having a chaotic university student crash your gala?”
Lingling shook her head, frustrated with how inadequate words felt. “No. This. You. Everything. I can’t… I don’t know what to do with these feelings.”
Orm’s pulse leapt, her body humming with anticipation, but she stayed calm, letting Lingling take the lead, even as her own racing heart threatened to betray her. “Well,” she said lightly, brushing a loose strand of Lingling’s hair behind her ear, “feelings are messy. But I’m… very good at messy.”
Lingling’s lips were only inches from hers. Her fingers curled into the lapels of Orm’s suit jacket almost instinctively, and before either could hesitate, she closed the distance. It was a breath-stealing kiss, slow, deep, and daring, almost tipping into reckless territory. Orm’s arms wrapped around Lingling, pulling her closer, every nerve ending alive with sensation.
The world outside the limo faded to nothing, no gala, no guests, no whispers, only the two of them, suspended in a moment that promised everything, and nothing at all. Lingling’s mind screamed with uncertainty, responsibility, and propriety, but her body, heart, and soul answered with a single, undeniable truth:
She wanted this.
Orm broke the kiss just slightly, forehead resting against Lingling’s. “Welcome to my kind of chaos,” she whispered, a grin teasing her lips.
Lingling laughed softly, breathless, hands still holding Orm close. “I think… I’m going to like it here.”
As the limo glided through the city lights toward the penthouse, both knew this was only the beginning.