Chapter Text
Orm finally checked the time after the last person left the conference room.
Five o'clock.
Thank God.
The board meeting had dragged on for nearly three hours, and by the end of it, she had listened to enough discussions about budgets, expansion plans, and quarterly projections to last her the rest of the week. All she wanted now was to go home, change into something comfortable, and spend the remainder of her evening pretending she wasn't responsible for solving everyone else's problems.
Unfortunately, that plan had died sometime around four o'clock.
Orm hated being summoned.
There was a distinct difference between being invited and being summoned, and her mother had made it abundantly clear which one this was. An invitation implied choice a polite request that could be accepted or declined. A summons, on the other hand, came in the form of a text message sent at four in the afternoon.
Be home by seven. Wear something nice.
That had been followed by a phone call less than a minute later.
"Mae?”
"Did you read my message?"
"Yes."
"Good. Be home by seven."
Before Orm could ask a single question, the line had gone dead.
That was it.
No explanation. No context. No indication of why her presence had suddenly become mandatory. Just enough information to make her suspicious.
Unfortunately, her mother rarely issued instructions without a reason. If she was being deliberately vague, it usually meant a decision had already been made and everyone else was simply expected to catch up.
And whatever that reason was, Orm was fairly certain she wasn't going to like it.
With a quiet sigh, she gathered the documents scattered across the conference table, slipped them into her bag, and headed for the elevator before anyone could stop her with another question, another meeting, or another problem that somehow required her immediate attention. She had spent the entire day being needed by other people. Whatever awaited her at seven o'clock would have to take its turn.
By the time Orm stepped out of the Sethachon building, the evening sun had begun sinking below the Bangkok skyline, bathing the streets in warm gold and amber light.
And there she was.
Leaning casually against the hood of her car as though she hadn't been waiting for nearly twenty minutes.
Ying spotted her almost immediately.
A smile spread across her face, effortless and familiar, before she lifted a hand in greeting.
Orm felt herself smiling back before she could stop it.
"Hey."
"Hey."
The simple greeting should not have affected her as much as it did, yet some of the tension that had followed her out of the conference room loosened almost instantly. By the time she reached Ying, she found herself leaning in to press a quick kiss against her cheek without giving it much thought.
Ying's smile widened.
"Finished saving the company?"
"Barely."
A sympathetic wince crossed Ying's face.
"That bad?"
"You have no idea."
"Should I start preparing a statement for the press?"
Orm let out a laugh.
"Please don't."
"Good," Ying said. "I hate paperwork."
The answer was immediate enough to make Orm laugh again.
Ying watched her for a moment, looking entirely too pleased with herself before reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Come on."
Orm glanced at her suspiciously.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll find out."
"That's concerning."
"It's a café."
"Oh."
A smile tugged at the corner of Orm's mouth.
"Less concerning."
Ying laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and together they started toward the street.
It was a small moment. Nothing particularly significant. No grand gestures, no dramatic declarations, just an ordinary evening after a long day at work. Yet somehow, walking beside Ying with their hands linked together, Orm felt the weight of the day settle a little less heavily on her shoulders.
Ying had always been like that. She never actually solved Orm's problems; she just had an annoying habit of making them feel easier to carry.
The café sat tucked away on a quiet corner several blocks from the city center.
It wasn't particularly trendy or impressive, which was exactly why they liked it. Nobody bothered them there. Nobody cared who they were, who their families were, or what company names appeared beside their surnames. They were simply two customers occupying a corner table near the window, drinking coffee and wasting time.
For an hour, they got to be normal.
Or at least as normal as their lives allowed.
After finding a table, Ying spent all of three seconds studying the menu before standing and announcing, "Come on."
Orm looked up suspiciously. "Where are we going?"
"The counter."
"You already know what you're ordering."
"Correct."
"Then why am I coming?"
Ying offered her an innocent smile. "So you can witness me being right."
"I hate when you say things like that."
The grin that followed suggested Ying had absolutely no intention of stopping.
Without even glancing at the menu again, she ordered two coffees and a slice of chocolate cake.
Orm frowned. "We don't need cake."
"That's not how this works."
"We came here for coffee."
"You can't order coffee without dessert."
"According to who?"
"Me."
"That's not a real rule."
"It is now."
The waitress looked suspiciously close to laughing.
Orm sighed.
"One day I'm going to find a café that doesn't serve dessert."
"You won't."
"I will."
"You'll still order one."
"I won't."
"You absolutely will."
By the time the waitress escaped with their order, both of them already knew how this was going to end.
A few minutes later, their coffees arrived, and Orm found herself halfway through recounting the disaster that had been her afternoon. She dropped her fork onto the plate with an exhausted sigh.
"And then Mr. Charoen spent ten minutes telling me I'd be a perfect match for his grandson."
Ying blinked. "He did what?"
"The grandson thing again."
"Again?"
"Again."
A look of disbelief crossed Ying's face. "How many times has this happened?"
"Too many," Orm said, pointing her fork at her.
"That's not a number."
"I lost count after the fifth board meeting."
Ying stared at her. "You're serious."
"I wish I wasn't."
"What does he even say?"
Orm groaned. "The usual. His grandson is successful, well-educated, comes from a good family, apparently plays golf."
"The horror."
"Exactly."
"And this happened during the meeting?"
"Before the meeting."
Ying nodded slowly. "Okay."
"And after the meeting."
She nearly laughed. "No."
"Yes."
"He really came back for a second attempt?"
"He cornered me outside the conference room."
Ying set down her coffee. "That's commitment."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
A laugh escaped Ying as she shook her head. "So what did you do?"
"What do you think I did?"
"You smiled politely and escaped."
"I smiled politely and escaped."
"Very professional."
"I am the picture of professionalism."
Ying hummed thoughtfully. "Did you at least tell him you're not interested?"
Orm tilted her head. "Would you be jealous if I didn't?"
For a moment, Ying looked genuinely caught off guard.
Then she recovered.
"Depends."
"On?"
"Whether I should be."
Orm laughed. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
A grin tugged at Orm's mouth. "Then no."
Something unreadable flickered across Ying's face, and Orm caught it immediately.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"I'm kidding."
A laugh escaped her as she shook her head. "Of course I'm not interested in marrying some random guy someone picked out for me."
Understanding dawned instantly across Ying's face.
"Ah."
The grin that followed was entirely too pleased.
"Good."
"You enjoy hearing about my suffering far too much."
"No."
"You do."
Leaning back in her chair, Ying shook her head. "I enjoy hearing about you winning."
The response was so immediate and sincere that Orm rolled her eyes before the warmth threatening to surface could betray her.
"That's annoyingly sweet."
"I know."
"And suspicious."
"Also fair."
Despite herself, Orm laughed.
That was another thing about Ying. Somehow, she had the ability to make even the most frustrating parts of Orm's day feel entertaining once they were sitting across from each other. Problems that had seemed enormous a few hours earlier suddenly became stories instead.
When the cake finally arrived, Ying pushed the plate toward her.
Orm narrowed her eyes. "We're still doing this?"
"We are absolutely doing this."
With all the resignation of someone who knew resistance was pointless, Orm took a bite.
A second later, she pushed the plate back across the table.
Ying looked unbearably delighted.
"See?"
"Don't."
"I was right."
"I hate that you were right."
"You love that I was right."
Orm rolled her eyes.
Across from her, Ying looked entirely too pleased with herself.
Some things never changed.
Not the teasing or the endless arguments over things that didn't matter. Not the way Ying automatically shifted closer whenever they sat beside each other, her arm settling comfortably along the back of Orm's chair. Not the way Orm's hand eventually found its familiar place on Ying's knee without either of them consciously deciding it should.
Comfort had always come naturally between them. Like breathing. Like muscle memory. Like something so deeply ingrained neither of them had ever stopped to question it.
Eventually, Ying set down her coffee.
"So."
Orm narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"What time's the family dinner?"
A groan escaped her immediately.
"There it is."
"There it is."
"Seven."
Ying glanced at her watch. "You should probably leave soon."
"I know."
"Do you know what it's about?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Mae sent me a text and followed it with a phone call."
"Be home by seven. Wear something nice."
Then Ying slowly lowered her coffee.
"Oh."
"Oh."
"Exactly."
That earned a laugh.
"Should I be worried?"
"I'm worried."
Ying hummed thoughtfully. "As your personal lawyer, I'd like to advise you to be afraid."
Orm groaned. "I hate that you became a lawyer."
A mischievous glint appeared in Ying's eyes almost instantly.
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
Pointing at her, Ying said, "You said it was hot."
Orm nearly choked on her coffee.
"That was years ago."
"Still counts."
"I was young and impressionable."
"You were twenty one."
"Exactly." Orm gestured emphatically. "A child."
Ying laughed hard enough that a few nearby customers glanced over.
"Sure."
"Stop looking so pleased with yourself."
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'm right."
"God, you're insufferable."
"And yet."
The words settled comfortably between them.
For a moment, neither felt the need to fill the silence. It wasn't awkward. It never was. It was the kind of quiet that only existed between people who knew each other so well that conversation wasn't necessary to feel close.
Then Ying reached across the table and brushed an invisible crumb from Orm's sleeve.
The gesture was absentminded and familiar, affectionate in a way neither of them ever acknowledged out loud.
"You'll survive."
Orm snorted. "Bold assumption."
"I have faith in you."
"That's your first mistake."
Ying smiled.
"And yet."
Orm found herself smiling back before she could stop it.
When Ying pulled into the driveway of the Sethratanapong residence, the sky had gone dark.
The mansion glowed beneath rows of warm lights, illuminating every corner of the property from the manicured gardens to the sweeping front entrance. It looked beautiful.
It also looked suspiciously prepared for something.
Orm disliked what that implied.
Beside her, Ying followed her gaze toward the house and said, "Still time to run."
A laugh escaped Orm before she could stop it. "Tempting."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
Neither of them moved.
They sat there for another moment, staring at the brightly lit mansion at the end of the driveway. The longer Orm looked at it, the stronger the uneasy feeling in her stomach became. Whatever her mother had planned, she doubted it involved a quiet family dinner and an early night.
Eventually, she sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt.
"This feels off."
"It probably is."
Orm shot her a look. "You're not helping."
"I know."
That earned another reluctant laugh.
The moment she stepped out of the car, Ying followed. Orm barely had time to turn around before she found herself pulled into a hug.
The hug was warm, familiar, and safe, the kind that made leaving unexpectedly difficult.
For a second, she allowed herself to sink into it, resting her forehead briefly against Ying's shoulder. The scent of coffee and perfume lingered between them. It was ridiculous, really. She was walking into her parents' house, not marching into battle. Yet standing there in Ying's arms, part of her wished she could get back in the car and spend the rest of the evening exactly where she was.
"You'll be fine," Ying murmured.
Orm huffed a laugh against her shoulder. "I don't believe you."
"I know."
There was something unfairly comforting about the certainty in Ying's voice, even when she was obviously making it up.
Eventually, Orm pulled back just enough to look at her.
"You're very annoying."
A grin tugged at Ying's mouth. "So I've been told."
"By me. Repeatedly."
"Fair."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The sounds of the city felt distant here, softened by the surrounding gardens and the quiet neighborhood. Somewhere behind them, a car passed on the road. Somewhere ahead, warm light spilled from the mansion's windows.
Then Ying reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Orm's ear.
The gesture was so familiar she barely thought about it anymore.
That didn't stop her heart from reacting.
Orm stepped back before she could dwell on it.
"Text me when you get home."
Ying's smile widened. "Yes, Mom."
"Ying."
"I will."
"Good."
"Bossy."
"Lawyer."
Ying laughed. "Fair."
Orm lingered for another second before finally turning toward the house. Behind her, she heard Ying climb back into the driver's seat and start the engine.
Whatever tonight was about, she'd deal with it.
Hopefully quickly.
The last thing she saw before heading inside was Ying lifting a hand through the windshield in one final wave.
Orm returned the wave before turning toward the house.
Warm light spilled from the mansion's towering windows, illuminating the carefully manicured grounds and giving the estate a welcoming appearance that did little to ease Orm's apprehension. Whatever awaited her inside had clearly been planned well in advance, and judging by the secrecy surrounding it, she doubted she was going to enjoy any part of it.
By the time she entered the dining room, both families had already arrived.
The sight of the Kwongs gathered around the table immediately answered one question while raising several others.
Of course it involved the Kwongs.
Chairman Kwong sat across from her father, engaged in conversation that appeared cordial enough on the surface. Their wives occupied nearby seats, while Tan Kwong sat on one side of the table beside an empty chair.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary family dinner, but something about the arrangement felt unusually deliberate.
Her gaze settled briefly on Tan, who offered a small nod of acknowledgment that Orm returned automatically. They weren't friends, exactly. Their interactions over the years had been limited to charity galas, fundraising events, and industry functions where polite conversation was expected. They knew each other's names, exchanged pleasantries when circumstances required it, and little beyond that.
As she moved toward her assigned seat, however, her attention drifted back to the empty chair beside Tan. Perhaps they were waiting for someone. The thought lingered in the back of her mind as she sat down and dinner began.
Unfortunately, the next thirty minutes proved to be an exercise in patience.
The conversation revolved around hospital expansions, pharmaceutical research, projected market growth, and future collaborations. Every topic seemed carefully selected to avoid addressing the obvious reason both families had gathered together in the first place. Orm listened for as long as she could before her frustration began to show, pushing a piece of salmon around her plate while occasionally glancing toward her parents in the hope that someone would finally stop dancing around whatever announcement was clearly coming.
Across the table, Tan appeared equally unimpressed.
At one point, their eyes met.
Tan raised an eyebrow.
Orm rolled hers.
The younger woman nearly laughed into her wine glass.
At least someone else seemed to recognize how ridiculous this entire situation was.
Unfortunately, their fathers continued discussing business with the determination of men who appeared fully committed to stretching the suspense for as long as humanly possible. By the time dessert arrived, Orm was seriously considering interrupting them herself.
Then the dining room doors opened.
The shift in the room was immediate enough that it caught her attention before she consciously registered it. Conversations halted. They all turned toward the entrance at once, and instinctively, Orm followed their gaze.
A woman stepped inside.
She wore black scrubs beneath a dark jacket draped casually over one arm. Her hair was slightly disheveled, not in a careless way but in the way someone looked after spending an entire day moving from one crisis to another. There was an unmistakable exhaustion about her, though it was softened by an easy confidence that suggested she was accustomed to operating under pressure.
What caught Orm's attention most, however, was the faint smear of dried blood near the hem of one pant leg.
The woman noticed the room's collective attention. Rather than appearing embarrassed, she smiled a warm, slightly sheepish smile as she lifted a hand in greeting before offering a respectful wai and a small bow.
"I'm sorry," she said. "There was an emergency while I was on my way here."
The explanation seemed to satisfy everyone instantly. Several people visibly relaxed, suggesting this was far from the first time Lingling had arrived late because of a medical emergency.
The woman glanced around the table before adding, "I didn't have time to go home and change."
Tan snorted into her wine glass.
"You're thirty minutes late."
The woman blinked at her.
"Only thirty?"
She glanced briefly at the clock mounted on the far wall before looking back at her sister. "That's actually better than I expected."
Laughter rippled around the table. Even Orm's father smiled, while Chairman Kwong pinched the bridge of his nose with the weary resignation of a man who had clearly lived through this exact conversation more times than he cared to count.
"Lingling."
The woman turned toward him.
"Sorry, Phor."
The apology carried considerably more affection than remorse.
The casual exchange made Orm pause.
Phor?
The word lodged itself somewhere in the back of her mind as she stared at the woman. Before she could fully process the implication, Lingling crossed the room toward the empty chair beside Tan. Without missing a beat, Tan nudged the chair outward with her foot, the movement so effortless and familiar that it spoke of years of habit rather than conscious thought.
Lingling dropped into the seat.
Tan gestured toward the bread basket.
Lingling reached for a roll without hesitation.
The interaction lasted only a few seconds, yet there was something remarkably natural about it. The kind of ease that only existed between people who knew each other exceptionally well.
Orm found herself staring.
Who exactly was this woman?
As far as she knew, the Kwongs only had one daughter. At least publicly.
The question barely had time to settle before Chairman Kwong cleared his throat.
Conversation gradually faded. Glasses were set down. Attention shifted toward the head of the table, where both family patriarchs suddenly looked far too pleased with themselves. A familiar sense of dread crept up Orm's spine. Finally, whatever this dinner was actually about was apparently no longer being treated as classified information.
"Now that everyone is here," Chairman Kwong began, his voice carrying easily across the room.
Beside him, her father nodded in agreement.
Orm straightened slightly in her chair as the formalities began exactly as expected.
Chairman Kwong spoke about the longstanding relationship between their families, shared values, mutual trust, and decades of successful cooperation. It sounded remarkably similar to every corporate speech Orm had ever been forced to sit through, filled with references to legacy, partnership, future opportunities, and enough diplomatic language to make her wonder whether she had accidentally wandered into a board meeting instead of a family dinner.
She listened politely.
Or at least she tried to.
Her patience began thinning somewhere around the third mention of strategic growth.
Then Chairman Kwong said, "With that in mind, we've reached an agreement regarding the future of both organizations."
A chill slid down her spine.
The word agreement immediately set off alarms in her head, sharp and insistent enough to make her attention snap toward her parents. Neither of them appeared surprised by the announcement. If anything, they looked entirely prepared for whatever was about to follow, as though they had known exactly how this evening would unfold from the very beginning. The realization only deepened the unease settling in her stomach and left her with the uncomfortable suspicion that she was the last person at the table to understand what was happening.
Then Chairman Kwong continued.
"I would also like to formally introduce my eldest daughter, Lingling Kwong."
Orm froze.
A terrible feeling settled in Orm's stomach. Eldest daughter. Not daughter—eldest daughter. The distinction landed with alarming clarity. Her eyes snapped toward Tan before shifting back to the woman seated beside her.
Then back to Tan again.
The younger woman suddenly seemed very interested in her water glass. The corner of her mouth twitched suspiciously, as though she were engaged in a fierce internal battle not to laugh.
A terrible feeling began settling in Orm's stomach.
The distinction landed with alarming clarity.
As far as the public knew, Tan was the Kwongs' daughter. Which meant if Lingling was the eldest, then she wasn't some distant relative or family friend unexpectedly joining dinner.
She was—
No.
Absolutely not.
Surely that wasn't where this was heading.
"And announce her engagement to Orm Sethratanapong."
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
The room remained perfectly intact around her. Crystal glasses reflected the warm glow of the chandelier overhead. Cutlery rested neatly beside untouched dessert plates. Somewhere in the distance, a glass touched the table with a soft clink.
Yet everything felt strangely far away.
A dozen thoughts collided at once, none coherent enough to hold onto. Her pulse thundered against her throat as she stared across the table, trying and failing to reconcile the announcement with reality. It felt impossible. Ridiculous. Like some elaborate misunderstanding that someone would surely correct if she waited long enough.
No one corrected it.
Across from her, Lingling finally lifted her gaze.
Their eyes met properly for the first time.
The woman's expression remained remarkably calm, almost impossibly so considering the magnitude of what had just been announced. If anything, there was only a quiet steadiness about her, a composed acceptance that somehow made the entire situation feel even more surreal.
Then Lingling smiled.
It wasn't triumphant or particularly enthusiastic. If anything, it seemed carefully polite, softened by something that looked suspiciously close to sympathy.
"Nice to finally meet you."
The absurdity of the statement nearly made Orm laugh.
Of all the things a person could say after being introduced to the woman she had apparently just become engaged to, that was what Lingling chose.
Nice to finally meet you.
As though they had been introduced at a networking event instead of blindsided into an arranged marriage in front of both their families.
And somehow, that simple sentence made the entire situation infinitely worse.
Before Orm could decide whether she was hallucinating, suffering from a stress-induced breakdown, or simply hearing things incorrectly, her father spoke.
"Before either of you panic," Mr. Sethratanapong said calmly, looking between them, "let me clarify a few things."
Unfortunately, that only made Orm panic more.
Across the table, Lingling remained remarkably composed, as though being unexpectedly informed of an engagement during dinner ranked somewhere between a mildly inconvenient meeting and an unpleasant traffic jam. Orm, meanwhile, was beginning to suspect she was having an out-of-body experience.
"No one is expecting a grand romance," her father continued.
The statement was apparently meant to reassure her. It did the exact opposite.
"We're not asking you to become inseparable overnight. Nor are we expecting miracles."
A faint snort came from beside Lingling.
Orm didn't need to look to know who it was.
Tan wasn't even trying to hide her amusement anymore.
Her father folded his hands on the table and continued, "What we do expect is professionalism."
Orm almost laughed.
Of course.
Leave it to her father to reduce an arranged engagement to the same principles he used to manage board meetings.
Professionalism. Respect.
As though the situation could somehow be solved with proper etiquette and a well-structured calendar.
"Attend events together. Support one another publicly. Fulfill your responsibilities to your families and your companies." His gaze settled directly on Orm. "And try not to kill each other."
Orm stared at him.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
"She said five words to me."
Her father looked unimpressed.
"Excellent."
"'Nice to finally meet you' isn't exactly a foundation for a successful marriage."
"Then it's a good thing we're not asking for a romance."
This time Tan definitely made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone choking back laughter.
Orm ignored her. Acknowledging Tan would require acknowledging that this conversation was actually happening, and despite hearing every word, some stubborn part of her mind continued rejecting the entire premise.
It was still an engagement. Her engagement. To a woman she'd met less than ten minutes ago.
No amount of calm explanations was making that sentence sound any more reasonable.
"This arrangement will be reviewed after two years," her father continued, and the room quieted slightly. "If, after that time, the two of you genuinely believe the marriage is not working, we'll discuss dissolving it."
Two years.
Orm could only look at him.
The number seemed to hang in the air as though it were supposed to make everything better. As though two years was somehow a reasonable amount of time. As though placing an expiration date on the arrangement transformed it into something manageable.
It didn't.
Less than an hour ago, she had been sitting in a café across from Ying.
Less than an hour ago, they had been arguing about dessert, teasing each other over coffee, and talking about her mother's suspiciously vague dinner invitation.
Ying had driven her here.
Ying had hugged her in the driveway.
Ying had tucked her hair behind her ear and promised to text when she got home.
The memories arrived one after another, sharp enough to make her chest tighten.
Two years. Her father said it so casually, like it was a deadline on a contract rather than a piece of someone's life. Like it wasn't asking her to stand here and rearrange everything she'd thought her future might look like.
"Until then," he said, "all we're asking is that you give it a fair chance."
A fair chance.
The phrase echoed in her head.
Orm wasn't entirely sure she could survive the next ten minutes, let alone give anything a fair chance.
Across the table, Lingling remained calm, listening with the same steady composure she had maintained since walking into the room. There was no visible frustration, no argument, no disbelief. If she was panicking, she hid it exceptionally well.
Orm suddenly found herself resenting that. Someone should have been questioning this. Someone should have been demanding explanations. Instead, Lingling remained perfectly composed, and Orm was left with the uncomfortable feeling that she was handling the panic for both of them.