Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Swirling the scotch in her hand, Freen watched the bustling world from her vast window. She took a sip and wondered if there was a world beyond her own. At 35, she had it all - power, beauty, and control. Men and women alike fell at her feet, enchanted by her presence. Yet, despite her success, she felt an emptiness within her. There was a nagging void she could not comprehend. What could be missing in her seemingly perfect life? Was it the monotony of everything?

The sharp ring of the phone jolted her from her reverie.

“Miss Freen, your mom is on line one. Do you want me to connect her?” Her assistant, Peggy, asked, her voice carrying a hint of warmth from the other end of the line.

 With a slight sigh, Freen set her glass down, the soft clink breaking the silence in her office. “Yeah, go ahead and put her through.” 

“Hi, Mom. Yes, I had dinner… How’s everything?” 

“Everything is fine. Dad is busy with his garden. We miss you, dear. You know you can always come home, and I can make that Som Tam you've always craved.” 

A sharp pang of longing tugged at Freen's heart, tightening around her like a warm embrace. She yearned to see her parents more often, to inhale the sweet scent of home, but the relentless demands of business—a whirlwind of meetings, negotiations, and the constant buzz of her phone—held her captive. They beamed with pride over her journey as a self-made woman, yet they had expertly turned down her offer to live in the bustling city, finding their bliss in the calmness of the countryside. Freen respected their wishes, but as she listened to her mother’s familiar voice, she resolved to carve out time in her next month's schedule. The thought of spending cherished moments with them, sharing laughter, stories, and dishes filled with love, warmed her heart and rekindled her spirit. 

"I miss you too, Mom. I promise I’ll come to visit soon. But for now, I have to go. Please give Dad a kiss for me," Freen said, her voice laced with affection as she ended the call. 

"Take care, okay?" her mother replied, a hint of concern in her voice. 

Freen let out a deep sigh, lingering over the conversation. After finishing her scotch, she pressed the "0" button on the receiver, her mind shifting to what lay ahead. 

"Peggy, I'm heading out. Could you please reschedule my appointment for tomorrow at 9 AM?  Make sure everything is perfect for the presentation," she instructed with a hint of urgency. 

With her keys in hand, she walked to the private elevator leading to her sleek red Porsche. Maybe I’ve been working too hard, she thought. Time to take a break. She opened her contacts and selected "Playthings," ready for a much-needed escape.

******

Freen was greeted by a captivating, tall woman at the reception desk of the upscale establishment. The woman’s warm smile radiated hospitality as she handed over a key card.

“Welcome back, Miss Freen. Your usual booking is all set. We hope you enjoy our services,” she said, her tone both professional and inviting.

Freen nodded appreciatively, her mind buzzing with anticipation, as she stepped into the sleek elevator that whisked her up to her room. She repeated a mantra in her head: I need this . The thought propelled her forward, ensuring her resolve remained steadfast.

Arriving at her room, she fished out the key card, her heart racing slightly, and slid it into the lock. As the door clicked open, Freen was greeted by an enticing sight. A woman awaited her inside, exuding a sultry allure in a delicate black lace bra and thong suspenders that highlighted her curves.

With a spark of excitement igniting within her, Freen removed her blazer, feeling a rush of freedom as she perched herself on the edge of the bed. Her eyes roamed eagerly over the woman before her, filled with a mix of desire and hunger.

“Come here and do what you’re paid to do. Kneel,” Freen commanded, her voice steady yet charged with desire.

Without hesitation, the woman gracefully knelt before her, the soft fabric of her attire contrasting with the plush carpet beneath. Freen felt a rush of exhilaration as the woman reached for her, deftly unzipping Freen’s trousers, the promise of pleasure palpable in every motion.

As the garment fell away, Freen's smooth legs were revealed, showcasing their smooth and flawless skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, mesmerized by the beauty before her. With deliberate precision, she began to remove her delicate black underwear, each movement intentional and calculated to the rhythm of desire. Gradually, she traced her lips along Freen's knee, savoring the journey up to her inner thigh. Each kiss was soft and reverent, as though she was worshipping a goddess, cherishing the warmth and sweetness of Freen's skin against her mouth. Freen's breath hitched as she felt the intoxicating warmth of breath teasing her core. 

Moans resonated in the room as the woman completely captured Freen’s wetness in her mouth. Her tongue expertly flickered and curled at Freen’s most sensitive spot. Nibbing and lapping slowly what was before her. At this point, It was evident that Freen’s clit was throbbing and swollen in dire need of release. 

With a decisive motion, Freen grasped the woman’s head firmly, pulling her closer and compelling her to quicken her pace. She thrust her hip and ground against the woman’s mouth.

“Aaahh Fuck!... go faster,” Freen urged, her breaths quick and sharp as the pressure within her surged, igniting a thrilling sense of urgency. 

She was nearing a point of release. A much-needed one.

******

2 years ago...

Freen had never envisioned herself seeking out such services. She could have any woman or man she desired; however, none of them managed to fill the gaping void within her. After a series of tumultuous relationships that left her heart questioning, she came to a bittersweet realization: perhaps she was meant to be alone. In her search for connection, she turned to “Playthings”, a service that offered fleeting moments of intimacy and satisfaction. Each rendezvous momentarily soothed her cravings and ignited a semblance of passion, but with every parting, she was left in an even deeper state of emptiness, as if the very essence of connection continued to elude her grasp. 

Playthings became her refuge from stress and a gateway to escape reality. It was cleverly disguised as an exclusive, ultra-chic health club named Vital, where the ambiance buzzed with sophistication and luxury. However, only a select few elite members were granted access to their coveted “special benefits,” and right now, Freen was reveling in those privileges, savoring every moment of indulgence that the club offered.

******

She shuddered from the overwhelming sensation that coursed through her. The woman paused her ministrations, giving Freen a moment to recover. 

Afterwards, she stood up, stepped back, and sat on the lounging chair beside the bed.

“Miss Freen, would you like to see me touch myself?” the woman asked Freen, her voice laced with a lustful desire. She was tracing the linings of her thong sensually with her fingers. 

“No, I think I had my fill. This concludes our business transaction,” Freen replied with a cool, business-like demeanor that held no trace of warmth.

“Are you certain? I can make an exception for you—think of this as a little bonus,” the woman urged, her voice provocative and inviting.

Freen sensed where this was headed. This was business, and it needed to stay that way. She was acutely aware that these attempts would likely fail. Leading her on would complicate matters. She always upholds her no-strings-attached policy.

“Arrangements have already been made, and the payment has been wired to your account,” Freen said without hesitation, making her point clear. She straightened her clothes and put on her blazer. Just as she was about to leave, she heard the woman ask, “When will I see you again?”

“I’ll be in contact with the receptionist if I need you,” Freen replied, locking the door behind her as she left. 

******

As she approached her car, ready to drive home, her phone rang. Looking at the home screen brought a smile to her face—it was one of her closest friends, Daisy. 

“Hey, how are you? I miss you, girl! And Tod misses you too. When are you going to come and see us? By the way, where are you?” 

Freen let out a sigh and replied, “I’m just coming from a business transaction. How’s everything? How’s my little monster doing?”

Freen smiled as she spoke. 

“Well, he always asks for Aunt Freen. He wants to know when Aunt Freen is coming back. Can we call Aunt Freen? Sometimes I wonder who the actual mother of this kid is!” Daisy said with a hearty laugh.

That brought warmth to Freen's heart. She had always been fond of Daisy's son, Tod, showering him with gifts and affection as if she were his real aunt. With them, she found comfort and was able to be herself.

Freen thought it would be a good idea to visit her friend and her son, since it had been a while since they last bonded. "Okay, I’ll be there in 20 minutes," she replied.

As Freen pulled into the driveway of the stylish condo, a chubby, adorable boy waved at her enthusiastically, a big smile spreading across his face. "Aunt Freen! Aunt Freen!" he called out. His mother stood next to him, also smiling and encouraging Freen to come over.

As soon as she opened her car door, she was greeted by the boy running towards her with excitement. He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. "I missed you so much, Aunt Freen!" he exclaimed.

Dinner went well, filled with laughter and smiles. Freen kept glancing at the boy and occasionally fed him. Tod was adorable as he recounted his day at school, proudly showing Aunt Freen the stars he earned for being a good boy. Freen indulged him in play until the exhausted boy finally fell asleep in her lap. 

“Let me take him up to his bedroom,” Daisy said, preparing to pick him up. However, Freen insisted, “You might wake him up. Let him sleep for a bit.”

"You know, being a mom really looks good on you. You're fantastic with kids, especially Tod. I can't get that kid to brush his teeth, but with you, he actually complies," teased Daisy. Freen smiled as she caressed the boy's hair. 

"You should make your own kid now. I bet all those guys drooling over you would happily volunteer," Daisy continued her playful banter. 

"It's not that simple. You know I don't want any complications. After all the failed relationships I've had, I don’t want a child to end up as a casualty in that, and besides, I don’t have the time," Freen sighed. 

"Freen, this is modern times. Who says you need a guy to make it happen? You could consider other options, like surrogacy."

******

The drive home was filled with never-ending thoughts but one in particular kept playing in her mind : The prospect of having a child via surrogacy. Will a child fill this void? It intrigued her. 

Chapter Text

Becky was basking in the morning sun seeping through their veranda. The warmth embraced her, its gentle rays kissing her damp skin, which glistened like dewdrops under its glow. Her face, framed by loose tendrils of her hair, radiated a joy that outshone even the brilliance of the sunlight. With her chores done, a refreshing sense of accomplishment coursed through her. She breathed deeply, savoring the stillness before the day's tasks, her mind already bubbling with excitement for what lay ahead.

“This is going to be a great day,” she muttered, full of enthusiam in her voice. 

She had been eagerly anticipating this day—her interview at Vital, the renowned health club. The moment she saw their ad seeking a new physiotherapist, her excitement had sparked. She had often pictured herself walking the polished halls of the prestigious club, assisting its elite clientele. It felt like the opportunity of a lifetime, one that promised success and a good payday. The competition would undoubtedly be tough, but she believed her skills gave her an edge.

At 27, Becky had worked long hours in MedPark, one of Bangkok’s top hospitals. While the pay was good, she felt confined, knowing the environment wouldn't support her growth. She craved change—a fresh start. So, when Vital’s advertisement caught her eye, it felt like a perfect fit. The promise of better pay and a broader range of opportunities immediately drew her in, aligning with the future she envisioned for herself.

After showering, she stood before her wardrobe, thoughtfully selecting an outfit for the interview. Just as she smoothed the fabric of her blouse, she heard her father, Robert, calling out to her from their cozy breakfast nook.

“Dear, are you sure you don’t want to eat first before heading out? I made pancakes and there’s fresh fruits here too. Mom went to the market and she’ll be back soon,” his voice full of tenderness.

“No thanks Dad. I have to be there early. I want to make a good impression. Wish me luck!” Becky replied

*******

Becky couldn't help but marvel as she stepped into the establishment. It exudes sophistication, with its sleek, modern design and luxurious ambiance. The reception area showcased stylish furniture, each piece blending seamlessly into the chic décor. To the side was a smaller reception desk, where a woman warmly guided her. Her mind uttered “Wow” several times.

“Miss Armstrong, please have a seat for a moment. Would you like some tea or coffee while you wait?” the woman offered graciously.

“I'm fine, thank you,” Becky replied politely, settling into the plush chair. 

Becky was enjoying the soft comfort of the chair when the receptionist’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Miss Armstrong, she’s ready to see you now,” the woman announced, guiding Becky down a sleek hallway that ended at a sliding black door. The receptionist knocked respectfully and stepped aside.

“Miss Armstrong is here, Madam,” she said.

“Great! Send her in!” came the response.

Becky stepped through the door to be greeted by an elegant woman in her sixties. Her silvery-white hair framed a face that still held traces of youthful beauty, and her tailored suit conveyed power and authority. She carried herself with timeless grace.

“Hello, Rebecca! I believe we spoke on the phone the other day?” the woman said warmly, extending her hand.

Becky shook it with a polite smile. “Yes, Miss Johnson, we did.”

“As you know, I’m the head of recruitment for Vital, and I’ll be conducting your final interview. Shall we get started? Please, have a seat,” Miss Johnson’s voice rang with confidence as she gestured to the chair opposite her.

Although Becky felt a flicker of intimidation, she masked it with a warm smile and sat down.

Sensing Becky’s nervousness, Miss Johnson softened her tone. “Before we begin, would you like water, tea, or perhaps scotch?” she asked, her lips curling into a playful smile.

Becky chuckled softly and replied, “Thank you, but no, Ma’am,” politely declining.

“Alright then,” Miss Johnson said, her expression shifting to focus. “I’ve read your profile, and I must say, I’m impressed. Everything here is exceptional. Now, tell me—what can you bring to VItal that others can’t?”

"I have a solid background in physiotherapy and extensive experience with diverse clients. I pride myself on being a people person and building strong connections. Joining Vital excites me because of its commitment to personalized, high-quality service. I’m confident my skills and dedication align perfectly with the excellence Vital represents," Becky said confidently

Miss Johnson was pleased with Becky’s response. She smiled and looked at her intently.

"Very well, Miss Armstrong. How do you feel starting next Monday? My secretary will provide the details of your employment and the contract. Feel free to review it. For now, let me be the first to congratulate you and officially welcome you to Vital!" The woman extended her hand, and Becky shook it firmly, her excitement barely contained.

Becky couldn’t believe it! Of course, she didn’t doubt her abilities, but this is awesome! She felt a surge of pride in her body. She can’t wait to tell her family all about it.

*******

After 6 months

Becky was thriving at Vital, fully immersed in her work and loving every moment. The health club had opened her eyes to new perspectives and pushed her to embrace a range of exciting opportunities. Aside from being one of the most sought-after physiotherapists, she had also become a popular kickboxing instructor—a skill she has her father to thank for. Her classes quickly became a hit, drawing in eager clients and filling up her schedule. Despite being busy, Becky didn’t mind. She was energized by the dynamic pace and found joy in her role.

Her friends at Vital often teased her about some of her clients.

“I don’t think they’re here for the lessons,” Nam joked, smirking.

“Exactly! They’re just lining up to get their butts kicked by you, Beck,” Grace chimed in, laughing.

“Stop it, you two! We’re professionals here,” Becky responded with mock seriousness. Though she knew some of the elite clientele were trying to charm her, she stayed professional and kept her interactions strictly work-related.

“Oh, come on, Beck! You can’t tell me you don’t fancy any of them?” Nam retorted playfully, nudging her as Becky rolled her eyes with a grin.

“Hmmm… let’s see…” Becky said, pretending to think, her index finger tapping her temple dramatically. A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Oh, I know! How about Mr. Panpruet? He’s hot!” she declared, barely able to stifle her laughter.

“What?! That guy’s older than my grandfather!” Nam exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock horror. Then, with a sly smirk, she added, “Not a bad idea, though. Just make sure he signs something making you a beneficiary first.”

That was all it took to send the trio into a fit of laughter, their giggles echoing through the room as they teased each other playfully.

Their playful banter was broken up when the receiver rang. Becky picked up and answered the call.

“A one-on-one session with Miss Chankimha? Wow, Beck, that’s something! That woman is smoking hot! Have you seen her latest cover at Business Today? I’m not into women, but for her, I might make an exception,” Nam said, her voice a mix of admiration and playful teasing.

Becky had heard of Miss Sarocha Chankimha—a name that carried an air of exclusivity. She was an elite super VIP client at Vital, someone shrouded in mystery. In her six months at the club, Becky had neither seen nor crossed paths with her. Her friends mentioned that Miss Chankimha only visited during “special hours,” a concept Becky still didn’t fully grasp. She was known to book private sessions exclusively with the most experienced instructors, all of whom had to sign NDAs.

Becky couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman commanded such secrecy and exclusivity. Her curiosity was piqued, and a flicker of excitement stirred within her. This Thursday, she would finally meet Miss Chankimha for a one-on-one session. Like the others, Becky had signed an NDA, and though she felt a twinge of intimidation, she also recognized the opportunity. Handling a super elite VIP client wasn’t just a job—it was an opportunity that could elevate her profile. The thought sparked a certain curiosity and excitement within her.

*******

Thursday arrived, and Becky meticulously went over her checklist. Fresh wraps and gloves—checked. Dumbbells and kettlebells—ready. Focus mitts and extra mitts—accounted for. Everything for the session was perfectly prepared. This was no ordinary client; this was an elite VIP, and Becky wanted everything to be flawless. As she mentally rehearsed the routines, the gym door opened, and in walked a petite yet strikingly tall woman.

Becky felt her breath catch. She was stunning. Her long hair cascaded gracefully over her slim shoulders, and her deep brown eyes locked onto Becky’s with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. She wore a simple black tank top and matching sweatpants, yet somehow, she exuded elegance. Becky had never imagined anyone could make such casual attire look so refined, but this woman did. She was captivating in a way Becky couldn’t quite put into words. Gorgeous, was the only word that her mind uttered

Her thoughts were interrupted as the woman spoke, her voice smooth and confident. “I believe you’re Miss Armstrong. I’m here for the one-on-one kickboxing session. It’s been a while since I boxed, so go easy on me,” she quipped, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Her smile was even more beautiful.

Becky then steadied herself, returning Freen’s smile with one of her own. “Shall we start with some stretching?” she suggested warmly.

Freen nodded and positioned herself to follow Becky’s lead. Becky began with smooth, circular movements of her shoulders, demonstrating each motion with ease. Freen mirrored her actions, her movements fluid yet deliberate. Becky transitioned to gentle neck stretches, tilting her head side to side, then forward and back, encouraging relaxation in each muscle. She continued with arm stretches, extending her arms wide before bringing them across her chest, and finished with slow wrist rotations, her hands clasped together. Freen followed attentively, her form graceful, and Becky felt a quiet sense of focus settle over the session.

When it was time for leg stretches, Becky unrolled the mat and gestured for Freen to step onto it.

“We’ll do supine stretches to make sure you don’t get injured, Miss Chankimha,” Becky said, her tone with a hint of professionalism and genuine care.

“You’re the expert, so okay. What do I do?” Freen asked, her curiosity evident.

“Just lie down and relax. I’ll handle the stretches for you,” Becky replied with a reassuring smile.

Freen settled onto the mat, her body relaxed as Becky gently took hold of her right leg. With steady precision, Becky pushed the leg forward, guiding it into the stretch. The position felt close, almost intimate, but Becky kept her focus sharp, determined not to let her wandering thoughts distract her. A soft, relieved sound escaped Freen’s lips—a subtle signal that the tension in her muscles was easing. Becky felt a quiet sense of accomplishment as she continued the stretch, ensuring Freen’s comfort and safety. She then proceeded to do the other leg.

Becky caught herself staring at the silhouette of her leg outlined by the soft fabric of sweatpants. Her mind betrayed her with a whisper, There must be something strong and graceful hidden beneath. She gasped inwardly, shaking her head. What am I doing? Stop it, Rebecca!

Freen let out a soft, contented sigh. "Mmmm... That feels amazing," she murmured, her voice laced with relief. She shifted slightly, her muscles craving more. "Could you press a bit harder? I’d love to feel the stretch deepen," she asked softly.

Becky had done this countless times with her clients, but there was something about Freen that truly affected her. When she looked up, she noticed the satisfaction glowing on Freen's face. Freen had her eyes closed, completely immersed in the stretch. Becky couldn't help but study her features closely. Her eyes, her nose, and she lingered a bit longer on her lips, which looked soft and supple. "Wow," she softly muttered to herself. Her thoughts were interrupted when Freen opened her eyes and caught her staring. A warm flush crept up Becky’s cheeks. Shit! She saw me! 

“Are you okay, Miss Armstrong?” Freen said, her voice with a hint of concern.

Becky blinked, startled. "Huh? Oh... yes, Miss Chankimha," she stammered, struggling to regain her composure. She cleared her throat and continued, "I think we've stretched you enough. Shall we move on to sparring? After that, we can do some circuit training and a bit of weight training. Does that work for you?"

Freen's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Sure! Let's do it! And by the way, just call me Freen," she replied brightly.

Becky nodded and got to work, preparing the wraps and gloves. She carefully wrapped Freen's hands, ensuring the fit was snug and secure, before sliding on the gloves. Picking up the focus mitts, Becky positioned herself in front of Freen.

"Alright then, Freen. Let’s start with your jabs and hooks," Becky said, holding up the mitts, ready for action.

*******

A week after  

Becky was swamped, her desk cluttered with paperwork demanding her attention. Balancing her roles as a physiotherapist and kickboxing instructor, she also took on administrative tasks, tracking client progress and devising strategies to enhance their performance. It was exhausting yet fulfilling—a chaotic rhythm she had grown accustomed to.

But amidst the whirlwind of responsibilities, her thoughts wandered. She recalled the way Freen's legs struck the mitts—strong, precise, and commanding. Her gaze lingered on the memory of sweat glistening on Freen's face and shoulders, accentuating her beauty rather than diminishing it. And those eyes—piercing, intense, and captivating. Becky couldn't help but wonder if that intensity carried over into other moments. God, am I obsessing over her? she thought, shaking herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone entering her office.

"Hey Becky! We haven’t had the chance to talk. How was the session with Miss Chankimha?" Nam asked, her curiosity evident.

Becky scoffed lightly, brushing off the question. "You know I can’t talk about that."

Nam rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, yeah, yeah... the confidentiality thing. But come on, girl, just spill a little!"

Becky hesitated, weighing her words carefully. Finally, she replied with a faint smile, "It was... interesting."

Chapter Text

Gestational surrogacy, also known as IVF surrogacy or host surrogacy, is the process where a person carries a pregnancy for someone else — the “intended parents.”

During this process, the gestational surrogate becomes pregnant through in vitro fertilization (IVF), where a fertilized embryo is transferred into the surrogate’s uterus. Unlike traditional surrogacy, though, the gestational surrogate is not the egg donor.

********

Freen's eyes stayed glued to the glowing screen, the medical article casting a faint light across her face. Her desk was a chaotic spread of brochures and notes, evidence of weeks—no, months—of relentless research. She had tried to push the idea away, bury it beneath logic and routine, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent. Was it her biological clock ticking, or was it the yearning for something, someone, to fill the quiet void she couldn’t ignore? The question gnawed at her: how bad did she want this?

Her thoughts were jolted when someone barged into her office—a tall, handsome man dressed in a finely tailored suit, Italian leather shoes, and impeccably groomed hair. He exuded class and charm. He was a dreamboat!

“Freen, darling, I am famished! ” he declared, dramatically loosening his tie as he sank into the chair. “That Bangkok Broadcast Corporation deal you had me present sucked the very life out of me.” He exhaled as if he'd just returned from battle, then flashed a slow, knowing grin.

“I was hoping for a different BBC,” he added, his voice dropping just enough to make the implication unmistakable. His chuckle was rich with mischief, eyes glinting with amusement as he watched Freen’s reaction.

Freen scoffed, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh, I had that recorded and sent straight to your boyfriend,” she quipped, her tone dripping with playful mischief. Leaning back in her chair, she stuck out her tongue, the perfect punctuation to her teasing remark. “He’s typing a message as we speak,” she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No, you did not! You little witch—you owe me big time!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock outrage and playful charm. He stood up and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Seriously though, can we eat now? What on earth are you so engrossed in? You know browsing porn during office hours does not look good on the CEO,” he teased, his tone dripping with mischief as he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her reaction.

He was about to let it go when something caught his eye—a medical brochure on surrogacy.

He picked it up and skimmed through the pages. "Darling, what is this? Is your biological clock calling you now? I didn’t know you wanted kids," he said, his voice laced with curiosity.

"I don’t know, Poom. I never really thought about whether I wanted one. But there’s this nagging feeling that never goes away. What if this is what I need? You know what happened in my past relationships, right? I felt nothing with them. Tell me—am I going crazy? Is this a bad idea?" Freen exhaled.

Poom, her longtime friend, had always been one of her anchors. Aside from Daisy, he had been with her through all her ups and downs. They met during their university days and immediately hit it off. At first, they thought they shared a romantic connection, only to realize that Poom was into men. Now, he was happy with his boyfriend of seven years, and they had plans for marriage. Poom had been there for Freen not just as a friend but as one of her most trusted executives.

"You know this is a major, life-changing decision, right?" Poom said, his voice tinged with concern. "I support you, but this involves another human being. Can you handle that? Darling, this isn’t just a fleeting thought or a craving you need to satisfy. You’ll be raising this child. And what about the process? How are you planning to go through with it? Have you thought about the donor? The surrogate mother?"

"I understand, Poom, and I’m committed to doing this," Freen replied, steady yet thoughtful. "I’ve consulted several top-tier clinics and doctors. I know I’m not high-risk at thirty-five, but I don’t want to take any chances, that’s why I am taking the gestational surrogacy route. I haven’t found a surrogate mother yet…"

She hesitated for a breath before kneeling in front of him. Poom blinked in surprise as she looked up, her eyes filled with tenderness.

"Will you do me the honor of being my donor?" she asked softly. "I wouldn’t want anyone else but you."

Poom was speechless. Tears pooled in his eyes, his chest tightening with emotion. He was overwhelmed—touched beyond words that Freen saw him as the perfect donor, as someone worthy of being part of something so special.

“Oh my God! Yes, darling! I’ll be your willing donor. If this makes you happy, I’ll do it—no question,” he said, his voice thick with joy.

A grin broke through his tears as he added, “This kid is going to be the most beautiful child—and stylish too, obviously.” He winked before sighing dramatically. “Now, can we please go to lunch? Our reservation is waiting, and I refuse to starve just because you decided to get all dramatic on me.”

********

Over lunch, the duo delved into the week's business deals, schedules, refining contracts and mapping out future corporate strategies. Between bites, Poom’s mind drifted, a thought sparking in his eyes.

“Hey, how was the kickboxing session I booked for you?” he asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“She’s new at Vital, but I was told she’s the best—clients request her all the time,” Poom remarked. “Figured you could use a little de-stressing.”

The memory of that session played vividly in Freen’s mind. The moment she stepped into the gym, her breath hitched. She hadn’t expected the instructor to look that good. Scratch that, she was hot! That ribbed, fitted tank top hugged her frame perfectly, accentuating toned arms, a strong back, and flat abs that didn’t just speak of discipline but demanded admiration.

Freen had planned to keep things casual, but the way she stretched—the warmth that suddenly coursed through her—felt new, unfamiliar. The instructor’s touch was firm yet careful, like she knew exactly how to handle her. And then, there was the staring. Freen caught her in the act, that quick glance lingering just a second too long. The instructor flushed, her cheeks tinged with red. Cute , Freen thought, fighting the smile that threatened to spread.

Poom leaned back with a smirk, watching Freen’s subtle, dreamy smile with knowing amusement. “Must’ve been one heck of a session to make you smile like that,” he teased, his eyes glinting with suspicion.

Freen shot him a warning look, but he wasn’t letting this slide.

“Tell me, darling. Is this a 1 or a 10 ?” He leaned in, voice dripping with curiosity.

“Shut up and eat!” Freen huffed, hiding her embarrassment behind a sip of water, but her flustered expression only fueled Poom’s amusement.

“Oh no, no, don’t do that! Come on, I deserve to know after that BBC slavery you put me through,” he insisted, folding his arms...

Freen exhaled, realizing there was no escaping his persistence. “Alright, alright. Calm down,” she muttered, shooting him a pointed glare. “She’s a 10 , okay?”

Poom’s eyes widened before he clapped his hands together in triumph. “ Ohoooo! The great Freen Sarocha Chankimha giving a 10 —this is a first and a breakthrough! It’s always all or nothing for you, dear. No in-between.” He grinned, leaning closer. “Now I’m really curious.”

His teasing was relentless, and Freen knew—this wasn’t the last she’d hear about it.

Freen let out an exasperated sigh, pressing her palm to her forehead. “Can you just let this go?” she groaned, but Poom wasn’t about to back down.

“Darling, this is something we need to discuss ,” he insisted, his grin widening. He was savoring every moment of this.

“So how about we do a 5 ?” he continued, completely ignoring the way Freen glared at him.

“Oh no , we don’t! Three is the most, and that’s it! ” she shot back, annoyance creeping into her voice.

Despite them being professionals, the two had a long-standing tradition—whenever something big needed confessing, they would do a “5,” meaning five questions had to be asked and answered. Poom had done his fair share over the years, but now it was Freen’s turn—a rare event, and judging by his barely-contained excitement, he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.

“Fine, three is enough!” Poom finally relented, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Sooo… what’s 10’s government name?” he asked, leaning in like he was uncovering a deep secret.

Freen sighed, dragging out her response. “It’s Rebecca Armstrong. Hey , why do you need to ask that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Poom hummed, feigning innocence. “Just might come in handy in certain situations —like, say, setting you up on a date with her.”

Freen’s eyes narrowed . “ Don’t you dare, Poom! I’m going to end you!” Her voice was sharp, laced with warning, but that only made him laugh harder.

“Chill! I’m just kidding, girl!” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.

“Alright, next question—eye color?” His curiosity was practically shining through.

Becky’s face surfaced in Freen’s mind— deep brown eyes, the way they locked onto her, a warmth behind them that sent unexpected shivers down her spine. And yet, there was an intensity there too, something her curiosity was eager to explore.

“Eye color please ?” Poom pressed, clearly enjoying how worked up she was getting.

“ Dark brown, ” Freen muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“ Interesting, ” Poom mused, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

“And now… the ultimate question.” He paused, savoring the moment. “Good enough to eat ?”

Freen gasped, eyes wide. “I so hate you right now! I am not answering that!” She rolled her eyes, but Poom lived for her reaction.

“Oh, come on , I didn’t make you sign an NDA. Don’t hold out info on me!” He was thoroughly entertained by her suffering.

“ Shut up, and let’s get back. You’re picking up the check!” Freen snapped, marching ahead while Poom, still grinning, followed close behind.

********

Freen buried herself in work, her desk overflowing with paperwork. Business proposals, financial reports, and legal documents demanded her attention, and she lost track of time as she signed, analyzed, and reviewed each one. The stiffness in her back and shoulders finally pulled her out of her focus. With a sigh, she dropped her pen and pressed "0" on the receiver.

"Peggy, can you set me up for an appointment at Vital this Thursday? I want to see their physiotherapist," she instructed, rolling her shoulders to shake off the tension.

"Alright, Miss Freen. Shall I include the NDA clause for the service?" Peggy asked, ever efficient.

Freen tapped her fingers against her chin, thinking. "No NDA this time, but I want a direct booking with Rebecca Armstrong—a private session," she specified, the name rolling off her tongue with familiarity.

I’ll be seeing you again, dark brown eyes.

She couldn’t explain the excitement creeping through her. Ever since that kickboxing session with Rebecca, she hadn’t been able to get her out of her mind. There was something about her—something magnetic, something undeniable. She had to see her again.

"I’ll send the details to your email, Miss Freen," Peggy confirmed.

"Thanks, Peggy. You can head home. I won’t be needing anything else for now," Freen replied, ending the conversation with a decisive click of the receiver.

********

Becky was preparing treatment procedures for one of her clients when the receiver rang. She picked it up and answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Becky. We’ll be adjusting your schedule this Thursday. We believe you’re ready to handle an elite VIP client. You will conduct assessments, plan intervention strategies, and implement treatments.”

Excitement and pressure surged through her. As a physiotherapist, this was exactly the kind of challenge she had always hoped for.

“I’d be happy to, ma’am! May I have the client’s name so I can enter it into the patient database?”

“Sure. It’s Freen Sarocha Chankimha.”

Chapter Text

As Becky stood behind Freen, her intoxicating scent—a soft whisper of lavender pulled her closer. Without a word, she placed her hands on Freen’s shoulders, letting her touch melt away the tension. A quiet sigh escaped Freen’s lips, relief washing over her.

"Hmm… that feels good," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Becky let her hands drift lower, tracing the gentle curve of her back. "Is this okay?" she asked, concern lacing her words. Freen arched slightly, leaning into her touch, a silent plea for more. The warmth of her skin, the quiet intensity between them—it was electric. 

Becky struggled to steady her breath, the warmth between them building with every passing second. As her hand drifted along the side of Freen’s back, the delicate lace of Freen's bra met her fingertips—soft, intricate, utterly captivating. It was like electricity jolting her every sense. Something awakened inside of her. DESIRE. Undeniable desire that she cannot contain anymore. And without hesitation, she gently grasped Freen’s breast.The softness of it held her under a spell, a sensation that sent warmth coursing through her. At this moment, there was no turning back—only the quiet understanding that this was where she was meant to be.

Freen gasped, her breath catching as she clung to Beck’s hand, fingers tightening in silent plea. A wordless request, a gentle demand. Don’t stop.

She turned her head, lips slightly parted, anticipation heavy in the air.

Becky leaned in, drawn by the quiet pull between them, her breath mingling with Freen’s. With gentle certainty, she met her waiting lips.

The kiss that started slowly turned into something hurried and passionate. Both women gasped for air but it was evident that they were hungry for more. The gentle caress turned into a deep groping motion that had Freen tightening her hold on Becky’s hand. They were in a trance of lust that Freen didn’t notice Becky was able to discard her bra. Becky’s lips moved from Freen’s lips to her neck. Savoring every warmth and smoothness. 

"Beck… I need you," Freen whispered, her voice barely more than a plea.

Becky then teased Freen’s nipp..

********

A sharp knock shattered Becky’s wandering thoughts, pulling her back to reality. She inhaled sharply, still reeling from the intensity of where her mind had drifted.

"What the hell was that, Becky? Fantasizing about that woman? This is bad. Really bad." She scolded herself, shaking off the lingering heat in her chest.

The receptionist’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Miss Armstrong, your client is here—Miss Chankimha.”

Becky exhaled, grounding herself. Focus.

“Okay, send her in,” she said, straightening in her seat.

"Hello, Miss Armstrong—or should I say Becky?" Freen teased, pointing at the nameplate on Becky’s desk as she stepped into the office.

Just like the first time they met, Becky was captivated. If Freen had been effortlessly stunning in sweatpants, then in a tailored suit and heels, she was a force—poised, elegant, commanding. Power and class clung to her like a second skin.

Becky felt heat rise to her cheeks as flashes of earlier moments played in her mind. Oh God, this is not helping. Her breath hitched, words slipping through her fingers before she could find them.

"Are you okay, Miss Armstrong? You look flushed," Freen asked, a flicker of concern in her voice.

Becky exhaled, scrambling for composure. "Uh… I’m fine, Miss Chankimha—I mean, Freen. Must be the air conditioning." She waved off the moment, silently praying it sounded convincing.

Freen bit back a smile, shaking her head. Why does she have to be this cute?

"Shall we start?" Becky said, retrieving her tablet. "Since this is your first session at our Physiotherapy Clinic, we'll begin with your personal and family medical history. This helps us provide an accurate assessment of your condition. Don't worry—it's a standard procedure, and we highly value patient confidentiality. Everything remains private."

She met Freen’s gaze with steady confidence. "Along with the assessment, I'll be conducting a comprehensive examination and evaluating the findings to determine the most appropriate intervention for you."

Freen nodded, impressed. Hmm… her brain matches her beauty. Cute.

********

After she gathered all the information about Freen’s personal and family medical history, Becky continued with the assessment questions.

"Alright, I can see you have a clean medical record," Becky remarked, scanning the tablet.

"Any history of injuries? Broken or fractured bones?" she asked.

"No," Freen replied simply.

Becky nodded, then glanced up. "Any history of falls? If yes, when?" Her tone was professional, but her eyes held a quiet curiosity as she waited for Freen’s answer.

Freen’s lips curved into a playful smile. "Does falling in love count?" she teased.

Becky let out a soft chuckle. "I’m afraid that doesn’t count."

"Ooh, then no… no falls," Freen responded with a knowing grin.

Becky leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Well, be careful with falling," she mused, voice laced with playful warning. "Falling in love with the wrong person can hurt too."

Freen tilted her head, her expression shifting—something deeper flickering behind her eyes. Their gazes locked, unspoken words passing between them like a silent conversation only they could understand.

Becky kept her composure, determined to stay professional. "Okay, what brings you in today?" she asked, her tone measured as she assessed Freen’s chief complaint.

I want to see you. Freen thought, amused.

"I’ve had this nagging pain in my neck and shoulder for days," she said, pressing her fingers to the spot as if demonstrating.

Becky nodded, standing up and stepping closer. "How painful is it? Can you rate it from one to ten, with ten being the worst?"

Oh, you’re definitely a ten for me, Becky. Freen smirked inwardly, recalling her previous conversation with Poom.

"It’s not exactly painful. More of discomfort, I think—a five," she finally responded..

“Hmm..Have you done any strenuous activity?” Becky continued

Freen smirked, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Can sex be considered a strenuous activity?" she mused playfully.

Becky stiffened ever so slightly, feeling a warmth creep up her neck. She wasn’t about to let Freen see her flustered.

Freen chuckled, waving off her own words. "I was just teasing. No strenuous activity."

Becky bit her lip, collecting herself before smoothly returning to the conversation. "I presume your office is equipped with ergonomic furniture?" she asked, steering them back to the assessment.

"Oh yes, I always make sure my staff and employees have the comfort they need while working for me," Freen stated with ease.

"Okay then." Becky placed the tablet on the table and gestured toward the examination bed. "Can you please sit here?"

Freen complied, adjusting her stance. "Do I need to remove my blazer?" she asked.

"Yes, please. I need to palpate the affected area," Becky responded, maintaining her professional composure.

Becky stiffened for a moment as Freen removed her blazer, revealing a sleeveless blouse that accentuated her smooth, fair skin. As Becky stepped closer, the soft scent of lavender reached her, delicate yet undeniably distracting.

Freen settled comfortably on the examination bed. "What do I do next?" she asked, her voice calm.

Becky steadied herself, moving behind Freen. She placed her hand on Freen’s right shoulder, pressing her index and middle fingers gently against the muscle, searching for tension and nodules.

"Just relax please. Does this hurt?" Becky asked, keeping her tone professional.

Freen sighed lightly. "Hmm… no, but that kinda feels good," she murmured, satisfaction evident in her voice.

Becky placed her hands gently on Freen’s head, steady and firm.

"Now I’m going to check for neck stiffness. Please relax while I stretch your neck muscles," Becky instructed, keeping her voice calm and reassuring.

Freen nodded, wordless but compliant.

Becky began moving Freen’s head, carefully guiding it side to side, then forward and backward. Each motion was slow and deliberate.

A soft sigh escaped Freen as the tension in her muscles eased. The touch was soothing, steady—almost too comforting. She focused on staying alert, reminding herself not to drift into sleep.

Becky finished her assessment and guided Freen back to the chair.

"Okay, so far, I don’t see any major issues with your neck or shoulder," she explained. "It’s mostly muscle tenderness, likely due to stress or staying in one position for too long. This can be corrected with proper posture and by not overworking the affected area. Try to change positions while working to avoid stiffness."

Freen listened carefully, nodding as Becky spoke. She was thorough, confident—captivating in a way that made it impossible not to watch her. 

"If the pain persists, it would be best to see a doctor," Becky advised.

Freen smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Well, I think I just got better. You have miracle hands, Becky."

Becky chuckled softly, returning the smile. "So, I guess this concludes our session, Freen. Feel free to come by if you need a consultation… or even a kickboxing class," she added, voice dipping into a teasing whisper.

Freen raised a brow but said nothing. Becky’s playful remark lingered in the air.

"By the way, can I ask you something? I hope it’s okay," Becky said, curiosity threading through her voice.

"Sure, go ahead," Freen replied.

"Why didn’t you have me sign an NDA for this session?" Her voice was measured, but curiosity flickered beneath the surface.

Freen paused, inhaling slowly before releasing a quiet sigh. Her expression remained unreadable, yet there was a weight behind her gaze—something unspoken lingering in the space between them.

"Because this is more personal," she answered, voice steady, deliberate. No hesitation. No further explanation. Just that.

********

The drive home was chaos. A storm of tangled thoughts.

What the hell was she doing? This teasing, this back-and-forth with Becky—where does this lead?

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white. She had a plan. A clear, precise goal. And Becky? Becky was a distraction. A complication she couldn't afford.

No strings attached. That was the rule.

This had to stop. Now. Nip it at the bud before it spiraled into something reckless. Something dangerous.

She was just like the rest of them.

Stick to the plan, Freen.

Stick to the fucking plan.

********

2 weeks later

Freen sat at her desk, reviewing profiles of potential surrogate candidates, but her mind refused to focus. No matter how hard she tried, a single thought kept creeping in—no, not a thought. A person.

She exhaled sharply, frustration tightening in her chest. Shit, I need a distraction.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on one: "Playthings."

She tapped the name and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello. The usual”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The countryside stretched out in quiet serenity, wrapping Freen in its soothing embrace. She cradled her coffee, inhaling the crisp morning air as she sat on her parents’ front porch. The lush greenery swayed gently, as if urging her to unwind. For months, tangled emotions and relentless thoughts had weighed on her—work consumed most of her time, but beyond that lay her deepest longing: a child. She had been meaning to share her plans with her parents. She knew they would support her without question, never challenging her choices, yet she valued their opinions deeply. And after all, this wasn’t just any decision—it was about their future grandchild.

Freen’s thoughts scattered the moment familiar arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“Uhmm… I missed you so much, dear!” Her mother’s voice was thick with tenderness.

Freen melted into the hug, squeezing her mom’s arms tightly. “I missed you too, Mom…” she whispered, savoring the rare comfort of home.

Her mother pulled back just enough to study her face. “Tell me, dear, how’s everything? Your father and I can barely keep up with all the things you’re doing. And oh—Poom sent us that magazine. You looked stunning on the cover! I swear, if Poom wasn’t into men, you two could have been something,” she added, eyes glinting with mischief.

Freen scoffed, shaking her head with an amused grin. “Oh, come on, Mom! That guy is more stylish than I am—and way vainer. We argue about who’s superior, Valentino or Prada. It would never work out.”

Her mother chuckled, but her teasing wasn’t finished. “I suppose not. Hmm… but tell me, has someone finally made my daughter’s heart skip a beat?” She leaned in, studying Freen with a knowing look.

Freen cleared her throat, glancing toward the house. “Let’s go inside, Mom. It’s getting cold—I’ll help prepare and set the table,” she said quickly, eager to dodge the topic.

Her mother hummed knowingly but let it slide—for now.

********

Lunch was warm, filling, and just what Freen had been missing—the unmistakable comfort of home-cooked meals. Each bite was a reminder of how much she’d longed for this, for the familiar presence of her parents, for the way the quiet moments of family eased something deep within her.

Her father set his utensils down, his voice carrying gentle concern. “Dear, I know you just arrived two days ago, but I hope you stay longer this time. Your mom and I really miss you. You’ve been caught up in work for so long—we just want you to rest, to get away from the fast-paced life for a while.”

Freen nodded, swallowing down a wave of emotions. She took a sip of water, exhaled slowly, then met their gaze. “Guys, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Her mother and father paused, eyes locked onto her, sensing the weight of her words.

“I’m going to have a child—and it’s not what you think,” she finally said.

Her mother’s eyes widened, darting toward her father, who looked just as taken aback.

“Dear, you know we love you and won’t judge—but are you pregnant? Who is the father?” Her mom asked, watching her carefully.

Freen shook her head, a small reassuring smile tugging at her lips. “No, Mom, I’m not pregnant. But I am going to have a child through another way. It’s not adoption—I’m going to do surrogacy. The baby will still be mine since my egg will be used for fertilization.”

Freen’s mother gazed at her, eyes filled with quiet concern. She didn’t speak right away, but the weight of unspoken thoughts lingered between them. She worried for her daughter, for the challenges ahead, yet she understood—this was her heart’s desire.

Gently, she reached for Freen’s hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “Dear, if this is what you want and it makes you happy, then so be it,” she said softly. “Your father and I are here to support you.”

She smiled, and beside her, Freen’s father did too—steady, unwavering, their love spoken through the quiet acceptance in their expressions.

********

Becky was buried in paperwork, her focus unwavering, when a soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Hey Beck, can I disturb you for a bit?” Grace’s voice was gentle but intentional.

Becky looked up, offering a warm smile. “Sure, you can. What’s up?”

Grace hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Well… I wanted to ask if I could take over Mr. Pranuet’s case.”

Becky’s forehead creased slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Uhm, may I ask why?”

Mr. Pranuet was one of their elite VIPs. Even though Becky was fairly new, management had quickly entrusted her with high-profile clients, impressed by her professionalism and meticulous approach.

“I know I’ve only handled him twice,” Grace explained, “but I feel it would be best if I managed his care moving forward.”

Becky studied her for a moment, the request catching her off guard. “Grace, I don’t think that would be a good idea. The clinical head specifically assigned me to process his assessment and intervention procedures. The management only passed his case to you twice because I was handling two super elite clients at the time.”

As she spoke, a familiar thought crept in—Freen. It had been weeks since their last interaction, and the absence lingered more than she cared to admit.

Grace, undeterred, pressed further. “I mean, just look at you. You’re completely swamped. Wouldn’t it be best if I took some of the load off your shoulders?”

Something about her insistence felt off. Becky narrowed her eyes slightly, careful not to let suspicion creep into her tone.

“I appreciate your concern, Grace, but management trusted me with this case, and it’s best that I see through all of his needs myself.”

Grace’s expression shifted, frustration edging into her voice. “Don’t you think you’re being a little greedy?”

Becky blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me? Why would I be greedy? I’m simply following the protocols assigned to us.”

A beat of silence passed before Grace sighed, her shoulders softening. “I’m sorry, Beck. I was just trying to help.”

She stepped forward, pulling Becky into a brief hug.

Becky exhaled, her tension easing, and returned the embrace with a small smile. “It’s okay, girl. Thank you for being there for me.”

In that moment, whatever had lingered between them settled, leaving only quiet understanding.

********

After 3 weeks

As Becky stepped into Vital, the receptionist intercepted her.

“Miss Armstrong, Miss Johnson is requesting you in her office,” she said, leading Becky down the hall.

The familiar corridor brought back memories of her first interview—how nervous yet hopeful she had been. Now, she felt a quiet sense of pride in how far she had come.

The receptionist knocked softly on the door. “Madam, Miss Armstrong is here.”

“Okay, send her in,” came the reply.

Becky stepped inside, curiosity creeping in. She had heard whispers—colleagues murmuring that she was being considered as the next clinical supervisor. With the current supervisor preparing for retirement, more responsibilities had gradually been handed to her.

Miss Johnson gestured toward the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Miss Armstrong.”

Becky sat down, her intrigue growing by the second.

********

Freen sank into the comforting embrace of her parents’ home, the warmth of familiarity wrapping around her like a well-worn blanket. If only I could stay here forever , she mused. Was it escape? Or just running—from the world, from the tangled emotions she refused to name?

Her sigh lingered in the quiet air, but the moment was rudely interrupted by the sharp ring of her phone. She groaned. Damn it, I should’ve thrown this thing out.

The name on the screen made her roll her eyes. Poom. Of course.

“Talk to me,” she muttered, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Oh wow, hello to you too, darling. Enjoying your mini vacation?” Poom chuckled, stressing the word as if it carried some hidden amusement.

“You just ruined it. What do you want? Didn’t I make it crystal clear that I don’t want to be disturbed unless it’s important?” Freen scoffed, though she knew Poom was immune to her irritation.

“And this is important,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief.

She rolled her eyes again but listened as he continued. “About those candidates you wanted me to check—three lied about their medical history, four have questionable backgrounds, and one completely ghosted.”

Freen exhaled, disappointment sinking into her bones, but she wasn’t ready to let it defeat her. “Alright, thank you, Poom. Keep looking for new candidates.”

A pause. Then, with an amused lilt, Poom added, “Well, I do have some not-so-depressing news. I finally met Miss 10.”

Freen stiffened. “What the hell did you do?”

“Okay, before you go ballistic on me,” Poom said, clearly anticipating her reaction, “I just went to Vital for treatment—work-induced arm pain, courtesy of my slave-driver boss. And while I was there… I got a little curious.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

“I get it now. Why she’s a 10. Smart, beautiful, caring—I see you, Freen,” he teased mercilessly. “So what happened? Why the radio silence?”

Freen’s expression flickered for just a second. “She’s a distraction, Poom. It’ll be the same thing.” There was a sadness in her tone.

“Oh, come on, Freen! How do you know that? Didn’t you feel good when you were with her?” His voice softened slightly, losing its teasing edge. “Why not give it a chance? Lower your walls a bit, darling. They’re too high—you can’t even see the world outside of them.”

Freen inhaled deeply, pushing away the complicated feelings his words stirred. “Just keep looking for potential candidates, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, she ended the call.

********

Becky barely had time to settle in before the receptionist intercepted her, tone clipped and formal.

“Miss Armstrong, Miss Johnson is requesting you in her office.”

A ripple of unease prickled through her, but she followed without hesitation. As she walked down the familiar hallway, she found herself recalling her first interview at Vital—the pride she felt when she landed the role, the excitement of new beginnings. But now, with every step, a strange weight settled in her chest.

The receptionist knocked lightly on the office door. “Madam, Miss Armstrong is here.”

“Send her in,” came the firm reply.

Becky stepped inside, doing her best to appear composed despite the curiosity gnawing at her thoughts. She had heard whispers—talk of being considered for a higher role, of new responsibilities. Was this about that?

Miss Johnson wasted no time. Her voice was crisp, unwavering. “Miss Armstrong, are you aware of why you are being summoned?”

Confusion flickered across Becky’s face. “Honestly, Miss Johnson, I have no idea.”

Miss Johnson folded her hands over the desk, gaze sharp. “Before you signed your contract with Vital, I presume you reviewed our very strict policies regarding physiotherapist-client etiquette. You are also aware of the confidentiality clause concerning our clients. Here at Vital, we take great pride in these standards. We are the benchmark for health clubs. What you do outside of Vital is none of our business—but inside, we uphold these rules with strict implications.”

There was no room for misinterpretation. The weight of her words was final.

Then, without pause, she turned her laptop screen toward Becky.

The video played, capturing a dimly lit hallway—a man and a woman locked in a fleeting, intimate moment. The clarity was undeniable. The embrace, the closeness, the unmistakable familiarity.

Becky’s breath caught in her throat. The woman in the video was her.

She felt the floor beneath her tilt, a cold rush of shock numbing her limbs. Her words barely came out. “I… I don’t understand, Miss Johnson.”

“Is that you in the video, Miss Armstrong?”

“Yes—but I didn’t… that can’t be possible…” Her voice trembled, disbelief clawing at her chest. Tears threatened to spill, but she fought to steady herself.

Miss Johnson’s eyes didn’t waver. “Is that a yes or a no?”

The room spun. Becky struggled to form words.

“If it’s a no, how do you explain this video?”

Silence hung heavy between them. Becky couldn't move, couldn't think.

Miss Johnson exhaled, finality in her tone. “I take that as a yes, then. This is a very serious and unforgivable offense, Miss Armstrong. We had high hopes for you, and yet you have done this to us. If this gets out, it will tarnish Vital’s reputation.”

Then, the final blow.

“Miss Armstrong, you are fired .”

The words struck like a hammer to her chest. Becky’s world crumbled. She sat frozen, unable to speak, unable to breathe.

“We expect you to clear your desk by the end of the day.”

It was over.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Poom’s sharp gaze skimmed over the neatly stacked documents before him, his fingers lazily tapping against the desk in barely contained frustration. Another batch of candidates, another set of profiles that failed to meet the standard. Not a single one stood out—not in the way that mattered. He sighed, the sound laced with exasperation as he leaned back, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension creeping in.

Hmm. Freen, darling, this is going to cost you. He murmured the thought like a promise, lips curving into a smirk. A Valentino clutch? No—a belt. The latest one, of course. And obscenely expensive. He chuckled to himself, already mentally selecting which one he’d make her buy as compensation for this headache.

Ever since Freen confessed her desire to have a child, Poom had been nothing short of thrilled for her. Supportive, protective, a pillar at her side. If this was the missing piece—the one thing that could finally soothe the void she carried—then he was determined to help her find it. But then came Miss 10.

His fingers stilled. I t had been a while since someone made Freen smile like that.

And yet, she dismissed it. Dismissed the possibility of joy, of companionship, of something real like Love. Instead, she sought out temporary distractions, fleeting indulgences— Playthings . Poom exhaled sharply through his nose. Of course he knew about it. He wasn’t just her friend; he was her top executive, her confidant, her shield against vultures and business rival predators who would twist such knowledge for their gain. His eyes and ears were everywhere.

He never judged her—not once—but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry. That he didn’t wish, deep down, that she’d finally chase something real.

His thoughts splintered when the receiver rang, its shrill tone slicing through the room. He grabbed it, lifting it to his ear with practiced ease.

“Yes. What do you have for me?” His voice was steady, cool, but as the conversation unfurled, his grip tightened just slightly. Intense.

He sat back, inhaling deeply before exhaling through his nose. “Alright. Don’t make any moves yet. Stay put. Observe and get me more information. I’ll get back to you.”

The line went dead. Poom remained still for a beat, letting the weight of it settle.

This is getting interesting.

********

Two weeks had passed since Becky was fired from Vital. Fourteen days of tears, of unanswered questions, of dreams slipping through her fingers like sand.

She had cried until exhaustion left her hollow, unable to process how everything she had worked for had disappeared so suddenly. She had appealed, begged for another chance—shut down. Just like that.

It was over.

A familiar warmth enveloped her, strong arms pulling her close. Shup . Her childhood friend, her anchor.

“Beck, let it all out, okay? I’m here.”

The words were gentle, solid, a reassurance that she wasn’t alone. Becky clung to them, sinking into the comfort, letting grief spill freely.

“ Can you please drink some water?”

Shup’s voice was soft, laced with concern, as she reached for the glass, pressing it into Becky’s hands. The cool surface felt foreign against her fingertips, but she obeyed, taking a small sip.

Her throat tightened. Her voice cracked.

“Shup… what now? What can I do? I can’t get another job as a physiotherapist with this tainted record.”

Her sadness weighed heavy in the air, thick with despair.

Shup didn’t hesitate. Didn’t falter.

“There is always a way, Beck. This setback will create a greater comeback for you.”

The words didn’t erase the pain, but they planted something small. A spark. A possibility.

********

Becky kept herself busy, scrolling through endless job postings on her laptop, hoping—just hoping—something would finally fall into place. But each time she felt close to landing a position, something always seemed to go wrong. Another rejection. Another door quietly closing.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, willing herself to stay hopeful. Don’t give up, Beck. She repeated the thought like a mantra, gripping onto whatever resolve she had left.

Lost in the flickering screen, she almost didn’t notice her phone light up beside her. A message. Nam.

Nam: Beck, how are you? We’re worried about you. It’s been weeks now, and I was hoping we could meet up. Grace and I want to see you.

Beck: I’m getting by. Thanks for asking. Sure—how about the coffee shop we always go to?

Nam: That’s great! This Friday good? See you then.

Becky stared at the screen for a moment, the weight in her chest easing just a little. A familiar place. Familiar faces. Maybe a break was exactly what she needed.

Friday.

The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around Becky the moment she stepped inside. The café was lively, filled with chatter and clinking cups, but her focus narrowed the second she spotted them—Nam and Grace, tucked into a corner booth.

“Beck, over here!”

Nam’s smile was warm, relief evident in her eyes. Grace, standing just behind, offered a softer, reassuring smile.

As Becky approached, Nam wasted no time, pulling her into a tight, fierce hug—one that carried unspoken words, quiet worry.

“Beck, we missed you. I was so sad about what happened.” Nam’s voice wavered, her eyes glistening just slightly.

Grace studied Becky carefully before asking, “How are you?”

Becky swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I’m good, guys. So… how’s everything?” Her words were careful, hesitant.

Nam sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not the same without you. A lot of the clients keep asking for you.” Then, her voice dropped lower, filled with doubt. “I don’t believe what they’re saying, Beck. I think there’s something more.”

Becky’s chest tightened, but she exhaled, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to move on. So, let’s just order.” Her voice was quiet, resigned.

Grace exchanged a glance with Nam, concern lingering, but neither pushed further. Instead, they nodded—giving Becky space, even when they wished they could do more.

********

2 weeks later

Becky’s forehead creased as her laptop chimed with a new email notification. Her fingers hesitated above the trackpad before she clicked it open.

Subject: Job Offer – Medical Consultant Position

Dear Miss Armstrong,

We are pleased to extend an invitation for a job offer as a Medical Consultant with our organization. The details of the role, including responsibilities and compensation, will be discussed in person at our offices.

This is a one-time offer, and we encourage you to confirm your interest by clicking the “Agree” button. Please ensure your timely arrival, as punctuality is essential, and business attire is required for the meeting.

Should you have any questions or require further details before your visit, please do not hesitate to contact us.

We look forward to meeting you.

Best regards,
Poom Isarabhakdi
Chief Operating Officer
SC Industries

Becky stared at the screen, reading the email twice as if she had misunderstood. SC Industries? Had she applied there?

She grabbed her phone and quickly dialed Shup.

“Are you busy?” Becky asked, voice uncertain.

“Nothing much—what’s up?” Shup replied.

Becky exhaled. “I got an email about a job offer.” Hesitation laced her tone.

“Oh my gosh! Beck, that’s amazing! I told you you’d get an offer soon.” Shup’s excitement radiated through the phone, but Becky’s thoughts remained tangled. SC Industries… How?

“Beck, this could be a blessing! Why not give it a try? It wouldn’t hurt, right?” Shup’s words were light but firm, nudging Becky toward a decision.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Maybe it was worth a shot.

“Okay... I mean, why not?”

With a steady breath, she hovered over the screen and clicked “Agree.”

********

Becky was in awe as she stepped into the modernized building. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting, while large, meticulously placed sculptures added an air of prestige. Impeccable taste.

"Wow," was all she could mutter under her breath.

Following the instructions in her confirmation email, she approached the receptionist’s desk.

“Uh—hi. I’m Rebecca Armstrong, and I have an appointment with Mr. Poom Isarabhakdi,” Becky said politely.

The receptionist gave a small nod. “Just a moment, Miss Armstrong.” She picked up the phone, speaking in a calm, professional tone. “Sir, she’s here. Shall I send her in?” A brief pause. “Understood, I’ll send her up now.”

She turned to Becky with a welcoming gesture. “Miss Armstrong, please come with me.”

Becky followed her past the main elevator she had spotted earlier. But instead of stopping there, she was led toward a single, sleek elevator tucked at the side of the building.

“Isn’t that the elevator section?” Becky inquired, puzzled.

“Yes, ma’am, but for most of the employees,” the receptionist clarified. Her tone remained polite, measured. “Sir Poom specifically requested that you take the private executive elevator.”

Becky’s brows lifted slightly. Special treatment? She hadn’t expected that. What kind of medical consultancy were they really looking for?

At the elevator doors, an attendant stood waiting inside. The receptionist turned to him. “Please take her to the COO’s office.”

The operator nodded, then motioned Becky inside.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

As the doors slid open on her floor, Becky’s breath hitched. The space before her was a masterpiece—modernized yet distinctly lavish. Elegant furniture, rich textures, and a premium ambiance that exuded exclusivity.

A second receptionist greeted her with a smile. “Hello, Miss Armstrong. Please come inside.” She guided Becky toward an imposing black wooden door, its surface adorned with intricate embellishments.

The door opened.

And there he stood.

A striking man—tall, fair-skinned, effortlessly handsome . Yet what truly stood out was his style. Every detail, from his crisp, tailored ensemble to his refined grooming, spoke of someone who understood influence. Power, but understated.

“Hi, Miss Armstrong—or can I call you Rebecca?” His voice was warm, yet carried a quiet authority.

Becky smiled. “Becky would be fine.”

"Okay then… Have a seat, Becky."

Poom’s voice was calm, deliberate, as he gestured toward the chair across from him. “First, thank you for agreeing to meet me. With that, I’ll be direct. I’m a businessman—I deal with major corporations, high-stakes investments. What I’m about to offer is a one-time opportunity, something that might just change your life.”

Becky sat cautiously, her brows drawing together in confusion. His tone held weight, yet something felt off.

“The medical consultancy?" Poom continued, leaning slightly forward. “That was just a ploy to get you here.”

Becky blinked. What?

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“The real role we’re hiring you for is to be…” Poom paused, studying her reaction. “…a surrogate mother.”

Silence.

Becky’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding in her ears. Had she heard that right?

Her fingers curled instinctively against the armrest as she stared at him, utterly speechless. What the hell kind of offer was this?

“I know you’re shocked,” Poom admitted, keeping his tone measured. “But let me explain the compensation. Upon completion, you will receive 3 million baht. If complications arise during the pregnancy, you will still be compensated with 2 million baht. You’ll have the best medical care, supplements, routine check-ups—everything will be taken care of. And most importantly, this will be strictly confidential.”

Becky swallowed, trying to process. “Why me?” Her voice was hoarse, laced with confusion.

Poom leaned back slightly, his expression unwavering. “We did our research on you. And, I’ve had the privilege of being your client. Your professionalism, your attention to care—it impressed me. If you can provide such genuine concern for someone like me, imagine what you could offer a child.”

Becky shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor.

“You’re insane! What makes you think I’d agree to this?”

She turned on her heel, storming toward the door. This conversation was over.

But then—

“I know what happened at Vital.”

Becky froze.

Her entire body stiffened, fingers hovering just above the doorknob. The name alone sent a sharp sting.

“And I believe you.” Poom’s voice carried conviction, unwavering certainty. “I know this sounds like I’m taking advantage, but I’m not. This is a mutually beneficial proposal. Apart from the financial compensation, I will personally ensure your name is cleared.”

Becky turned slowly, staring at him. There it was—the catch.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But being a surrogate means I have to… have…” The words stuck, tangled in hesitation.

Poom tilted his head, catching her meaning immediately. Then—he laughed.

“Oh, that? Heavens, no! Good gosh, I cannot.”

A grin flickered across his face, breaking the tension. “We’ll be taking the gestational route. You will only serve as the vessel.”

Becky let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Still, uncertainty clung to her.

“I’ll give you one week to think about it,” Poom finally said. “The decision is yours.”

********

One week later.

Freen sat at her desk, carefully reviewing the details of the business proposal. She was deep in thought, focused, every number and clause demanding her full attention.

Then came a knock.

Before she could look up, the door swung open, and there stood Poom—uninvited, as usual.

She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Poom, can you not—right now?”

He only grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, but this is important!”

Freen shot him an unimpressed look. “What could possibly be more important than this RPA Group proposal?”

Poom’s smirk widened, his excitement unmistakable. “Well, I finally found the perfect surrogate mother. She checks all the boxes.”

Freen froze.

Her fingers hovered over the papers, her pulse picking up. A thrill of anticipation ran through her, unbidden.

And then—

“The best part?” Poom leaned in slightly, eyes dancing with delight. “You’re going to meet her. She’s coming in today.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

A week before

Becky sat still, the weight of his words settling over her like a thick fog. What was that man thinking? Her mind spun through every rational explanation, grasping at logic but finding none. Overwhelmed, she kept repeating the same question—what to do, what to do?

The sum he offered was staggering, enough to support her family in ways she never imagined. But beyond the money, it was the promise of answers that rooted her in place. She had tried to move on, convincing herself the past should remain untouched, but the questions still lingered, quiet but insistent. And now, this man held the key to unlocking them.

Her pulse thrummed as she picked up her phone, fingers tight around the device. She didn’t hesitate. “Shup, I need to talk to you.”

“Ohh? Okay. But wait—how was the interview? You got the part, didn’t you?” Shup’s voice was bright with excitement.

“Oh, I got it. But it’s not what you think. Come over. Sleepover. We need to talk.”

“What?! A surrogate mother?” Shup’s eyes widened, shocked.

“Ooh, this reminds me of that western movie—the one with the ridiculously handsome CEO who paid a huge sum of money, then they fell in love, and he swooped Julia Roberts off her feet. What was the name of that movie, Beck?” Shup’s voice turned dreamy.

“Pretty Woman. And Julia Roberts was a prostitute—I’m not. Now, can you cut it out?” Becky let out a sharp breath.

Shup winced but still grinned. “Sorry, Beck, I was just trying to lift the mood. Whatever you decide, I’m here for you. That CEO better not mess you around, or I swear I’ll end him.” Her voice was playful, but her loyalty was unwavering.

Despite herself, Becky smiled. Shup could be clueless sometimes, but when it mattered, she was fierce—steadfast. The kind of friend you go to war with.

“Did you tell your parents?” Shup asked gently.

“I did, and they support me, whatever I choose.” Becky hesitated. “Shup, it’s not about the money. I just—” Her voice wavered.

“I get it, Beck.” Shup reached for Becky’s hand, squeezing it in quiet reassurance. “I’m here, whatever you decide.”

Warmth spread through Becky’s chest. Whatever came next, she wouldn’t be facing it alone.

********

Becky stepped into the familiar building, yet it still managed to take her breath away. The towering glass panels, ambient lighting, the marble statues—it was a masterpiece of modern architecture. But she had little time to admire it today. She was here for one reason only: to finalize the contract.

She pressed a hand against her stomach, trying to still the nerves twisting inside her. Poom Isarabhakdi was a man who demanded precision, clarity, and absolute certainty in every deal he made. There would be no room for ambiguity.

Approaching the receptionist’s desk, she straightened her posture. “Hi. I’m Rebecca Armstrong, here to see Mr. Isarabhakdi.”

The receptionist glanced at her before speaking into the phone. “Sir, she’s here.” A pause. “Understood. I’ll send her up now.” She set the phone down and turned to Becky. “Let’s go, Miss Armstrong.”

Becky followed as they bypassed the standard elevators and entered the executive section, a more secluded, polished space. The receptionist gestured toward the elevator operator. “Please take Miss Armstrong to the CEO’s office.”

“Right this way, Miss Armstrong,” the operator said smoothly, ushering her inside.

As the elevator doors slid open, Becky stepped into a world of elegance—sleek interiors, a stunning contemporary design. This wasn’t the floor she’d been to before. She muttered to herself, “This seems different.”

Another receptionist greeted her the moment she exited. “Miss Armstrong, come this way, please. They’ve been expecting you.”

They? Becky’s brows furrowed. Must be his lawyer, she thought. Men of Poom’s status rarely conducted business deals without legal counsel present—to ensure clarity, to reinforce authority.

The receptionist led her down a hallway, ending at a black door with intricate embellishments, subtle but commanding. She knocked lightly and announced, “She’s here, Sir Poom.”

“Send her in.” His voice carried through the thick door.

The door swung open, and Becky stepped inside. Poom stood there, smiling, motioning for her to approach. But her gaze slid past him—landing on the woman beside him.

Her breath hitched.

She knew that face.

Freen.

Becky’s throat tightened. Too shocked to speak. What the hell was she doing here? And more importantly—what was her connection to Mr. Poom Isarabhakdi?

“You came! Thank you, Becky.” Poom greeted her warmly.

But Becky barely heard him. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Freen’s gaze was steady, unreadable—no warmth, no hint of emotion, just a piercing stare.

“I see you’ve met Freen,” Poom said, teasing amusement in his voice.

Becky snapped out of her daze. “Uh—yes. She was a client,” she managed, voice quiet.

Freen narrowed her eyes, turning to Poom. “What the heck is this? Why is she here?” Annoyance colored her tone.

Poom responded with measured certainty. “She’s the perfect candidate. Right age, excellent health, a medical background, and she carries herself professionally. At the moment, she’s not employed anywhere, which makes this the perfect opportunity.”

Freen’s expression remained unreadable. “I’m not sure she can handle it. There must be someone else.”

Becky felt a spark of frustration flare inside her. “Well, if there was, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, would I?”

“Woah, okay, okay, ladies,” Poom chuckled, raising his hands lightly. “I can see you’re getting acquainted. But Becky is right—there are no other candidates.”

Freen sighed, seemingly accepting his words, though her posture was still rigid.

Poom took over, turning toward Becky with the precision of a businessman ready to close a deal. “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way—let’s take a look at the contract, shall we? You have the right to amend certain clauses, but others are final and unchangeable. Once signed, it’s binding.”

Becky inhaled deeply. This was it. The moment that would change everything.

********

The contract 

This document is legal and binding. The following are the clauses and demands that is expected to be followed strictly : 

1. As previously stated, compensation upon completion of the task is 3 million baht. If complications arise during pregnancy, you will still be compensated with 2 million baht. As a sign of goodwill, 1 million baht will be wired to your account upon signing this agreement. The balance of the completed or uncompleted task will be wired after the expected period.
2. You will be provided with the top tier medical service,care and facilities. This includes supplements before, while and during pregnancy, nourishment and the necessary tools needed.
3. This is strictly confidential. You cannot divulge this information beyond your trusted circle of family.
4. You are not to engage in any sexual activity, have single or multiple partners during the span of the contract
5. You are not to be involved in any personal romantic relationship as we want you to focus on the task at hand. 
6. If you attempted or intentionally harmed the pregnancy, we have every right to press charges.
7. After birth, you are not to attempt contacting the baby or the party involved as the full ownership is with the contractor.
8. The expected period of this contract is 10 months. We will provide you a top tier facility for your after birth health care.
9. We will honor and comply with everything that was previously agreed upon
10.  You are not to live at home during the span of the contract. We will be providing an apartment complex for you.There will also be a chef and nutritionist that will oversee your proper nutritional needs.

Becky studied the contract, her fingers tapping absently against the paper as she exhaled. "I want to amend—"

Freen, lounging casually with her elbow propped on the table, cut her off with a smirk. "Let me guess—Clause 5? Oh, wait. No. Clause 4." She winked, her amusement unmistakable.

Becky narrowed her eyes, unimpressed with the playful interruption. So Annoying, she thought, but pushed forward. "Clause 10. I want to see my parents and be with them," she stated firmly.

"Sorry, Becky, no can do," Poom interjected with a placating smile. "Tell you what—your parents can visit you. Does that sound fair?"

Becky hesitated but eventually nodded. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

Before the discussion could fully settle, Freen furrowed her brows. "I want to amend Clause 10 as well."

Poom blinked, caught off guard. "Okay… what exactly do you want?" Curiosity flickered in his eyes.

Freen straightened, her voice unwavering. "She gets to live with me. As the contractor, I want to ensure everything is perfect and monitor her progress myself. All her needs will be met, as agreed."

Then, without missing a beat, she lifted her gaze to Becky and added, "And yes, your parents can visit you there."

Becky froze for a second. Live with her? She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay composed.

Freen tilted her head, amused by the reaction. "Don’t worry, I don’t bite… unless you want me to." She smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

********

The meeting wrapped up with signatures, leaving Becky sighing, deep in thought.

"Giving up? You know, you can still back out," Freen teased, watching her closely.

Becky refused to let the taunt get to her. "No! Why are you like this?" she shot back, exasperated.

Freen was about to respond, but Poom smoothly cut in. "Okay, ladies, now that everything is settled—first things first. Becky, next week you’ll be moving into Freen’s place. If you need any assistance, we can arrange it."

"No need, I’ll have Shup help me," Becky answered.

Shup? Freen’s thoughts stalled. A boyfriend?

"The agreement hasn’t even started, and you’re already planning to break Clause 5," Freen quipped, barely hiding her amusement.

Becky leveled her with a sharp look. "I’ll honor what’s stated. And for the record, Shup is none of your business."

Across the table, Poom observed them, barely concealing his grin. You’ll thank me for this, Freen.

********

The week passed quicker than Becky anticipated, and soon, she found herself standing amidst neatly packed boxes. She had sorted through everything, knowing that some of her clothes would be useless in the coming months—her body would be changing, after all. She sighed, picturing herself with a swollen belly. I can do this , she told herself.

Upon arriving at the building complex, Becky and Shup were greeted by the doorman.

"Uh, hello… I’m Becky Armstrong. I’m here to see Freen Chankimha," she said with a polite smile.

The doorman returned the gesture warmly and handed her a key card. "Ah, yes, Miss Armstrong. Miss Freen instructed me to give this to you. Her unit is at the penthouse."

He then guided them to a private elevator, turning to the operator. "Take them to the penthouse. Miss Chankimha’s guests."

As the elevator doors slid open, Becky stepped out into a quiet, refined hallway. Only two units occupied the entire floor.

"Wow. Only two? This CEO is really big-time, Beck," Shup murmured in awe.

Becky barely acknowledged her, turning the key card over in her hand—20A.

"It’s over here," a familiar voice called.

Becky lifted her gaze, finding Freen peeking through the door, motioning them forward. As they approached, Freen swung the door open, and Becky was immediately met with a subtle floral fragrance. It was fresh, delicate—entirely her .

Becky inhaled instinctively, then cursed herself for noticing something so trivial.

Freen’s hair was damp, clinging slightly to her oversized shirt. Paired with loose sweatpants, the look was simple, effortless. And yet, something about her was undeniably captivating.

"Hello? Are you with us?" Freen asked, annoyance creeping into her tone.

Becky blinked rapidly, snapping out of her trance.

"Huh?"

Freen sighed. "I said come in . You and… her." She nodded toward Shup.

"Oh—sorry. Freen, this is Shup. Shup, this is Freen," Becky managed.

Freen gave a small nod of acknowledgment, while Shup returned it with careful indifference.

Without further comment, Freen began leading them through the unit.

The penthouse was spacious, adorned with modern touches and warm ambient lighting. Everything was polished, carefully curated—Freen had good taste.

"I had the guest room prepared for you," Freen explained, gesturing toward the hallway. "The kitchen is over there, a breakfast nook to the side, and a mini bar. If you like reading, I have a mini library."

Shup’s eyes widened. She leaned toward Becky, whispering, "She’s gorgeous and rich… but I don’t trust her."

Becky nudged her sharply, silencing her before Freen could overhear.

At last, they reached the bedroom. Freen motioned toward the space. "You can unpack here. The vanity is stocked, but if you need anything else, let me know."

She lingered for only a second before turning to leave. "I’ll leave you two to settle in."

Becky and Shup scanned the room. It was cozy, inviting—warm lighting casting a soft glow across the furniture. A queen-sized bed sat against the wall, flanked by a nightstand and elegant decor.

"You gonna be okay?" Shup asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Becky gave her a small smile. "I will, Shup. Don’t worry."

Ok here we go.

Chapter Text

This was it . After countless medical tests, bloodwork, and psychological evaluations, the moment had finally arrived—the embryo transfer. For weeks, Becky had endured progesterone injections and estrogen replacements, carefully balancing her hormone levels to prepare for a stable pregnancy. Freen had been by her side through it all, driving her to appointments, offering support, and ensuring her safety by choosing a trusted doctor—one who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

The doctor glanced at Freen, her expression calm and reassuring. “Based on the lab results, your wife is ready to receive the embryo. We’ll begin the process now.”

Ah, yes. The “wife” part. To avoid complications and intrusive questions, they had decided to present Becky as Freen’s soon-to-be spouse. Freen never wanted to pressure her into the lie, but Becky gave her a reassuring smile—silent permission to proceed.

“Miss Armstrong, please come with me to the treatment area,” the doctor said with a warm smile. Then, noticing Becky’s subtle nervousness, she added, “You know, your wife can come along for support.”

Becky turned to Freen, her expression carrying a silent plea. Without hesitation, Freen squeezed her hand. “Okay. I’ll go with her.”

The doctor’s voice was calm yet authoritative. “Nurse, kindly prepare Miss Armstrong for the procedure.”

The nurse assistant approached Becky, handing her a neatly folded lab gown. “Miss Armstrong, please change into this.”

Freen turned to Becky, offering a small reassuring nod. “I’ll step out so you can change.”

Becky acknowledged her with a slight tilt of her head. As soon as Freen left, she removed her clothing, the fabric cool against her skin as she slipped into the lab gown. The sterile scent of the room settled around her, a quiet reminder of the significance of the moment.

A few minutes later, the doctor returned, Freen walking beside her.

“Alright, Miss Armstrong, this will be painless,” the doctor assured her. “Please lie down on the bed and place your legs here.”

Freen stood close, her gaze locked on Becky—steady, unwavering, yet carrying a trace of quiet apprehension. Still, she masked it well, keeping her face composed. Becky exhaled deeply, then whispered to herself, I can do this.

The doctor smiled warmly. “Freen, after the procedure, Becky will need to rest for a few days.”

Freen nodded, her grip tightening briefly around Becky’s hand, as if silently promising she’d be there every step of the way.

“Relax, Miss Armstrong. This won’t take long,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring.

The doctor worked with practiced precision, carefully placing the embryo into the catheter. With the aid of ultrasound guidance, she navigated through the cervix, ensuring exact placement before gently releasing the embryo into Becky’s uterus.

Freen never let go of Becky’s hand, her grip steady and warm. As the procedure continued, she watched Becky closely, offering silent support through every step

“All done,” the doctor said, removing her gloves. “Becky, don’t get up just yet.”

She met Becky’s gaze with a reassuring nod before continuing, “As I mentioned earlier, no strenuous activity for the next few days. Rest is important.”

The doctor smiled—just a hint of mischief in her expression. “You know, some studies suggest that clitoral stimulation may potentially increase IVF success.”

Freen went rigid. Becky blinked, her eyes widening just slightly.

The doctor let that little bombshell hang in the air, savoring the reaction before finally moving toward the door. “I’ll give you two a moment. Be back in a few.”

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing them into a silence so thick, it felt tangible.

Freen flicked her gaze to Becky, unsure. Becky simply looked back, expression unreadable—except for the spark of something, something teasing, something considering.

Then, with a careful breath, she murmured, “So… should we try it?”

Freen tensed.

Becky’s tone was maddeningly casual. Too casual. “I mean, the doctor suggested it, and technically, we’re not violating the contract.” Her gaze flickered over Freen’s face, searching, prodding, waiting. “If it helps increase the chances of success… why not?”

Freen didn’t answer, still turning over the weight of the doctor’s words. The room felt smaller somehow, the air heavier.

She exhaled, slow, controlled—then reached for Becky’s hip, fingers careful but deliberate. The moment stretched, lingered. Becky stiffened, heart hammering against her ribs, but she didn’t move away.

She let the tension settle.

Freen’s fingers brushed lightly over her, tentative yet grounding.

A shiver ran through Becky, an unfamiliar warmth creeping over her. Freen’s gaze held, steady, unwavering. The air shifted, thick with something unspoken. No hesitation—only intent, charged with something deeper, something neither dared to name. Becky remained still, lips parted slightly as the feeling took hold.

With a careful but deliberate touch, Freen continued brushing her finger lightly and slowly making it over Becky’s core. She teased her slit with small circular motion movements that made Becky’s breath hitch. A soft moan escaped her lips. That was the breaking point—Freen felt the last thread of restraint snap, dissolving under the weight of something deeper, something undeniable. She gently inserted her finger inside the folds feeling and caressed the engorged nub. The warmth invoked something inside of her. The hunger deepened. She ached to touch her more.

Becky swayed, her body defying her efforts to hold still. Every attempt at control slipped through her grasp as her hips moved on their own, drawn irresistibly to Freen’s touch—like a quiet call she couldn’t refuse. The agonizingly slow pace unraveled her, each movement chipping away at her restraint, leaving her breathless and teetering on the edge. Freen felt it—the growing tension, the quiet plea in Becky’s movements—and instinctively quickened her pace, meeting the unspoken need with certainty. As the rhythm intensified, the air between them thickened, heavy with anticipation. Each movement carried a silent urgency, each breath a fleeting moment before the inevitable—a slow, deliberate push toward something on the verge of breaking free.

“Miss Armstrong, are you ready?” The nurse’s voice came from behind the door, accompanied by a soft knock.

Both women jolted, a rush of urgency overtaking them as they scrambled to compose themselves.

Freen exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across her face. I was almost there, she muttered inwardly, biting back the lingering heat of the moment.

“Uh, wait a second. Just fixing myself up,” Becky said, her voice slightly uneven, the lingering flush still warming her skin.

She hurried to pull her outfit back on, fingers fumbling in her haste. Freen was beside her, quiet but efficient, smoothing out wrinkles, adjusting what needed fixing—both of them working in tandem to gather some semblance of composure.

Finally, Becky exhaled and straightened, casting a quick glance at Freen before turning toward the door. “Go ahead, please come in,” she called out, her tone steadier now.

The nurse stepped inside, offering a polite smile as she extended a set of brochures toward Becky. “Apologies for the delay, Miss Armstrong. The doctor had an urgent call but asked me to pass these along.”

Becky accepted the brochures, her fingers tightening slightly around the crisp edges. The nurse continued, her voice professional yet warm. “Once the pregnancy is confirmed, please return for further examination.”

Becky gave a quick nod, barely processing the words. Her gaze flickered toward Freen.

Freen remained silent, her expression unreadable. After a pause, she exhaled and murmured, “Let’s go home.”

The drive back was long and weighed down by silence. Neither of them spoke, neither dared to address what had just transpired.

Freen gripped the steering wheel, her mind circling the moment over and over. The tension gnawed at her, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The lingering warmth, the pull of something unspoken—it unsettled her, intrigued her, consumed her.

The doctor had suggested it.

She scoffed at the thought, biting back the ghost of a smile that threatened to surface.

********

Meanwhile, downtown

Poom paced his office, his steps restless, his mind racing. He barely noticed the faint hum of traffic beyond the window—his focus was entirely on the tangled mess unfolding before him.

Seated across from him, a broad-shouldered man leaned forward, hands clasped, voice low and serious. “He’s covering his tracks. So far, this is what we’ve got, Boss. We managed to secure a copy of the video, but we’re still digging to see if there are more.”

Poom clenched his jaw. That sneaky son of a bitch.

Ever since the agreement, he had made it his personal mission to uncover the truth about Vital. It was part of the deal, yes, but deep down, his reasons went beyond obligation—he wanted to help Becky. Something wasn’t sitting right. There was more to this, and he intended to find out exactly what.

His gaze sharpened as he turned to his informant. “Keep at it. Find out more and report back. Same protocol—stay low. I don’t want you blowing your cover.”

The man gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

“Be as discreet as possible,” Poom added, his tone measured but firm.

Without another word, the man rose and exited, leaving Poom alone with the weight of his thoughts.

He sank into his chair, eyes fixed on the paused frame of the video before him. Something about it gnawed at him, something just out of reach. He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping absently against his desk.

Everything would be revealed in time.

********

Dinner unfolded in quiet ease, both women focused on their plates, the air between them carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Becky set down her fork, offering Freen a small, appreciative smile. “Didn’t know you could cook. The ribs were delicious—and the salad, too.”

Freen nodded, her voice measured. “Thanks. Try to eat more of the salad. It’ll help with the… pregnancy.” She hesitated over the word, letting it settle between them.

Becky smiled faintly, but the mention of it stirred something within her. The pregnancy. She had been bracing for it, preparing herself, yet the reality remained distant, uncertain. The memory of the clinic flickered in her mind, and warmth crept up her cheeks before she could stop it.

Freen caught the change instantly. “Is something wrong? You look flushed,” she asked, a touch of concern threading through her voice.

“Ah, no. It’s nothing.” Becky quickly stood, eager to shift the moment. “I’ll clean this up.”

“No!” Freen intercepted, deftly pulling the dishes from her hands before she could argue. “No strenuous activities, right?”

“But you already cooked, and this hardly counts as strenuous,” Becky reasoned.

“Please don’t argue. Just rest, okay? Doctor’s orders.” Freen’s voice softened, her concern evident. “Take a warm bath—it might help you relax.”

Becky hesitated, then sighed and relented. She slipped into her room, then made her way to the bathroom, pausing as she glanced over the vanity.

Rows of soaps and bath oils lined the shelves, each scent promising something indulgent—comfort, escape, serenity. She ran her fingers over the selection before settling on a lavender bath bomb, watching as it dissolved in the steaming water, releasing its calming fragrance.

She undressed and eased into the tub, the warmth enveloping her, tension melting from her limbs.

A quiet hum of satisfaction escaped her lips as she sank deeper into comfort.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured, barely louder than a breath.

********

After finishing the dishes, Freen took a quick bath, letting the warm water ease the weight of the day. She slipped into a silk tank top and mini shorts, the fabric cool against her skin—comfortable, easy.

She must be asleep by now, Freen thought, glancing toward Becky’s room before heading to the mini bar. She poured herself a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the lights, then stepped onto the balcony, settling into the lounge chair with a quiet sigh.

Her mind wandered—through the events of the day, through the possibilities of what lay ahead. The thought of Becky’s pregnancy stirred something deep inside her, a quiet excitement she hadn’t fully voiced yet. She mentally ticked off what needed to be done, how she would support her, what this meant for them.

But beneath all that, one thought refused to fade.

Freen took a slow sip of her drink, staring into the city lights.

Flashes of that moment lingered, unshaken.

She vividly recalled how Becky’s warmth consumed her. And how she’s starting to crave it! 

Instinctively, her hands went downwards and reached for her shorts. Her fingers touched the waistband, feeling the smoothness of the fabric. Without hesitation, her hand found the warmth inside her shorts. Freen pressed her lips together, swallowing the sound that threatened to escape, holding onto the moment with quiet restraint.

********

Becky felt a dryness in her throat and decided to get a drink. Stepping out of her room, she made her way toward the kitchen, but paused when her eyes caught a shadowy figure in the lounging chair.

She’s still up? she wondered, tilting her head slightly.

Curious, she stepped forward, keeping her movements light, her bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. But just as she neared, a soft moan reached her ears—a quiet, almost pleading that made her pause mid-step. 

Becky froze, her breath hitching as realization crashed over her.

Her eyes widened, fingers twitching at her sides. The weight of what Freen was doing settled in, sharp and undeniable.

For a moment, everything stilled—her thoughts, her movements, the very air around her.

“Becckyy..” Freen let out a soft cry laced with pleasure

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Miss Armstrong."

The greeting came from a woman whom Becky guessed to be in her forties, her voice warm yet formal. As Becky stepped out of her room, the rich aroma of breakfast hung in the air—a promise of a meal prepared with care.

"My name is Somsak, and from now on, I'll be tending to your needs," the woman announced with a gentle nod. "Your food was prepared by Mr. Somchai—he'll be your personal chef and nutritionist. We were both assigned by Miss Freen, who made it clear that only the finest quality meals should be served to you. Miss Freen has already left for work."

Becky felt the familiar tug of disappointment but kept her expression neutral.

"Did she say anything before she left?"

Somsak shook her head. "No, Miss Armstrong, she didn’t." She gestured toward the breakfast nook. "Please, come have breakfast."

Becky followed her into the sunlit space, the table adorned with vibrant dishes. "We’ve prepared freshly squeezed organic orange juice for you," Somsak continued. "Mr. Somchai has made grilled chicken with vegetables, and there are fresh berries as well."

She didn’t even say goodbye to me , Becky mused, the thought cutting deeper than she cared to admit. Then again, why would she? She contradicted herself almost instantly. The words drifting from Somsak barely registered. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the echoes of last night—Freen’s soft cries, the way her voice trembled, how it had felt when she moaned, "Beckyyy..."

"Miss Armstrong, which one would you like?"

Becky blinked, jolted back to the present. "Huh? I—I'm sorry." She forced a small smile. "Can you just call me Becky, please? And I'll have the salad and fruit. Thank you."

********

Freen buried herself in work, throwing her full focus into the mounting deals before her. Reports stacked neatly across her desk, documents demanded her signature, and meetings filled the day in a blur of voices and negotiations. If she kept busy enough, maybe—just maybe—her mind wouldn’t wander back to last night.

Oh my God. She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple. What the fuck was I thinking? Really, doing myself while thinking of her? The thought sent an embarrassing ripple through her, and she shook it off immediately—only to be jolted by the door swinging open without warning.

Of course. Poom. Ever punctual in his daily mission to test her patience.

“Good morning, darling,” he announced, beaming far too brightly for this hour.

Freen narrowed her eyes. That tone. That smug little expression. Trouble incoming.

“Come on, spill the tea. How’s married life?” he teased, settling into the chair across from her like he had all the time in the world.

She shot him a sharp look. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, your little game of playing wife and wife .” His grin widened, barely suppressing his laughter.

Freen rolled her shoulders, forcing herself not to react. Deflect. Stay on course. Focus on work.

“Poom, this is not the time.” She flipped a contract toward him. “Can you go over the RPA deal again? They’re asking for multiple revisions and planning to add additional provisions.”

Poom hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk as if dissecting her attempt at distraction. Then, with a knowing smirk—

“Ah. I see what’s happening here. Trouble in paradise already? You guys are supposed to be in the honeymoon phase.”

Freen sighed, turning her gaze away before he could read too much into it.

Poom didn’t press further. He had his fun—no need to push when she clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

“Alright,” he said, finally relenting as he grabbed the document. “Let me see what I can do about this RPA deal.” He stood, flashing her another grin. “This will cost you lunch, by the way.”

********

"You did what?!"

Poom’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, his voice loud enough to turn heads.

"Shhh! Can you keep it down?" Freen hissed, shrinking into herself as the memory of the clinic came flooding back—along with the heat of embarrassment.

"I mean, the doctor suggested it... and she also wanted to try. For the success of the IVF." Her voice dipped lower, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. "So... I—I only did what was needed," she tried to justify, though the words didn’t make her feel any less mortified.

Poom stared for a second before throwing his head back with a booming laugh.

"Oh my God! You guys!Getting kinky I love it!" His amusement was downright explosive. "And wow, Miss Armstrong! I’m impressed—didn’t know she had it in her!" Tears of laughter practically glistened in his eyes.

"Poom! Quit it!" Freen hissed, stealing a glance around the posh restaurant to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"Okay, okay, I’ll stop." He held up his hands in surrender, still biting back a grin. Then, his gaze softened, his tone shifting. "So, why the gloomy mood?"

Freen didn’t answer. She just took a slow sip of her water, keeping her eyes trained on the table.

Poom sighed knowingly. "Ah, it's that wall again, I see." He leaned in, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "Darling, didn’t I tell you to lower it down—or better yet, break it? Yours is taller than the Great Wall of China."

Freen remained silent, but Poom pressed on.

"The trauma will always be there, but you’ve got to move past it. Learn from it. More importantly, heal." He tilted his head, watching her carefully. "You can’t keep this forever. You have to give yourself a chance to feel."

Freen let out a slow breath. "This baby will help me heal."

Poom didn’t miss a beat. "Well, maybe its mother will help you too."

"I'm the mother," Freen countered.

"And so is she," Poom said with a knowing smile.

Freen groaned, rubbing her temples. "I can’t with you, Poom. Just stick to the plan and the contract." Her tone was firm again, a clear signal to drop the subject.

"Alright, boss, your call," Poom relented, but the mischief in his eyes didn’t fade entirely.

He turned his laptop toward her. "Now, about that RPA deal—I found an amicable way to allow their provision without compromising our position. If we amend this section here..."

Freen shifted her focus, scanning the screen as Poom walked her through the adjustments. But even as she listened, her mind drifted elsewhere—drifted to her.

********

It was late when Freen finally wrapped up her last meeting, exhaustion weighing heavy on her shoulders. Five weeks. That’s how long she’d been throwing herself into work—contracts, negotiations, endless back-and-forth. A relentless cycle designed, perhaps, to keep certain thoughts at bay.

She pressed 0 on the receiver.

"Peggy, I’m heading home. Any pending approvals or documents—just send them to my email."

"Yes, Miss Freen."

A polite acknowledgment. Routine. Predictable.

She made her way to the elevator, then out to the parking lot where her red Porsche gleamed under dim streetlights. The drive home stretched before her, long and quiet, the weight of unspoken questions pressing into her mind.

Was she burying herself in work to escape the lingering thoughts?

What would happen to Becky? To the contract?

Would she ever stop feeling this ache in her chest?

Freen sighed, shaking the thoughts away as she turned onto the familiar curb.

"Good evening, Miss Freen."

"Good evening," she replied automatically, offering the doorman a brief nod before stepping inside. The elevator ride felt longer than usual.

When she reached the penthouse, she fished for her key card, swiping it without hesitation. The soft beep sounded, and the door clicked open.

And there she was.

Becky lay curled on the couch, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. Freen hesitated at the doorway, her gaze lingering on her—small, relaxed, utterly unaware of the turmoil raging inside her observer.

Her shorts barely covered her legs, accentuating the soft, smooth skin beneath. A few tangled strands of hair had fallen across her face, and Freen’s fingers itched to brush them away.

She stood there, simply watching—studying—the woman before her, as if trying to make sense of something she wasn’t ready to admit.

Becky stirred, shifting slightly before her eyelids fluttered open.

"Hi," she murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

Freen cleared her throat. "Why did you sleep here?"

"I was waiting for you." Becky sat up, stretching slightly. "Let me prepare your dinner."

No. Freen wasn’t hungry. Not for food, anyway.

"I already ate," she lied, turning away before Becky could press further.

"Ooh, okay. Do you want a massage? I can give you one," Becky offered, smiling through her lingering drowsiness.

Freen’s pulse wavered.

"It’s fine. I have an early meeting tomorrow," she said curtly, brushing past.

Becky exhaled, the energy in the room shifting slightly. Then, in a voice quieter than before—

"Did I do something wrong, Freen?"

The question stopped her.

Freen turned, meeting Becky’s gaze. Hesitated.

"Why would you say that? You didn’t do anything wrong."

There was a softness in her voice—just enough to offer reassurance, but not enough to invite more questions.

"Please, go back to your room and sleep. It’s comfortable there and Doctor’s orders, remember?"

Becky nodded slowly, retreating without protest.

Freen stepped into her room, locking the door behind her. She exhaled, pressing her forehead against the wood for a long moment.

No, Becky. You didn’t do anything wrong.

I did.

********

Becky was mid-bite when an excited voice shattered the quiet of breakfast.

"Beeeecck! I missed you!"

A burst of energy collided into her as Shup wrapped her in a tight hug. Becky laughed, pressing her cheek against her friend’s shoulder.

"Shuuup! How are you?"

"Totally bored! I don’t have someone to watch movies with," Shup giggled, pulling back, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, she grabbed a basket from beside her.

"Oh, before I forget—fresh fruits from my mom!"

Becky accepted it with a smile, turning to Somsak.

"Please take this to the kitchen."

Somsak gave a polite nod, taking the basket and disappearing into the back.

Shup wasted no time.

"So, Beck—how’s everything here? Is she treating you right?"

Becky sighed, fingers running absently over the rim of her mug.

"She does. She gives me everything I need, and she’s been kind."

"But..." Shup pressed, tilting her head knowingly.

Becky hesitated. Then, with a dismissive shake of her head—

"But I don’t know, Shup… something's off. I don’t want to demand anything. Maybe I’m just overthinking."

Shup’s face softened. She pulled Becky into another hug, squeezing briefly.

"Let her be, Beck. Maybe she’s got a lot on her mind. Her work. She’s the boss, right?"

"I guess so."

A pause. Then, a shift.

"So, you wanna watch some movies?"

Shup's eyes lit up.

"Suure! Let’s gooo!"

Midway through the film, Becky found herself shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

"Something wrong, Beck?" Shup asked between mouthfuls of popcorn, barely glancing away from the screen.

Becky tried adjusting again, pressing a hand against her stomach.

"I think it’s something I ate earlier," she muttered, pushing herself up. "I need to use the bathroom."

Shup nodded, eyes returning to the movie. Becky moved swiftly, disappearing down the hall.

Minutes later, she emerged, a tired look settling over her features.

"Shup, I need to lie down and rest for a bit. If you want to keep watching, go ahead."

Shup studied her for a beat, concern flickering in her expression.

"Oh, I’ll get going then, so you can rest, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow morning."

"Alright."

Shup gave Becky’s hand a small squeeze before heading out.

The moment the door clicked shut, Becky turned back toward the bathroom, opening the vanity closet. Her hands moved with certainty, fingers wrapping around three familiar packets.

She sighed.

Let’s see , she thought.

********

It was late when Freen arrived home, the weight of the day still pressing against her shoulders. As she stepped inside, the soft glow of the living room lights illuminated Becky, sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

"Hi… how was your day?" Becky started, her voice tentative.

"I’m fine. It’s late—why are you still up?" Freen responded, her tone clipped with exhaustion.

As she moved closer, her gaze landed on the coffee table. Three pregnancy tests lay neatly in a row, their presence stark and undeniable.

Becky swallowed, shifting slightly. "Uhm… I wanted to show you these."

A pause. Then—

"Freen, I think I’m pregnant."

Freen’s heartbeat stuttered, her breath catching for just a second. Without thinking, she reached for one of the tests, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over. Two lines. Positive.

*"I—" Becky started, swallowing hard. "Sorry. I used three to make sure."

Freen inhaled, steadying herself. "We’ll visit the doctor tomorrow." Her voice was even, measured, though something flickered beneath it. "Please, get some rest now."

Becky nodded and rose, disappearing into her room without another word.

Freen stood frozen for a moment, staring at the tests laid out before her. Then, almost absently, she picked one up again, rolling it between her fingers.

A slow, amused smile tugged at her lips.

"I guess the doctor’s suggestion did work," she murmured under her breath.

But even as she said it, she knew— this was real now.

Chapter Text

"Alright, Miss Armstrong, kindly lay here and relax," the doctor instructed, motioning toward the examination table.

Becky exhaled slowly, nerves flickering across her expression. Her gaze instinctively sought Freen, and without a word, Freen reached for her hand, squeezing it gently—a quiet reassurance.

The cool gel spread across Becky’s abdomen, sending a small shiver through her, but she remained still. The doctor navigated the transducer over her skin, eyes fixed on the monitor.

"Let’s find the little one for you... Ah, there it is!"

Both women leaned in, breath hitching. A tiny, delicate form appeared on the screen—a barely-there life, but unmistakable.

A rush of emotion surged through Freen. She tightened her grip on Becky’s hand without realizing it.

"Alright, here’s something really special," the doctor said, adjusting a knob on the machine.

And then—

A rhythmic, steady sound filled the room. Deep. Profound.

A heartbeat.

Becky gasped, tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Your baby is about five to six weeks along and looks perfectly healthy," the doctor confirmed.

Freen turned to Becky, catching the sheer awe painted across her face. Pure joy. It made something stir inside her, something deep and unspoken. She smiled.

"Nurse, please clean up Miss Armstrong, and ladies, let’s discuss things further," the doctor said, leading them into her office.

Once seated, the doctor leaned back with a satisfied look.

"First off, congratulations! I told you it would work," she teased, throwing in a wink.

Becky flushed, cheeks turning warm. Freen cleared her throat dramatically, feigning indifference.

"Alright, here’s what you’ll need—vitamins and supplements to keep both baby and mommy healthy," the doctor continued, handing Becky a list.

"By now, you’ll start feeling morning sickness, nausea, cravings, heightened sense of smell… and, of course, mood swings."

Becky nodded, mentally noting how nausea had already hit her earlier during the movie with Shup.

"Freen, better be ready for your wife’s cravings," the doctor quipped.

Freen chuckled, but she was already storing away crucial notes—this was serious prep work.

"You’re in your first trimester, and everything looks good. But if you experience spotting or high fever, come see me immediately," the doctor instructed, handing Becky a brochure.

"Any questions?"

Silence.

Both women sat, completely caught up in the moment. Until—

"Oh, and if you’re wondering," the doctor added casually, "yes, sex is safe during the first trimester."

Becky blinked rapidly, but she kept her expression neutral.

Freen? Almost choked on her drink.

********

Freen couldn’t stop smiling. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could dampen her mood.

She held the ultrasound photo in her hands, staring at the tiny shape on the screen. Her baby. She’s small, delicate, a little pea curled in the womb. Or maybe... a he? The thought made her giggle softly, unable to contain the quiet excitement bubbling inside her.

Then, she thought of Becky—the way she had looked at her today, beaming as the doctor explained the details of the pregnancy. How her deep brown eyes had sparkled with unfiltered joy, warmth radiating from her in waves.

Freen had been so overwhelmed—so caught up in the sheer right of the moment—that she had almost kissed her.

Oh god, Freen. Can you effin’ stop that?!

She shook off the thought, clearing her throat. But the lingering loneliness crept in.

She hadn’t been able to drive Becky home. Hadn’t been able to stay beside her. If it weren’t for this damn deal, she would’ve rushed home without a second thought—held Becky close, made sure she was comfortable, done everything she could.

No. She wasn’t letting this happen again.

She’d make up for lost time.

"Boss."

Poom’s voice pulled her back to reality.

"I spoke with the reps of RPA. They’ve agreed to our terms, and this Friday, we can finalize the deal. If you could take a look at this—see if you have any final revisions."

Professional. Serious. No teasing.

She barely heard him.

"Uh… darling, are you with us?"

Freen blinked. "Uh—yes. Sure. Leave it there, I’ll look into it."

Poom placed the file on her desk, but something else had caught his attention.

"Wait a minute—what’s this?"

Before Freen could react, he snatched the ultrasound photo from her hands. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open.

"Oh my GOD. Darling! Congrats! You and Becky are having a baby! I’m so happy for you!"

His voice practically cracked with emotion. Tears shimmered in his eyes as he crushed her into a hug.

"She’s lucky," he said, pulling back slightly. "She’ll have a fabulous uncle like me."

Freen chuckled, shaking her head. "What if it’s a he?"

Poom scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Well, he’s still lucky. He’ll have the cutest Valentino toddler shoes."

Freen laughed, holding onto the warmth of the moment. Her baby. Their baby.

And suddenly, everything felt just a little bit lighter.

********

Becky sat motionless, the weight of the words still settling in her chest. I’m pregnant. A quiet breath escaped her lips as she whispered it again, as if saying it aloud would make it more real. I’m going to have a baby. We are going to have a baby.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, soft and unguarded. She imagined the tiny fingers curling around hers, the warmth of a life she would nurture, a future colored with laughter and sleepy murmurs. And with Freen—

Her thoughts faltered, the illusion shattering as reality clawed its way in. Her smile faded. This wasn’t her baby. There was no life with Freen, no shared dreams beyond what the contract dictated. A hollow ache spread in her chest, an emptiness that swallowed the fleeting happiness she had let herself feel.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, frustrated. Damn hormones. But deep down, she knew—it wasn’t just the hormones.

********

Freen exhaled, phone pressed to her ear, words tumbling out in a hurried rush before she could rein them in. “Hello, how are you feeling? Are you taking your meds on time? I know the fridge is stocked, Somsak and Mr. Somchai are there, but maybe you need something? I was thinking of leaving the office early just to—uhm—see if you need anything. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much… work has been—”

She stopped herself, her own rambling making her cringe. Becky’s soft chuckle on the other end eased her nerves slightly.

“What I meant to say is… maybe we could celebrate a bit? You know, the baby?” Freen tried, voice uncertain, clumsy in ways that weren’t usual for her.

Becky smiled, warmth spreading through her chest at the hesitant offer. She knew Freen wasn’t good at expressing these things—not when emotions were involved.

“Uhm… okay. How about ice cream?” Becky mused, the thought of something sweet suddenly appealing. “Vanilla…” she added after a pause, as if settling on it in real time.

Freen blinked. Oh. Must be the craving.

“Ice cream is nice,” she agreed slowly, carefully. Then—tentative, unsure—“Uh… would you maybe want to watch a movie while having that ice cream?”

Becky bit her lip, amused at how nervous Freen sounded. It was cute , really—like watching someone trying to ask their crush on a date for the first time.

“Okay. See you then.”

Freen barely had time to process Becky’s agreement before she felt herself exhale deeply, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. Then realization hit— Why am I nervous? It’s just Becky. Just Becky! But the way her heart was hammering said otherwise.

Oh god, stop it, Freen!

With newfound decisiveness, she pressed “0” on the receiver. “Peggy, cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. Send all the documents that need reviewing to Poom. Also, tell him not to ever call me today.”

Peggy didn’t miss a beat. “Duly noted, Miss Freen. Anything else?”

Freen hesitated for half a second. Then, with a small smile, she added, “Ah, yes. Contact my favorite florist and ask them to send Ever Red roses to this address.”

“Will do, Miss Freen.”

Freen nodded. “Thank you, Peggy.”

The receiver clicked back into place, and as she leaned back in her chair, a familiar flutter stirred in her chest—anticipation, excitement, maybe even the tiniest bit of nervousness.

She shook her head to clear it. Focus, Freen. There’s ice cream to get and a movie to pick.

And, of course, there was Becky.

********

Becky had barely finished freshening up when the doorbell rang. Her forehead creased. Who could that be? she muttered, pulling open the door.

The sight before her made her breath hitch—a bouquet of deep red roses, lush and very beautiful. Her fingers twitched, itching to touch them.

“Miss Rebecca Armstrong?” the delivery man asked.

“Uh—yes?” She barely registered her own response, still captivated.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

Becky accepted the flowers, holding them close to her chest as she shut the door behind her. They’re beautiful. A soft warmth spread in her chest, the lingering scent of roses filling the room.

She was just about to place them in a vase when the door swung open again. Freen stepped in, arms loaded with plastic bags.

“Ooh, I see someone got you flowers,” she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Becky matched her grin and glanced at the card tucked between the petals. From: F. Hi! To: B. She chuckled.

“Yeah, got them from some random stranger,” she quipped.

Freen scoffed playfully, placing the bags down. “Hmm… wow. That’s some stranger.”

Becky stifled another chuckle, watching as Freen rifled through the bags. “Okay, I got you vanilla ice cream.” She lifted one bag, then another, and another.

Becky gawked. “Are you planning to give me diabetes? That’s way too much.”

“Well,” Freen shrugged, nonchalant, “I didn’t know what brand you wanted, so I got all of them.”

A warmth flickered in Becky’s chest again. She glanced at Freen, who was busy organizing the containers, completely unaware of how effortlessly endearing she was.

“You’re sweeter than the ice cream,” Becky whispered absentmindedly.

Freen’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry, what?”

Becky blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, nothing. I said we can have that Ben & Jerry’s brand. That one looks nice.”

Freen squinted at her, clearly suspicious. Becky just busied herself opening the lid, biting back a grin.

********

The television flickered with scenes from Pretty Woman , the soft hum of dialogue filling the room. Becky had wanted an action flick, something fast-paced to drown out the thoughts in her mind, but Freen had insisted— not good for the baby. So here they were, settled on the couch, a romance playing out before them.

“I like Richard Gere’s character,” Freen remarked absentmindedly, her focus half on the screen, half elsewhere. “Ruthless. All business. I would’ve done the same deal with that company.”

Becky smiled, but the words stirred something deeper—a quiet sadness she didn’t let show. The contract. The weight of it sat in the back of her mind, an unspoken truth she had no choice but to carry.

Then, out of nowhere, Freen’s hand rested on Becky’s abdomen. A soft, warm touch.

“How’s your day, little one?” Freen murmured, voice threaded with tenderness.

Becky’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected that—not from Freen, not like this. The sincerity in her voice, the quiet affection, it unsettled something inside her.

Freen noticed her hesitation and began pulling her hand away. “Oh, I’m sorry—”

But Becky stopped her, fingers lightly pressing against hers, as if to say no, it’s okay .

Freen hesitated for a moment before settling again, her hand remaining. She let out a small breath and spoke softly. “We’re excited to meet you.”

Becky’s chest tightened, sadness creeping in where warmth should have been. The words were meant to be sweet, but instead, they ached. We. As if there was a future—a togetherness that wasn’t just bound by obligation.

The movie played on, the lull of it eventually pulling Freen under. She slumped against Becky’s shoulder, breaths deep and even. She must be exhausted from work. Becky watched her for a moment, then let her own hand drift to her stomach, resting gently where Freen’s had been.

“She’s excited to see you, baby,” Becky whispered, voice barely above a breath. She swallowed, blinked up at the ceiling like it would steady the emotions swirling inside her. “I might not be able to see you, but I want you to know—you changed my life, and you’ll be forever part of it.”

She thought she was alone in her confession. Thought Freen was lost in sleep.

But Freen was awake. Listening. And suddenly, everything felt different.

********

The movie had ended, but the weight of the night lingered. Becky had retreated to her room, leaving Freen alone in the dimly lit space, sunk into the lounging chair. The quiet wrapped around her, broken only by the soft clink of ice against the glass as she swirled the scotch in her hand.

She exhaled, head tilting back against the chair. The contract. She had almost forgotten about it—forgotten what it meant, forgotten the limits of what they were supposed to be. The happiness she had felt earlier had eclipsed the truth for a moment, giving her something close to warmth. Now, reality seeped back in, heavy, sobering.

She took another slow sip, letting the burn ground her.

Then, movement.

Her senses sharpened before she even turned her head. Someone approaching—quiet, deliberate. And then, there she was.

Becky.

Her silhouette was bathed in the low glow of the room, the soft fabric of her white camisole barely concealing the curves beneath. Freen sat up slightly, tension coiling in her spine.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” she murmured, voice low, uncertain.

Becky said nothing.

She just took another step closer.

Freen’s breath hitched the moment Becky’s fingertips grazed her skin—soft, feather-light, yet electric. A quiet shiver ran down her spine, the air between them suddenly thick with something unspoken.

“Bec—ky… what are you doing?” The words barely made it past her lips, strained and uncertain.

Becky didn’t answer.

She simply let her fingers linger, her touch deliberate, her gaze steady.

Freen stayed frozen, heart pounding, caught between hesitation and something far more dangerous—something that made it impossible to pull away.

They were too close. Too alone.

The quiet stretched between them, thick and charged, like a held breath neither dared release. Freen knew better than to let it linger—to let the moment slip into something dangerous. But Becky’s gaze pinned her in place, steady, knowing, as if she had already decided.

“This isn’t—” Freen started, voice barely above a whisper.

Becky’s fingers traced the sharp line of her jaw, silencing her. “Shhh… I know you want this,” she murmured, words gentle but certain.

The touch was light, barely there, but it unraveled Freen in ways she didn’t expect.

Her pulse thrummed beneath Becky’s fingertips. A quiet shiver ran through her, the heat between them humming, alive.

Then, Becky leaned in—slow, deliberate.

Freen didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t stop her.

“Miss Freen… Miss Freen. Are you okay?”

The voice pulled her from sleep, familiar but distant. Freen blinked, disoriented, the dim light of the room settling around her. Somsak.

“Uh… yes. Why?” She pushed herself up, realizing she had fallen asleep on the lounging chair.

“You seemed distressed—having a bad dream. That’s why I woke you up,” Somsak said, concern lacing her voice.

Freen exhaled, rubbing her temples. Great. Just what I needed. An almost erotic dream!

“Thank you, Somsak. Probably just need a shower,” she murmured, rising to her feet.

She padded toward her room, the lingering haze of sleep clinging to her. As she stepped inside, she let out a quiet curse.

Oh god, not again. Fucking stop, Freen!

Her fingers brushed against her lips.

The phantom sensation was still there—the warmth, the pressure, the undeniable feeling of the kiss that wasn’t real.

Except, deep down, it felt far too real to ignore. 

Chapter Text

He kept to the shadows, watching from a careful distance. The alley was quiet, the dim glow of streetlights barely cutting through the darkness. He had been waiting, tracking, watching.

Then—movement.

His pulse ticked faster as the man stepped out.

Finally.

The target walked with ease, unaware of the eyes locked onto him from across the street. A woman walked beside him, their child clutching his hand. A picture-perfect moment.

A lie.

His grip tightened around his phone as he muttered under his breath, You made this difficult, but I’ve got you now, bastard.

He dialed quickly.

“Boss, we got him. We know where he’s hiding.”

A brief silence.

“Okay, we’ll stay put,” he murmured, gaze never leaving the man.

Another pause.

“Yeah. Keeping our distance. He might get spooked.”

The air felt heavier, the pieces shifting into place—but something was off.

“We’re still digging. This isn’t just him. Someone else is pulling the strings.”

Click.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, watching as the man disappeared down the street with his family.

This wasn’t over.

And something told him—they were only scratching the surface.

********

Poom clicked off the receiver, the call ending with a hollow finality.

They had him.

At least, they thought they did.

He sighed, rubbing his thumb against his temple, his mind spinning with too many questions and too few answers. What the hell was happening? The deeper he dug, the more tangled it became—layers folding in on themselves, lies buried beneath carefully constructed truths.

This wasn’t just a simple cover-up. It was something else—something bigger.

And he needed to know how deep it went.

His men had eyes on the target now, but observation wasn’t enough. If he moved too soon—if he rushed this without solid proof—it could all fall apart. He wasn’t about to make that mistake.

Not this time.

For now, they would wait. Gather more. Watch closely without making themselves known.

Poom leaned back, inhaling slowly as he stared at the city beyond the window. Somewhere out there, the man they had been chasing was living his life, unaware of the walls closing in around him.

The unraveling had begun.

The thought lingered, curling in the back of his mind, just as his phone buzzed sharply against the table.

He glanced at the screen—and just like that, the weight in his chest shifted, loosened slightly.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

The storm could wait. For a moment, at least.

“Hello, my love. In the mood for a little phone sex?”

He laughed, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

“Relax, I’m just teasing, sweetheart. To what do I owe the honor of this call, hmm?”

His tone was light, teasing, effortlessly charming.

“A dinner date? That does sound tempting…” He sighed dramatically. “But I’m swamped with work, my love. How about a late dinner instead?”

A pause, then his grin widened.

“Fabulous! It’s a date then. I love you!” He pressed exaggerated kiss sounds into the receiver before chuckling.

********

It had been four weeks since the movie date , but the feeling hadn’t left. The unease still curled inside Freen like a persistent shadow.

Damn it. The fucking contract.

She should have let it go. She should have dismissed it as business—nothing more. But the way it lingered in the back of her mind, needling at her every quiet moment, told her otherwise.

She sighed, shaking the thoughts away. Focus.

Since learning of Becky’s pregnancy, she had made it a point to be there—breakfasts together, check-ups, cravings. Someone else could do it, sure, but something about that felt wrong.

It should be her.

Becky walked in just as Freen was settling down.

“Oh, hi. I thought you left for work already?” Becky asked, brows raised in mild surprise.

Freen hesitated. “Uh… well, I wanted to have another breakfast with you. You know, it’s good for the baby to hear her mommies’ voices.”

Mommies? Really? What the hell, Freen.

Becky bit her lower lip at the phrase—almost imperceptible—but she shook it off quickly. It’s for the baby, she reasoned to herself. Nothing else.

“Yeah, I read somewhere that it’s kind of stimulating for them,” Becky murmured, running a hand over her belly absentmindedly.

Then—her phone lit up.

Freen watched, silent, as Becky picked it up, her expression shifting instantly. A smile. A soft one.

Who?

Becky’s fingers moved swiftly across the screen, her mood lifting effortlessly.

“Must be something wonderful for you to be smiling like that,” Freen mused, voice even.

Becky didn’t look up. “Shup is coming over later.” The smile remained.

Freen exhaled slowly. “You guys seem close. She’s single?”

Her tone was casual. Measured. But she knew what she was doing.

Becky, still scrolling, replied absentmindedly. “Yeah, we’ve been friends since grade school. Back then, she used to come over all the time—we did sleepovers. She’s single right now, though. Just broke up with her girlfriend.”

Freen nearly choked on her water but masked it with a slow sip, swallowing her reaction.

Oh. girlfriend

A small shift—a ripple of something unfamiliar, something sharp—rose inside her.

And she didn’t like it.

********

"Peggy, did the fresh fruits I ordered arrive?" Freen asked, phone pressed to her ear.

"Yes, Miss Freen. I placed them in your personal fridge to keep them fresh," Peggy replied.

Freen nodded, satisfied. "Good. I’ll be leaving soon and taking them with me. Also, tell Poom not to call—I’ll speak with him in the morning."

"Noted, Miss Freen," Peggy responded.

Freen hurried to her fridge, lifting the fruit basket with a pleased smile. Imported oranges, plump berries, vibrant fruits—each one chosen carefully. As she drove home, she imagined Becky’s delighted expression.

But when she entered the unit, Becky wasn’t waiting for her on the couch like usual.

Maybe she’s watching a movie, Freen thought as she made her way to the movie room. The screen flickered, a film playing. Then—Becky, slumped against Shup’s shoulder, arm draped over her in a quiet, familiar way.

On the table: sliced fruits and fresh orange juice.

Shup adjusted slightly upon noticing her. "Hi. I was about to leave, but she fell asleep," Shup murmured, voice careful.

Freen’s grip tightened around the fruit basket. Her jaw tensed, but she forced herself to stay composed.

Becky stirred, sleepy eyes blinking up at her. "Oh, you’re here... Did you eat? I can make something." She moved to stand, but Freen cut in.

"It’s fine. I ate."

Becky offered a small smile. "Want to watch with us? We just started—I can restart it."

Something in Freen twisted, a frustration she couldn’t quite place. "You’re not supposed to stay up late. Doctor’s orders." Her words came clipped, firmer than necessary.

"It’s not that late. And Shup’s here. I’ve been taking my meds, sleeping properly—it’s just this once." Becky’s voice was soft, careful.

Freen’s gaze flickered to the table. "How do you even know these are fresh?"

Shup sat forward slightly. "They’re from our farm. My mom picked them herself—we only use natural fertilizers."

Freen barely registered the response. Her grip tightened on the fruit basket. A second passed, tension crackling in the air. Then, without another word, she turned and left, striding straight to the kitchen.

The fruit basket landed in the waste bin with a dull thud.

Becky and Shup stared after her, mouths slightly parted, confusion flickering between them as if silently asking— what the hell just happened?

********

Freen sighed, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before taking a slow sip. The night air was cool against her skin, but it did nothing to quiet her restless mind.

What the hell was wrong with her? Tantrums? Really? She wasn’t supposed to react like that.

She exhaled sharply, trying to rationalize it. I just wanted to make sure she’s eating right. That the baby is getting proper nutrients. That was all. But those fruits on the table hadn’t looked good enough, and her arm—draped over Shup like that —it gnawed at her thoughts, creeping into places she didn’t know how to name.

She was about to take another sip when she heard the soft shuffle of hesitant steps.

Becky.

Freen flicked her gaze toward her before looking back out at the night sky. "What are you doing here? It’s late—you should be sleeping." Her voice was firm, almost too sharp.

Becky hesitated. "I got up to pee. Been happening a lot lately—must be the pregnancy. Got thirsty too, so I grabbed some water."

Freen stayed silent. Just looked away.

Becky took a careful step closer, as if measuring the weight of her mood. "Freen, I’m sorry about earlier. I know I should be more careful about my health—for the baby. It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure to sleep early." Her voice was soft, placating. "I’ll tell Shup to come earlier, so we don’t stay up late watching movies."

Freen’s jaw clenched. That person again.

"Do you think it’s good for the baby—her coming over so often?" Freen’s tone was tight, deliberate. "She’s an unfamiliar person."

Becky frowned. "What? She’s been my friend for years. She’s my emotional support."

Freen let out a humorless breath. "You have your parents for that."

"Yes, but... I’ve been with them most of the time. Shup is also someone I can rely on." Becky’s words came so easily, like it was obvious—like it wasn’t something Freen should be questioning.

Freen felt something twist deep inside her. "Someone you can rely on."

She sighed, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. "Just go back to bed."

Becky lingered for a second before nodding and turning away.

Freen closed her eyes, the frustration still gnawing at her chest. Now she’s really fucked.

********

"Good morning, Miss Armstrong. Would you like to have your breakfast now?" Somsak greeted Becky as she stepped out of her room.

Becky glanced around, searching for a familiar presence. Where is she?

Somsak seemed to notice. "Miss Freen left early today. She asked me to assist you with anything you need."

Becky hesitated for a moment. Left early?

She nodded, brushing off the odd feeling. "I’ll take this plate of fruits and eat at the balcony."

She carried the plate, setting it on the small table before settling into the lounging chair.

"Okay, Miss Armstrong. Just let me know if you need anything," Somsak said before leaving.

Becky leaned back, letting the cool morning air wrap around her, the silence oddly comforting. Ah... now I get why she likes it out here. It was peaceful, easy.

Her thoughts drifted back to last night.

Freen’s mood. The sharpness in her tone. The tension she couldn't quite place.

Becky sighed, absentmindedly running a hand over her belly. And to think I’m the pregnant one—but apparently, your mom is the one having mood swings.

She muttered the words under her breath, shaking her head.

Something about all this felt different.

********

"Good fucking morning!"

Poom’s voice sliced through Freen’s office like a blade of relentless enthusiasm. She exhaled slowly, barely concealing the dread creeping up her spine. Not now, Poom. Please.

He leaned against her desk, grinning. "Notice anything different, darling?"

Freen barely looked up. "Not in the mood." She was clinging to her work—the only thing keeping her mind from spiraling back to last night.

Poom gasped dramatically. "Oh, come on! Indulge me."

Freen sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. She lazily glanced his way. "Alright—you got Botox."

Poom clutched his chest in mock horror. "With my impeccable skincare routine? Darling, I would never !" He wiggled his fingers. "Try a little harder."

She rolled her eyes. "A new Valentino bag."

"Close, but not quite."

Then he flashed his hand, wriggling his fingers. A diamond ring—huge, blinding atop a platinum band.

Freen’s eyes widened. "Poom! Is this what I think it is?"

He beamed, nearly bouncing. "Yes, darling! My love finally proposed—we’re getting married next month! Isn’t it exciting?"

Freen let out an excited gasp before pulling him into a tight hug. "I’m so happy for you! You two are meant to be."

Poom grinned, basking in the moment before launching into a detailed monologue. "Alright, listen—I know you’re a busy woman, so I’ve arranged everything for you. We’re doing this at The Cabanas in Koh Samui—best cabin villas, only the finest for my guests. It’s a two-week celebration of love, including a bachelor party, and trust me, men will be flocking to it."

Freen chuckled as she listened to him ramble, genuinely happy for him.

Then, with a knowing smirk, Poom added, "I’ve assigned cabins, and yours is the farthest—because I know how cranky you get."

Freen laughed softly. "Smart decision."

"Also, you can’t say no—because you, my darling, are my Best Woman of Honor."

Freen smiled, warmth in her expression. "It’ll be my pleasure, Poom."

As he turned to leave, he slid an envelope onto her desk. "Oh, by the way—here’s your invitation."

Freen picked it up, admiring the elegant design until her eyes landed on a name beside hers.

Miss Freen Sarocha Chankimha and Rebecca Patricia Armstrong

Her stomach tensed.

Poom—already halfway out the door—paused to throw one last remark over his shoulder.

"Called her. She said she’d go if you’d go. And since you can’t back out, well—looks like she’s coming too. Don’t worry, I’ve accounted for her state—no booze, no late nights. The beach will do her good. Stop keeping her cooped up in your unit."

And just like that, he was gone.

Freen sat there, invitation still in her hands, dumbstruck.

Me and her. In one villa.

She sighed. Now what?

Chapter Text

“Uhm… Freen.” Becky’s voice was hesitant when Freen stepped through the door.

Freen knew exactly what Becky was about to say—she had been expecting it. And honestly, she wanted to hear it.

“Yeah… Poom—he, uh, gave me this.” Freen handed Becky the invitation.

Becky took it but barely glanced at the card. “I can just stay here. I mean, go have fun and celebrate Poom’s wedding.”

Freen exhaled, the weight of Poom’s words hitting her again: Stop keeping her cooped up in your unit.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what Becky needed. What they both needed.

“No, it would be nice if you were there too.” Freen said, gently but firmly. “Poom would want you to be there.”

Becky hesitated, watching Freen carefully. “Would you want me to go?” She tested, her tone unreadable.

Freen cleared her throat. “I think we should start shopping.” She held onto the invitation a moment longer before pressing it into Becky’s hands. “You’ll need new clothes for the event.” Her eyes flickered down before meeting Becky’s again, “Your clothes won’t do.”

********

They had nearly everything they needed—except one last essential piece: the swimsuit.

Freen could sense Becky’s excitement for the ocean. It was there in the way she talked about summers spent swimming with her family, the way she absentmindedly flipped through nature documentaries on marine life. This trip was more than just celebrating Poom’s wedding—it was a change of scenery, a breath of fresh air, maybe even exactly what Becky needed.

As they approached the boutique, Becky’s grip tightened around Freen’s arm. She leaned in, voice low. “What are we doing here? This store is…”

“Miss Freen! Always a pleasure.” A woman greeted her warmly before turning to Becky with a knowing smile. “And you must be Miss Armstrong?”

Becky hesitated. “Uh… it’s Becky.”

The woman’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. We have the latest swimwear and lingerie collections—please, take a look. If anything catches your eye, we have a private fitting room.”

Freen gestured subtly, giving Becky the space to choose.

Becky skimmed through delicate fabrics—lace, silk, barely-there designs—and exhaled. “So expensive for something so tiny.” She lifted a red lace thong, examining it with mild amusement. “What can you possibly cover with this?”

Freen overheard and chuckled, amused. “Would you like to try that one?”

Becky shot her a look and rolled her eyes before moving on to the swimwear section, where an array of sleek designs lined the racks. Even with the subtle baby bump, her figure remained graceful—she could absolutely pull off something bold. She selected three swimsuits and was about to head to the fitting room when the salesperson approached again.

“Lovely choices! We have a private space for you and your wife.”

Wife again, huh? Becky thought.

They were led into a plush room—a velvet chair, a coffee table, full-length mirrors. The salesperson gestured toward Freen. “Please, have a seat. Would you like coffee or wine while you wait?”

“The wine will do.” Freen said easily.

The woman turned to Becky. “You can change here—and of course, show your wife what you think.”

Becky glanced at Freen, searching for a reaction. Freen simply smiled, looking away, stifling a laugh.

Alright, Becky thought, if this is how you want to play it…

Disappearing into the changing area, she slipped into one of the swimsuits. Freen was still chuckling to herself, swirling her wine, when Becky stepped out.

“So, what do you think, my wife?”

Freen nearly choked on her drink. She barely managed to wipe at the drop of wine that almost spilled. Becky looked stunning—the sleek black two-piece accentuated every graceful line of her frame, the high-cut design making it impossible not to stare.

The salesperson turned to Freen expectantly. “Miss Freen? Your wife said she’ll take whichever you approve.”

Freen was still in a daze when she noticed Becky giggling. Oh. So that’s what you’re doing.

Smirking, she leaned back, taking a slow sip of her wine. “No, I don’t think that one suits her.”

Becky’s smirk deepened. Alright, she thought, let’s see if your heart can handle this.

She returned to the changing room and slipped into something else. When she stepped out again, Freen was mid-conversation with Poom on the phone.

She took one look at Becky and immediately ended the call.

The hot pink bikini hugged Becky’s skin perfectly, the color vibrant against her soft complexion.

Freen didn’t smile this time. She simply stared.

Then a thought hit her—there would be others at the beach looking at Becky the same way she was looking at her.

She hated it.

“I don’t want that one either. Just get one of those… conservative one-pieces.” Her voice was clipped, frustrated.

Becky blinked. “But this looks nice.”

“No. I don’t like it.”

A quiet beat.

Becky sighed, disappearing back into the changing room. “ Or maybe I’ll just wear jeans in the water.”

********

A month later .

They both stood side by side, admiring the view of Chaweng Beach. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, a mesmerizing shade of blue, its waves lapping gently against the shore. The sand was pristine, soft, untouched—Becky smiled, itching to feel it beneath her toes.

She was about to step forward when a smooth voice interrupted.

"Hello, ma’am, and welcome to the Cabanas!"

Becky turned to face the resort attendant—a tall, well-groomed man with a warm smile.

"Hello!" she greeted, equally warm.

Freen watched the exchange from the side, exhaling quietly, eyes lingering just a second too long.

Then, from over the attendant’s shoulder came a familiar, booming voice—

"Hello, hello, my darlings! You’ve made it!"

Poom approached, arms wide, pulling both of them into an embrace.

"What took you so long?" Freen scoffed. 

Poom grinned. "You’ve barely stepped off the car and you’re already this grumpy?"

Still smiling, he turned to Becky, his gaze flickering briefly to her belly before he leaned in, voice soft. "Hello, little gal. Uncle Poom is getting married. And no, young lady, you are not allowed to drink."

Becky chuckled, tapping his shoulder. "Congrats, Poom. I’m excited for the ceremony."

"Excited?" Poom scoffed. "Honey, this isn’t just a wedding—it’s a party ."

Freen sighed. "Where do we park?"

Poom smirked, lowering his voice as he leaned into her ear. "Someone’s excited to try out the villa."

Freen shot him a dark look. "Can you quit it and just show us to our room?"

Poom chuckled but relented, pulling out the keys. "Alright, alright, I’ll hand these over to the missus."

Becky blinked as Poom passed her the keys.

"Okay, I’ll let you guys settle in first. We’ll go over the details at dinner. That handsome young man will take you to your villa."

He motioned toward the resort attendant—whose name tag read Annop .

"Let’s go, ma’am?" Annop said smoothly.

The club car was spacious, the ride pleasant. Annop glanced at them through the rearview mirror, attempting conversation.

"How was the trip, ma’am?"

Becky noticed the way he was subtly trying to figure out their names.

"Just Becky is fine. And this is Freen."

Freen barely nodded, hardly acknowledging him.

Becky continued, "The trip was fine. This resort is beautiful. I bet it gets a lot of tourists during the summer."

"Oh, yes, Miss Becky. We even get plenty of foreign visitors."

Annop was more than happy to keep chatting, but Freen wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

The moment they arrived at the villa, she wasted no time.

"Pick us up at eight. Becky, let’s go."

She stepped out first, before circling to help Becky down, her grip perhaps a little too firm.

Becky eyed her for a moment but said nothing.

"Alright, ma’am. If you’d like, I can show you the amenities inside the villa," Annop offered.

Freen didn’t even glance back. "No need. We can manage." Her tone was clipped, unusually dry.

As the door closed behind them, Becky exhaled, rubbing her belly with an amused smirk.

What’s with her? So grumpy.

She hummed to herself, shaking her head.

"Baby, I think your mom is having one of her mood swings."

********

As they stepped into the villa cabin, they were immediately struck by its grandeur. The space exuded effortless luxury—the kind that made it clear Poom had gone all out.

Upon entering, they found themselves in a beautifully designed receiving area, complete with plush furniture that looked as comfortable as they were expensive. A sleek mini bar stood in the corner, stocked with premium selections, while just beyond the sliding glass doors was an outdoor setup: elegant lounge chairs encircling a pristine mini lap pool. The scene was nothing short of stunning.

"Wow," Freen muttered under her breath, eyes scanning the room.

"Poom outdid himself with this," she finally admitted, turning toward Becky.

Becky, equally captivated, smiled back. "Yeah, this is beautiful." She turned, suddenly eager. "Do you want to check the room? I want to see my bed."

Her enthusiasm was almost contagious. Freen chuckled.

"Okay, you go ahead. I'll follow—I want to pour myself a drink first."

Becky nodded and made her way toward the bedroom while Freen wandered over to the bar, selecting a bottle. Just as she was about to pour herself a drink, her phone buzzed.

It was Poom.

Poom: Hello darling! Did you like the villa I got for you? No need to thank me. Mwah!

Freen’s forehead creased as she read the message, suspicion creeping in.

Before she had time to respond, Becky’s voice rang out from the other side of the villa.

"Uh, Freen. Can you come over here, please?"

Sighing, she set her drink aside and followed Becky’s voice.

And then—she saw it.

A massive king-size bed, positioned perfectly at the center of the luxurious bedroom. To the side, a sprawling en-suite bathroom featuring double vanities and, to top it off, a jacuzzi.

Freen exhaled sharply and facepalmed.

Oh my god.

She could already hear Poom’s laughter in her head.

I told him to get me two queen beds. Or a two-room cabin.

Instead, they were standing in the middle of a premium honeymoon suite.

Great. Just great. Poom I’m going to kill you!

********

The dinner was warm, filled with laughter and good food. The energy was light and easy, with Poom effortlessly stealing the spotlight. Seated beside his fiancée, he animatedly recounted their love story, drawing a collective “awww” from the guests. It was charming, endearing—almost too sweet.

Between stories, he went over final wedding details with his planner, ensuring everything would go smoothly. Freen, as the best woman of honor, sat close to the coordinator, listening intently as she was briefed on her role.

Once the meeting wrapped up, she stood to leave—only to be intercepted.

A striking woman approached her, moving with an effortless kind of confidence.

Becky noticed but kept her focus on her plate, forcing herself to tune out the way the woman leaned in a little too close, how Freen’s laughter came a little too easily.

She only looked up when Poom slid beside her.

“Chloe. One of our uni friends.”

Becky blinked. “Ooh. They seem close.”

Poom hummed. “Yeah, they had a thing back then. Chloe moved to America with her family, though.”

He paused, then added, “But they ended it. Well… Freen did.”

Becky’s stomach twisted—an odd, inexplicable feeling bubbling up.

She kept her expression neutral, pushing the thought aside.

Poom, however, caught the change in her demeanor. “Hey, are you okay? You seem unwell.”

Becky forced a small smile. “I think I’m just tired. I’ll head back to the villa.”

“Alright, I’ll have someone take you.”

********

Back in the villa, Becky let the water soothe her, swimming slow laps across the pool.

Her mind was restless.

Why should I care?

It’s her ex. So what?

But then—

Why the hell was she touching her like that?

She closed her eyes, exhaling. Stop it, Becky. Don’t do this.

A voice cut through her thoughts.

“Why did you leave without saying anything to me?”

Becky froze, turning slowly.

Freen stood by the pool’s edge. Her expression was tight—frustration clear in her voice.

Becky exhaled, reaching for her towel, stepping out of the water.

Freen’s eyes flickered.

She didn’t say anything—didn’t move—just watched her.

The dim glow from the villa barely softened the way Becky looked in the night air, water dripping from her skin, her presence radiating something raw.

Becky pulled the towel tighter around herself, clearing her throat.

“I… I didn’t want to interrupt you. Chatting with your… friend.”

She tried to sound unaffected. 

Tried to choose her words carefully.

As she moved toward the villa, Freen stepped in front of her, cutting her path.

The space between them felt suddenly charged.

Becky swallowed, pulse quickening. She was close enough to catch the scent of alcohol on Freen’s breath.

Freen’s voice was steady when she spoke.

“When it comes to you and the baby, I’m never busy.”

A slow inhale.

Becky swallowed.

Freen leaned in slightly—

Becky stepped back, pulse kicking up.

“Uh… it’s cold. I’ll go inside first.”

She walked past her quickly, disappearing into the villa.

Leaving the tension hanging in the air between them.

********

"I’ll take the couch so you can be comfy here." Freen offered, though she already knew how this was going to go.

Ah, their sleeping arrangement.

Thanks to Poom, she was now stuck in this predicament.

Becky hesitated, voice soft. "The bed is big enough for both of us. We can just sleep here together. And… I don’t want to sleep alone in an unfamiliar place."

Freen sighed, relenting. "Okay. You take the right side—it’s closer to the bathroom when you get up to pee."

"Okay. Thanks. Good night." Becky turned her back to Freen.

"Good night." Freen did the same.

They said goodnight.

But neither of them was actually sleeping.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Minutes passed.

Becky shifted slightly. The mattress dipped just enough for Freen to notice.

Freen exhaled, trying to clear her mind, trying to focus on literally anything else—

Her pulse stumbled.

Had she just leaned in?

Almost kissed her?

She shut her eyes, jaw tightening.

Freen, get a hold of yourself.

The air between them felt heavy—charged with something neither of them was saying.

Sleep wasn’t happening tonight. 

Chapter Text

Morning light spilled through the glass panes, casting a soft golden glow over the room. Freen stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as she slowly woke to the cool embrace of the early air. Despite last night’s restless tossing, she felt surprisingly refreshed.

She shifted slightly, ready to rise—but something heavy anchored her in place. Confused, she glanced down. A warm weight draped over her waist. Becky’s arm.

Freen froze.

Memories of Becky casually tossing her arm around Shup flashed in her mind. She sighed. She really shouldn’t just do these things , Freen told herself. Carefully—so carefully—she lifted Becky’s arm, turning just enough to get a proper look at her.

Her breath hitched.

Becky lay beside her, deep in sleep, hair tangled messily over her face. Freen’s eyes traced over delicate features—the flutter of long lashes and her nose's soft slope. Too cute. The words escaped her in a whisper.

Her fingers twitched, tempted to brush that stray lock from Becky’s cheek. She held back. But then—her gaze dropped lower. Becky’s lips, slightly parted, full and impossibly pink. She wondered absently how they might feel if she—

Becky shifted.

Freen snapped her eyes shut, body stiffening. She lay utterly still, feigning sleep, heart hammering in her chest.

Becky’s eyes blinked open groggily. A frown flickered across her sleepy face as she registered the warmth under her palm—the distinct shape of someone beneath her arm. She blinked again.

Shit.

She immediately pulled away, scolding herself. Why the hell did I hug her? Careful not to make a fuss, she sat up and hurried toward the bathroom, needing an escape.

Halfway there, Freen yawned dramatically. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

Becky stiffened. Kept her eyes forward. “Yeah. I slept good.” Relief flooded her. She didn’t notice. Thank god.

But just as Becky reached for the door handle, Freen’s voice turned playful. “I bet you did,” she mused. “You were hugging me all night.”

Becky’s breath caught.

She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her, pressing her palms to her burning face.

Damn it.

********

The ocean stretched endlessly, breathtaking in its calm expanse. They sat in the main villa, sharing breakfast with the other guests. Freen had chosen a secluded corner table—one with the best view and a little more privacy. But despite the beauty around them, the silence between them was thick.

Becky focused on her food, picking at it idly, until Freen finally spoke.

“How are you feeling now? Poom said you had to leave last night because you weren’t feeling well.”

Becky barely looked up. “I’m fine now. Maybe I was just a bit tired.”

Freen nodded, a flicker of concern in her eyes before she continued. “Oh. Sorry I wasn’t able to bring you back to the villa myself. I got caught up.”

Becky’s grip tightened on her fork.

Oh yes, you did. Your hand caught in hers. The image flashed in her mind—Chloe’s fingers curled lightly around Freen’s arm, lingering too long. Becky had felt something hot and irrational stir in her chest then, and even now, it hadn’t quite settled.

“It’s fine,” she said evenly, testing the waters. “I was able to get back to the villa.”

A pause. Then, more deliberately, “I saw you with someone. Poom said she’s a friend from uni?”

Freen hesitated for just a second—just enough for Becky to notice. “Ah, yes. Her name is Chloe. She was a former… friend.” Her voice trailed off, as if the word didn’t quite fit.

Becky exhaled sharply through her nose. Former friend, my ass. Former ex-girlfriend, you mean. She shoved a bite of food into her mouth to keep herself from saying it out loud.

She didn’t understand why she was so pissed. There was nothing to be upset about, nothing to dwell on—but here she was, brimming with annoyance, sulking over a girl she barely even knew. A jealous wife—that’s what I look like.

Wife.

The word had always been a joke between them, tossed around in teasing, but now it sat differently. Maybe this was her karma for being too playful with it.

She sighed, stabbing at her plate with more force than necessary.

The aroma of breakfast hung in the air as they continued eating, the hum of conversation from other guests filling the villa. Then, a familiar voice chimed in from behind.

“Hello, darlings! Good morning! I hope you slept wonderfully in that villa I got you,” Poom greeted, his grin playful as ever.

Freen glanced up, amused. “Slept like a baby. Especially in that king-size bed you put us in when I specifically requested two queen beds.”

Poom laughed loudly, clearly proud of his mischief. “Okay, okay! That was meant to be a joke, but if you guys want, I can still have it changed,” he said, his gaze holding a knowing glint.

Freen hesitated. The idea of sleeping apart suddenly felt… wrong. This morning, waking up beside Becky, seeing her in that quiet moment—she wanted more of that. But admitting it? No. Not yet.

“It’s fine,” she said, keeping her voice light. “We’re kind of used to it.”

Becky gave a small nod, agreeing without much thought.

“There you go!” Poom beamed. “Now, my beautiful darlings, time for Day Two of fun, fun, fun.” He turned to Becky, eyes twinkling. “I know you’re dying to get into the ocean. So, after this, head back to your villa, change into that skimpy swimsuit you have, and let the guys drool over you.” He laughed, teasing.

Becky rolled her eyes, but her excitement was undeniable. Her eyes lit up at the thought of finally swimming in the open water. She turned to Freen.

Freen met her gaze, smiling. “Sure, you can go. In fact, I’ll go with you.”

Becky’s smile widened.

********

The excitement practically radiated from Becky as she stood at the door, ready to go. A flowy beach dress swayed around her, paired with sandals and a wide-brimmed hat that framed her face perfectly. She clutched a beach bag, a cover-up draped casually over her arm.

Freen chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you didn’t come prepared at all, huh?” she teased, letting her gaze drop just a little. “So… what’s underneath that?” She made a playful attempt to peek under the beach dress.

Becky gasped dramatically, swatting her hand away. “That’s a surprise,” she declared with a knowing smile, eyes twinkling.

Freen laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. You’re too excited, kid.” Then, her expression softened. Without thinking, she reached out, fingers brushing against Becky’s stomach, the touch light and fond. “Your first time in the ocean.”

Becky stiffened slightly at the unexpected gesture—but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she slid her hand into Freen’s, grasping it naturally, effortlessly. And just like that, they stepped out of their villa together, fingers loosely intertwined, heading toward the waiting resort cart.

********

Freen leaned back in the chair, book resting loosely in her hands as she watched Becky in the water. Laughter spilled from her lips, carefree and bright, as she played with the other guests. Every so often, she’d glance back, waving Freen over, silently coaxing her to join.

Freen only smiled in response, shaking her head. She wasn’t in the mood to swim—but watching Becky like this, under the golden kiss of the sun, was enough. The light caught on her skin, making it glow, every movement effortless, natural. Beautiful.

Even if she didn’t entirely approve of the swimsuit Becky had chosen, she couldn’t deny how stunning she looked in it. Freen sighed, eyes lingering a beat too long.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Poom’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts as he slid into the seat beside her, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “I bet a lot of people would want to know her, maybe even date her. Why so slow, darling? I already gave you an advantage.”

Freen exhaled, shaking her head. “Poom… you know it’s more than that,” she muttered.

Poom scoffed. “What? You’re single, she’s single. It’s not rocket science. Just make it real.”

Freen’s grip tightened slightly around her book. “I don’t know, Poom. I don’t know if she’d ever take in a broken person like me.”

There it was—the fear she rarely admitted out loud.

“And besides,” she continued, voice quieter now, “she has her own mission. It’s not the right time. And it’s your wedding…”

Poom’s playful demeanor softened just a fraction. “My guys got the bastard,” he said. “We’re just gathering more info before we strike. Don’t worry—my wedding isn’t an excuse to delay the truth.”

Freen nodded, though the weight in her chest remained. “For now, just focus on your wedding, okay? Finalize things with your hubby. This is a deal you need to seal.” She smiled, pushing the conversation back toward him.

Poom rolled his eyes. “Alright, enough with the dramatics.” Then, his grin returned, sharp and teasing. “Tonight, darling, get ready—we’re having a bachelor party. And this is not your ordinary bachelor party.”

He winked.

Freen groaned, but the laughter was already bubbling in her chest.

********

The atmosphere was electric, the room buzzing with anticipation as Poom took the stage, microphone in hand, his signature mischievous grin in place.

“Alright, darlings, for today’s event, we’re switching things up. No classic bachelor party antics tonight—no men stripping down to dance for me, sadly. Instead, we’ve lined up our finest people for bidding,” he announced, pausing as laughter rippled through the crowd. “And before anyone gets judgmental, let me be clear—proceeds from this auction will go directly to my hubby’s chosen charity, benefiting underprivileged children’s medical and educational needs.”

A round of applause erupted from the guests.

“But don’t worry, the booze will still flow,” Poom added with a playful wink. “And, oh—before I forget—the winner of the bid will get to enjoy their ‘prize’ for the night.”

An audible oooh came from the crowd.

“Now, now, people,” he continued, amusement dripping from his voice. “We’re all adults here. What you do with your prize is entirely up to you.”

The teasing glint in his eyes sent laughter through the crowd again as he leaned into the microphone. “Alright, let’s bring out our first surprise…”

Becky shifted uneasily in her seat. She had been at the event for some time now, scanning the room every few minutes. Freen still hadn’t arrived. She had asked Becky to go ahead, claiming she had important business to take care of.

Poom’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“And next up—we have Freen Sarocha Chakimha! This fine lady is not only my boss but also ridiculously rich. She’s good at everything… and I do mean everything ,” he teased, dragging out the last word just enough to send a wave of knowing chuckles through the crowd.

Becky’s eyes widened. So this is her business to settle? Her gaze snapped to the stage, locking onto Freen, who stood poised under the spotlight, completely unfazed.

Poom smirked, soaking in the tension. “Alright, now, this rare treat doesn’t come cheap, so let’s start the bidding at 15,000 baht.”

The first bid came almost immediately.

“20,000 for Freen!” a man called out.

Poom grinned. “Oh wow—our gentleman over there just upped it by 10,000 baht. Any other takers?”

Freen exhaled, muttering under her breath. “Oh my god.”

Then, suddenly—

“500,000 for Freen!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as heads turned toward the bidder.

Freen followed their gaze, her expression shifting as she saw her —Chloe. She smiled at her, waving casually, as if this wasn’t the exact thing capable of sending Becky into a spiral.

Becky felt it instantly—a sharp twist in her gut. No.

Before she could stop herself, the words were out. “700,000!”

Freen’s eyes flickered toward the familiar voice, barely hiding the smile tugging at her lips. She bid for me.

Chloe, unfazed, countered smoothly. “850,000.”

Becky’s pulse quickened. She knew she couldn’t go beyond a million—her funds wouldn’t allow it. But her pride? Her heart ? To hell with it.

“1 million baht!” she blurted.

The crowd roared, applause bursting through the room.

“Oh my god, this is getting intense !” Poom shouted. “We’re at a million, people! So, with that, let’s close it—going once, going twice—”

“1.5 million baht for Freen!” Chloe declared, voice steady.

Poom whistled. “Oh wow—a turn of events ! Chloe raises it to 1.5M!”

Becky barely heard him. This was it. Her last stand. She had nothing left—no money to fight for Freen anymore. She felt her heart plummet, warmth rushing to her eyes. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t watch Chloe win .

She pushed herself up abruptly, cutting through the crowd.

“Annop, take me to the villa,” she said, voice tight, barely concealing the breaking inside her.

The driver blinked, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you okay, Miss Becky?”

She swallowed, looking away. “Just drive, please.”

And with that, she left.

********

The warm water cascaded down Becky’s skin, washing away the remnants of frustration—but not quite the ache lingering in her chest. She had cried the moment she stepped into the villa, frustration bubbling over.

I hate this! she had muttered to herself, anger sharp.

She can have her. I don’t care!

But the words felt hollow.

No! A contradiction. A truth she wasn’t ready to admit.

With a sigh, Becky shook off the thoughts, willing the unease to fade. She settled onto the couch, curling into the plush cushions, hoping for a moment of peace. But just as she closed her eyes, a loud knock echoed through the villa.

Her brows furrowed. Huh? Who could that be?

A sharp thought cut through her confusion— She wouldn’t come home early… not when Chloe has her as a prize.

Bracing herself, Becky stood and swung open the door.

There stood Poom, his husband beside him—and between them, a thoroughly intoxicated Freen.

“Hello there, my wife !” Freen slurred, barely keeping her balance.

Becky blinked, stunned. Her gaze darted to Poom, waiting for an explanation.

“Darling, come and take your prize,” Poom said, amused.

Still perplexed, Becky sighed and helped them guide Freen to the couch.

“Poom, come here, you little dog ,” Freen suddenly mumbled before yanking him into a clumsy hug, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “You know I love you, right? You better be a good husband, okay?”

She then turned to Poom’s husband, eyes half-lidded but surprisingly earnest. “Take care of this dog, alright? He can be too much , but his heart’s in the right place.”

Poom softened at her words, touched. He chuckled. “Alright, darling. I’ll leave her to you, then. Again, congrats!”

With that, the two men left, leaving Becky staring at the drunk mess sprawled on the couch.

She sighed, loosening Freen’s collar slightly, undoing a couple of buttons to help her breathe more comfortably.

“Hmmm… you smell good, wifey ,” Freen murmured, leaning in to breathe against Becky’s neck.

Becky’s breath hitched, but she quickly steadied herself.

“Are you mad at me?” Freen’s voice was softer now, questioning.

Becky swallowed, shaking off the tension. “Stay here, okay? I’m going to get a wet towel. I’ll wipe you down to sober you up.”

But as Becky tried to rise, Freen grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

“Uhm… stay here, please,” she whispered. “I wanna cuddle you—and our little one.”

Becky stilled.

Freen’s hand slid gently over Becky’s belly, her touch warm. “Baby, mommy is mad at me,” she murmured. “Can you ask her not to be mad? Or better yet…” Freen leaned closer, voice dropping into a teasing whisper.

“ Kiss me instead. ”

A giggle followed, soft and sleepy.

Becky rolled her eyes, dismissing the suggestion. “Why do you have to drink so much? And why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” The last words carried weight.

Freen didn’t flinch. “Oh no, wifey ,” she mused, eyes holding Becky’s. “I’d rather be here with you .”

Then, she leaned in.

Becky felt her heart slam against her ribs—but she didn’t move away.

And just like that, Freen’s lips brushed softly over hers, barely there, feather-light.

The kiss was fleeting—because, in the next breath, Freen was out cold.

Becky sighed, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stood, retrieving a blanket from the bedroom, and gently tucked it around Freen before heading back to the room.

As she lay back against the pillows, her fingers traced her lips absentmindedly, as if trying to capture the lingering sensation of that kiss.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and opened the message. It was from Poom.

Poom: Dear, I hope you're enjoying your prize.

Becky blinked, scrolling down.

Poom: Oh yeah, we couldn’t let Freen fall into the wrong hands, could we? I had my close friend outbid that bitch.

A pause.

Poom: Sssh. Our little secret.

Becky exhaled, shaking her head with an amused smirk.

That man was always scheming. She smiled.

Chapter Text

Freen woke to a pounding ache behind her eyes, the unmistakable weight of a hangover pressing against her skull. She groaned, fingers massaging her temple as she blinked at her surroundings. A blanket was draped over her, warmth lingering where someone had covered her up.

She shifted slightly, realizing she was still in last night’s clothes. Ugh.

Fragments of the evening flickered through her mind, blurry and scattered. She needed clarity. Needed answers.

“Becky, you up?” Her voice was hoarse as she pushed herself upright, moving gingerly toward the bedroom.

Empty.

The sheets were untouched, the air still, as if Becky had been gone for some time.

Where did she go?

Freen sighed, rubbing her face before heading to the bathroom. A shower—she needed one badly.

********

Becky walked along the shoreline, the rhythmic movement of the waves grounding her restless mind. The vast ocean stretched before her, endless and comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos inside her.

What the hell are we doing?

The teasing. The jealousy. The way Freen’s touch lingered longer than it should. The way Becky felt when Freen murmured her name that night on the balcony.

And the kiss.

A sharp breath hitched in her throat. Before she could stop it, a tear slipped free, cutting a path down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, but the frustration remained, curling tight in her chest.

What happens after the baby?

The contract loomed in her mind, a reminder of what had been agreed upon. It was supposed to be simple. No complications. No emotions.

It stood  like a boundary she swore she wouldn’t cross.

And yet—here she was, tangled in feelings she shouldn’t have.

Freen had been firm. Just for the baby. Nothing more.

Becky wished she could believe that. Wished she could make herself feel nothing. But the truth was pushing its way out of her, relentless and raw.

She wasn’t sure she could keep pretending.

And then there was Vital . Her name to clear, her fight to win. She had a mission, and she needed to stay focused.

This—whatever this was—would only drag her under.

She stopped walking, toes sinking into the cool sand.

I need to talk to her.

********

Becky was making her way back, the weight of her thoughts pressing against her chest when Freen’s voice cut through the morning air.

“Becky! What are you doing out here?”

She turned to see Freen standing a few steps away, sunglasses shielding her eyes, her posture loose and sluggish. “Come on, let’s have breakfast. I have a terrible headache,” Freen groaned, rubbing her temple.

Becky exhaled, steeling herself. It’s now or never.

She didn’t answer—just nodded.

Freen hesitated for a moment, sensing something off, but didn’t press. Instead, she sighed as they walked toward the villa together.

“I really hate hangovers,” Freen complained as they sat down. “I told Poom not to shove another bottle. He’s going to hear from me.”

Becky stayed quiet, methodically picking at her food. She wasn’t tasting anything—her mind was too occupied, running through the words she needed to say.

Freen’s voice broke through the silence again, softer now. “Hey… are you okay? Something wrong?”

The concern in her tone made Becky’s stomach twist.

She swallowed, then finally lifted her gaze.

“Freen, we need to talk.”

********

Back in their villa, Freen sat on the couch, pressing her fingers against her temples, the dull throb of her headache refusing to fade. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

“Okay,” she muttered, exhaling sharply. “What’s this all about?”

Becky stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable. But when she spoke, her voice held no hesitation.

“Freen, what are we doing?”

Freen frowned. “What do you mean?”

Becky’s gaze didn’t waver. “You know what I mean.” Her voice was steady, resolute.

Freen swallowed, heat creeping up her chest, but she kept her face neutral, refusing to let anything slip.

“This… thing between us,” Becky continued. “The teasing, the gestures, the looks, and the way you touched me…” She paused, searching Freen’s face. You know damn well this isn’t just for the baby."

Freen felt Becky’s words tear straight through the carefully constructed walls she had built, clawing their way into the deepest parts of her—the ones she had locked away, the ones she had refused to acknowledge.

She’s not wrong.

But saying it—acknowledging it—felt like walking blindfolded off a cliff. And Freen had fallen before. She had crashed. She had lost.

Becky was dangerous in a way she couldn’t afford. Another wound waiting to be carved into the places she barely held together.

She swallowed hard.

This was supposed to be simple. Clear-cut. A contract, an agreement. Nothing more.

And now Becky was asking the question Freen had evaded, the one she was most afraid to answer. She wasn’t sure if she had the courage to face it. Her defense mechanism kicked in.

She inhaled sharply. “That was all for the baby. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” Cold. Detached. A lie wrapped in steel.

Becky’s lips parted, taken aback for a brief second, but she masked it well. “And the kiss last night?” she asked.

Freen froze.

Oh my god. I kissed her.

Her hand flew to her hair, fingers raking through it, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had already chosen this route. She had to stick to it.

“That was the alcohol talking,” she said firmly.

Becky inhaled sharply, holding something back. Her voice softened, but didn’t waver. “Okay then.” A pause. “Can we agree to stick to the contract? No more confusion.”

I need to protect myself, Becky thought bitterly.

Freen’s jaw tightened, the words clawing at her throat. But she forced them out anyway.

“Yes.”

********

Five days.

Five days of silence stretching between them like an unspoken truth neither dared to confront.

Mornings were quiet. The scrape of silverware on plates, the occasional clink of a glass, but nothing more. Lunches were hollow, dinners just as empty. No teasing remarks. No fleeting glances. Just avoidance thick enough to suffocate.

Freen kept herself busy. Wedding preparations, rehearsals, responsibilities—anything to drown out the thoughts she refused to entertain.

Becky, on the other hand, wandered. The villa. The beach. The spaces between them growing wider with each passing day.

One afternoon, as Freen leaned against a shaded pillar, rolling the cool bottle of water against her palm, Poom slid beside her, signature smirk firmly in place.

“So, darling, how’s the honeymoon going?”

Freen exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Then, reluctantly, she told him.

Poom’s teasing softened into something quieter, something understanding.

“Ooh, my dear Freen…” His voice held warmth, a knowing lilt. He saw the exhaustion in her sigh, the hesitation in her silence, the way her shoulders carried weight she wouldn’t name.

Freen rubbed her forehead. Her voice came slow, tired. “I don’t know, Poom. I’m not ready to admit that yet. Maybe I’m too afraid. And if abiding by the contract is the only way, then so be it. I’d rather have her this way than not at all.”

The confession lingered, raw, vulnerable.

Poom’s gaze flickered toward her—soft, but careful. “That’s quite the price to pay for love, isn’t it?”

Freen didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Then—movement near the shore caught her eye.

Becky.

Talking to someone.

“Oh, that’s Eric,” Poom mused, watching them.

Becky laughed, light, unburdened. The sun caught golden strands in her hair, and for the first time in days, she looked at ease.

“He just got back from overseas,” Poom continued, tone neutral. “Well-educated. Planning to stay in Thailand permanently.” Then, casually, he added, “Honestly, they look good together.”

It was meant as a tease. Or maybe it wasn’t.

Freen’s jaw clenched. Her eyes flicked to Poom, sharp, unreadable.

Poom shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, she’s single, and so is he. I told you she’s a catch. Men will be flocking to her, you know. It’s inevitable that someone catches her eye too.”

Freen scoffed, tearing her gaze away—but the tension curling in her stomach refused to settle.

Poom sighed, shaking his head. Then, with the gentleness only he could manage, he nudged her shoulder.

“You do realize, darling, that watching from the sidelines has never been your style.”

Freen swallowed hard.

And for the first time in five days, the silence between them felt heavier than ever.

********

The night was alive with laughter and celebration. The dining hall buzzed with conversation, glasses clinking, music humming softly in the background as guests enjoyed their meals.

Then, Poom stood, raising his glass in dramatic fashion.

“Alright, my lovelies! Tonight, it’s party time! Get into your best outfits and let’s dance the night away!” His voice rang out, excitement dripping from every word.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he turned to Becky. “My dear, I have something for you.”

He handed her a paper bag, lips curling into a knowing smile. “I want to see you in that.”

Becky raised an eyebrow, amused but curious. Poom winked before vanishing into the crowd.

********

Hours later, the party was in full swing—music loud, drinks flowing, bodies moving across the dance floor. Freen sat at the bar, fingers curled around her glass of scotch, staring into its amber depths, trying—and failing—to drown out the restless thoughts circling her mind.

Then Becky walked in.

Freen’s grip tightened.

The dress Poom had chosen was a black low-back that draped effortlessly over Becky’s frame, showcasing every smooth line of her flawless skin. Heads turned, eyes followed, admiration lingering in the air like static.

Freen clenched her jaw.

And then, as if the universe wanted to test her patience further, he appeared—Eric.

“Oh my god, look at you, darling! So gorgeous!” Poom chimed in, grinning. Then he nudged Freen. “Isn’t she, Freen?”

Freen barely heard him. Becky’s eyes met hers across the room, unreadable, intense.

Eric wasted no time. He stepped forward, extended his hand, asking Becky for a dance.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her fingers slipped into his, and he guided her effortlessly onto the dance floor, his touch light, familiar.

Freen’s chest tightened.

Why is she letting him do that?

Her mind screamed that it wasn’t right, but she had no logic to back it up—just the undeniable clawing sensation inside her, the wildfire threatening to burn through her restraint.

Minutes stretched unbearably long.

Becky laughed at something Eric said, warm, effortless. Then he leaned in—too close, his voice brushing against her ear—

That’s fucking it!

Freen snapped.

She was on her feet before she could think.

Storming toward them. Pulse hammering.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late?” Her voice sliced through the noise, sharp, unwavering. “Go back to the villa.”

Eric turned, brows lifting. “Late for what? The night’s barely started.”

Freen’s stare was ice-cold. “Stay out of this. It’s none of your business.”

Eric straightened, irritation flickering across his face. “Whoa. Excuse me? Who the hell are you?”

Becky stepped between them, tension tightening her frame. “ Enough, ” she said firmly. “Freen, stop.”

Freen barely registered her voice.

Becky grabbed her wrist, yanking her away from the crowd.

The second they reached the empty hallway, Becky spun on her heel, eyes burning.

“What is wrong with you?” Her voice was sharp, raw.

Freen’s anger crackled. “I thought we agreed to stick to the contract. What exactly are you doing out there?”

Becky narrowed her eyes. “Having a conversation.”

Freen let out a bitter laugh. “That wasn’t just talking, Becky. You were practically draped all over him.”

Becky scoffed, heat rushing to her face. “Oh, so now I need permission to breathe?”

Freen stepped closer, voice cutting like glass. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Becky’s frustration boiled over. “ What I’m doing ?” Her voice trembled with anger. “You are the one who keeps shoving me away and then getting mad when someone else steps in! Do you even hear yourself?”

Freen clenched her jaw.

Becky inhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You accused me of breaking clause five—”

Freen didn’t hesitate. “And maybe clause four even—”

The words landed like a slap.

Becky gave her a real one.

The sound cracked through the air. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Freen froze, breath shallow, shock laced with something heavier.

Becky’s voice trembled. “Is that really what you think of me?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Becky turned on her heel and stormed away, disappearing down the corridor.

Freen remained, frozen. Stunned.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more—the sting on her cheek or the damage she had just done.

Chapter Text

Becky wiped at her tears furiously, her breath uneven, frustration twisting deep in her chest.

Damn it.

She hated how Freen made her feel—hated the way her words had cut her so deeply. The sting of the slap still tingled on her palm—a painful reminder of everything that had just happened.

Outside the venue, the night stretched dark and quiet. There was no resort cart in sight. Becky sighed, realizing they were scheduled to pick them up later. She had no choice but to walk back to the villa. It wasn’t far, but right now, it felt miles away.

She slipped off her heels and stepped onto the pavement, the cool surface biting against her skin. She didn’t care. Not about the way she looked. Not about the way people might see her. Not about anything except putting distance between herself and Freen.

But her thoughts wouldn’t let her go.

Why is she being like this? Becky muttered, voice tight with anger. 

Regret crept in, slow and suffocating. She never should have accepted this contract. She should have walked away before it was too late—before the lines blurred and emotions tangled into something neither of them could control.

But then she remembered.

She pressed a hand to her belly, guilt pressing against her ribs.

I’m sorry, she whispered.

But right now—right now, I hate your mom.

The dim glow of the resort lights flickered in the distance, but they did nothing to soften the emptiness inside her.

********

Freen stood frozen, staring at the space Becky had just occupied, replaying the moment over and over. 

She should’ve walked away. She should’ve let it go.

But she couldn’t.

Her temper had lashed out—or was it jealousy? —and now, she had hurt Becky in the worst way possible. She reached up, fingertips grazing the spot where Becky had slapped her. She let out a slow breath.

I deserved that.

There was no excuse for what she did. No justification. No way to take it back. She exhaled sharply, fists clenching at her sides.

I have to fix this.

Without hesitation, she pushed through the crowd, heading toward the quiet paths of the resort. The dim lighting made her more anxious, scanning the roads until she spotted a familiar figure ahead.

She ran toward her.

“Becky! Wait, please! ” Her voice cracked in the night air.

Becky heard Freen but didn’t stop, didn’t turn. She tightened her hold on her dress with one hand, her heels and purse clutched in the other, determined to get back to the villa. 

Tomorrow, I’m leaving, she thought bitterly. I’ll apologize to Poom later. I can’t do this anymore.

Freen was breathless by the time she caught up. She reached out, fingers gently wrapping around Becky’s arm. “Hey, can you please stop for a second?” She pleaded, her voice unsteady.

Becky jerked her arm away, whirling around, eyes ablaze. “Stay away from me.” The words struck hard, unforgiving. “I hate you.”

Freen swallowed hard, desperate. “ Please, Beck. Just stop. Let’s talk. ” Her voice wavered with something raw, something real.

Becky stopped abruptly, turning to face her fully, eyes fierce, unwavering. “Tell me, what the hell is wrong with you? ”

Freen opened her mouth, nothing came out.

Becky scoffed at the silence. " Nothing? " She shook her head, disgusted. " Okay. " She turned away again, taking a step forward—until she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind.

She froze.

Freen’s embrace was firm, hesitant, but filled with something else—something that made Becky’s breath hitch.

Freen’s voice was low, soft, right against her ear. " I’m so sorry. "

Becky didn’t move.

"I never meant what I said," Freen whispered, voice tender, aching with remorse.

And for the first time that night, Becky let herself feel it.

********

Becky turned around, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, searching Freen’s face for answers—for anything that could make this hurt less.

“Then why would you say such things?” Her voice was strained, raw. “You know I wouldn’t do that. We agreed to—”

Her words never finished.

Freen closed the space between them, capturing Becky’s lips in a gentle, breathless kiss. Her hands cupped Becky’s face, thumbs grazing her skin, grounding her, holding her.

The kiss was soft, tender—like an apology, like a plea, like something neither of them could put into words. It sent chills down Becky’s spine, stealing the air from her lungs.

She gasped slightly when they parted, stunned into silence.

“I’m so sorry.” Freen’s voice was quiet, thick with emotion. “I don’t know what came over me. Seeing him with you, seeing that smile—I–I couldn’t stand it.”

“I felt so possessive of you…”

She exhaled, shakily, pressing gentle kisses to Becky’s left eye, then right, as if wiping away the pain.

Becky’s heart pounded against her ribs, butterflies stirring inside her chest.

Freen didn’t stop there.

Her lips brushed Becky’s cheeks, slow and uncertain, before melting back into her mouth.

This time, Becky kissed her back.

********

Freen’s lips traced the line of Becky’s jaw, slow, deliberate—each press igniting something neither of them were ready to name.

“We should stop,” she murmured. But the breathless tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Freen pulled back just enough to look at her, gaze searching.

Hesitation. Conflict. The way Becky clung to control, to reason—grasping at anything that wasn’t this, wasn’t the way her body leaned into the warmth of Freen’s touch.

“This ruins everything we agreed on,” Becky whispered, her breath uneven. A sharp inhale. A beat of silence stretched between them. “And then what? You’ll just shut me out again?”

Freen’s expression shifted, something flickering in her eyes.

“No,” she breathed—soft, sure, barely a whisper against Becky’s lips.

Becky sucked in air, like she was trying to rebuild the wall between them.

“Freen…” Her voice trembled now. Thin. Fragile. “Please, stop.”

But they both knew—her words carried no weight.

Freen didn’t argue. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she kissed her again.

Soft, at first. Careful.

A whisper of warmth against Becky’s cheek. A slow slide along her jaw. A delicate press to her nose—before her lips met hers at last.

But this time, she didn’t pull away.

She stayed. Hovered.

Her breath fanned against Becky’s skin—warm, teasing, dangerously close. Close enough that stopping felt impossible.

Becky inhaled sharply, pulse hammering beneath her ribs.

Then—Freen dipped lower.

Tracing a slow path down Becky’s collarbone, lips barely skimming skin.

Pausing. Waiting. Just long enough to let the heat settle between them, to make Becky feel it—feel the tension, the ache of something inevitable.

“Freen…” Becky’s voice cracked, uneven. “Stop…”

But the words weren’t strong.

They weren’t real.

Freen stilled, letting the moment stretch—watching Becky fight herself, watching the war between restraint and surrender burn deeper.

Then, she lifted her gaze, holding Becky’s eyes.

“Do you really want me to?” she asked, voice quiet, raw. “Tell me, and I will.”

Becky opened her mouth.

Nothing came.

Just a breath—shallow, shaky—betraying everything she was supposed to say.

“I—I…” A pause. A collapse.

Her fingers curled at her sides, grasping at nothing—resolve, reason—but there was no use.

Her body had already spoken.

Her heart had already chosen.

Slowly, Becky leaned in—breathless, weightless—until her lips barely brushed against Freen’s.

Just a whisper.

Just enough to make it clear.

This wasn’t just a choice.

It was a confession.

And when the kiss deepened again, it was reckless. Undeniable.

A statement.

A surrender.

********

They barely made it to the cabin door, breathless and in the heat of the moment. Their kisses became more frantic, hands reaching out, bodies pressing together too closely to think straight. 

Freen was only vaguely aware of the wooden door frame against her back–her mind was consumed entirely by Becky, by the way she felt under Freen’s fingertips and the desperate need to hold on.

Blindly searching for the keys, Freen murmured between kisses, her voice shaky, as her fingers glided across Becky’s waist and hip searching

“Where are they?” 

Becky gasped, her eyes darkening, breath hitching as she managed to whisper, “Purse..”

Freen didn’t pull away. She didn’t hesitate.

“Please get it, Beck,” she pleaded, voice raw, grip tightening, barely pulling her mouth away Becky’s skin.

She wasn’t letting go. Not now.

Not when every second apart felt excruciating.

********

As they stepped into the cabin, the air between them thickened, charged with an unspoken tension. Freen paused for a moment, her gaze locked onto Becky, those dark eyes unreadable. Words lingered in the air, yearning to be expressed in other ways. 

Something inevitable.

Slowly, purposely, she reached for the first button, the first clasp, shedding each layer—piece by piece.

She never looked away.

Not once.

And as the last piece of Freen’s clothing fell by her ankle, Becky’s breath caught, her chest tightening at the sight of her.

This powerful woman, always composed, always in control—was willingly surrendering that power.

Just for her.

The realization sank deep in Becky’s bones, robbing her breath, leaving only warmth in its wake.

And Freen stood before her 

Bare.

Becky drew in a sharp breath, caught between awe and disbelief.

She was magnificent.

Strong. Exquisite.

A goddess. 

Becky swallowed the word escaping her lips as little more than a breath. “Stunning…”  

Freen approached her like a lioness stalking her prey—graceful, calculated, fierce. 

Becky stood frozen, not in fear, but in eager anticipation. She was a willing prey.

********

Freen’s lips found Becky’s cheek—warm and soft. She didn’t resist, letting Freen bridge the small gap  between them. When their lips finally met, it was a slow, deliberate kiss–each moment cherished, etched  into her memory. 

Freen barely shifted lower, keeping the space between while her delicate touches teased. She traced a path along Becky’s jawline before leaning in to whisper, 

“You’re so beautiful.”

A shallow gasp trembled in Becky’s throat.

Gathering her composure, Freen’s lips found the sensitive skin just behind Becky’s ear, pausing there as she exhaled warmth against her. Becky swallowed hard, acutely aware of Freen’s perception of her racing pulse, the uneven breaths revealing any lingering hesitation she left. 

Slowly and deliberately, Freen traced the elegant curve of Becky’s neck, pausing for what felt like a heartbeat too long. 

Becky realized she was already yielding to this embrace, captivated by Freen’s touch–intentional, not rushed or careless. 

Without a moment’s pause, her fingertips glided over every inch of Becky’s skin, deliberate and unwavering in their intent. Freen didn’t hold back, her touch measured and precise, absorbing every sensation. 

Then with steady precision, she unzipped Becky’s dress, letting it slip away as a cool draft enveloped them, teasing Becky’s skin and sending a cascade of shivers down her spine.

In that fleeting moment, she felt not just the shivers, but also the weight of anticipation hanging in the air between them.

********

Standing together in the dim light of the room, they were naked, their lips locked in passionate embrace as the outside world faded. Their kisses began tentatively, testing the waters but soon deepened with every stolen breath and hesitant push forward.

Becky took a step back, palm resting against Freen’s chest— a moment of uncertainty. “I–I haven’t done this before,” she confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

Freen’s gaze softened yet the intensity never wavered. She took Becky’s hand and brought it to her lips, letting the kiss linger—soft, deliberate.

“Baby,” she murmured, steady and certain, “I’ll take care of you.” The weight of her words is unmistakable.

Becky let out a slow breath, feeling a bit shaky, her fingers clutching Freen’s hand just a little tighter. Freen could sense the uncertainty and the quiet surrender wrapped within that single movement. 

Leaning in, she trailed soft kisses along Becky’s neck, each one careful, with little pauses that felt intentional. Becky let out a soft sigh, barely audible, but enough to shift the atmosphere between them, thickening the silence and transforming into something electric.

They shared a moment of stillness. 

With gentle confidence, Freen gently guided Becky back onto the bed, as if they had all the time in the world. Freen’s gaze locked onto Becky—steady, unwavering, filled with unspoken emotions.

Her finger drifted slowly across Becky’s breast, featherlight and barely there, yet impossibly felt that made Becky’s breath hitch. The sensation ignited a thrill beneath her skin before her mind could catch up. Each careful movement stretched the silence, thickening the air and pressing anticipation deep into her chest.

Then, with unwavering certainty, Freen took Becky’s bosom in her mouth. Her tongue playfully caressed, sending waves of euphoria into Becky. She exhaled sharply, breath uneven, pulse quickening beyond her control.

“Oh god, Freen…” Becky breathed, her voice unsteady, barely more than a whisper.

Her fingers wove through Freen’s hair, threading through soft strands, her touch slow, deliberate. She held her there, grounding herself, feeling the way the air thickened—charged with something unspoken.

As Freen relished and paid homage to Becky’s breast, her other hand moved with intention, tracing a slow path, further descending, exploring and stopping at her navel drawing small circular lines along its edges.

Becky felt every touch intimately—the weight behind each caress, the way anticipation curling beneath her skin, stretching the moment into something palpable, making it impossible to ignore.

"You have no idea how I’ve wanted you—how I’ve ached to feel your warmth, to lose myself in the heat of your skin."  Freen confessed, her breath uneven as she met Becky’s gaze, eyes filled with unspoken desire. 

Freen’s fingers slipped lower, lingering at Becky’s moist sensual spot, seeking the warmth that she always craved for. She gently parted the delicate folds and caressed the engorged nub, slick with both want and  delight. A shiver of pleasure coursed through Becky’s body causing her to squirm in response. Soft, breathy moans escaped her lips, echoing in the intimate space around them.

“I want to taste you..” Freen murmured, her voice a sultry whisper, laced with raw passion that sent a thrill down Becky’s spine.

As if guided by instinct, she gently traced the tip of her tongue along the smooth texture of Becky’s skin. Kissing and nibbling softly, she coaxed forth a chorus of gasps and sighs, taking her time to explore every inch of Becky, leaving a trail of heat behind. With each caress, something  deep within them stirred awake.

When Freen reached Becky’s mound, she felt a palpable anticipation in the way Becky’s hip moved, desperately seeking more of her touch. Freen pressed soft kisses at the apex, teasing the sensitive slit with her tongue, turning Becky into a whirlwind of desire. The tension built, hanging thick in the air, electric and undeniable 

With a skilled flick of her tongue, Freen delved deeper, almost unravelling Becky entirely. Together, they created a  symphony of moans that lingered and filled the room. 

The connection between them intensified further as Freen, with delicate ease, introduced a finger into Becky’s entrance, causing her to wince slightly. 

“Just tell me if it’s uncomfortable, okay?” Freen said softly. Her voice was tender and reassuring. 

Becky nodded though the flush of pleasure was evident on her cheeks. As Freen continued to explore with her tongue, the slight discomfort began to subside and was replaced by waves of sheer ecstasy

As they settled into the rhythm of Freen’s movements, Becky surrendered completely, her breaths becoming shallow and rapid. A rush coursed through Freen, realizing Becky was teetering on the brink. She quickened  her pace and eagerly lapped Becky’s sweet essence, relishing every moment.  

“Freen..I–I think I’m a–almost there” Becky gasped, barely able to articulate her overwhelming feelings.

Freen slipped another finger, her pace controlled yet fluid, perfectly attuned to the rising urgency. She could sense the tension building within Becky as she is feeling a tight grip forming around her fingers. The release was imminent. Becky was on the edge. 

Suddenly, a slow-building crescendo shattered into silence. With a soft gasp, Becky’s head fell back as an incredible warmth engulfed her–she had let go.

********

The night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and quiet surrender. Every kiss held meaning, lingering between them.

Freen’s touch was slow, reverent, mapping the soft curves of Becky’s skin as if memorizing it. Becky responded in kind, fingers threading through Freen’s hair, pulling her closer, grounding them in the moment.

Their breaths mingled, hushed sighs filling the space between touches, between kisses that deepened and softened in equal measure.

Time slipped away.

All that remained was them—wrapped in each other, bodies entwined, hearts beating in quiet rhythm, lost in something far greater than words.

And when dawn finally arrived, neither had moved—only their quiet breaths remained, tangled in the warmth of love that had carried them through the night.

Chapter Text

Freen’s eyes fluttered open, greeted but the gentle caress of the morning air, cool and refreshing like a soft blanket. A warmth glow spread through her as she recalled the events of the previous night, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Just as she began to stretch from her cozy bed, she felt a delicate hand tracing playful circles on her bare back, as if exploring out uncharted territory on her skin.

“Good morning,” she murmured softly, her voice still faced with sleep. 

“Good morning” came Becky’s tender reply, causing Freen’s heart to skip a beat. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes, I did,” Freen answered, as the sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow and across the room. 

With a playful laugh, Becky teased, “Of course you did. You practically hugged me all night until dawn,”tightening her embrace and pulling Freen irresistibly closer from behind. 

Freen giggled, letting her fingers roam along the smoothness of Becky’s arm, cherising the moment. 

“Would you like to have breakfast?” Freen asked, her voice bright with anticipation. 

“Yes, in a while,” Becky replied, her tone dreamy. “I want us to stay like this for just a little bit longer.”

“Okay” Freen agreed, sinking back into the comfort of their closeness.

********

Becky’s hand then began to wander, gliding towards Freen’s waist. Each light, teasing stroke sent thrilling sensations coursing through her, igniting a fire she can’t ignore.

“What are you doing?” Freen gasped, her breath hitching with anticipation.

“Remember that night on the balcony?When..um.. you touched yourself..”Becky said slowly, her voice rich with intrigue. 

“Did you—oh, did you feel good when you called my name?”

Freen froze. 

Fuck! She saw me!

But the sensation building within her left no room for denial

Becky’s touch is now reaching dangerous territory, teasing and skimming over Freen’s sensitive skin.

“Did you?” Becky asked, her voice steady yet laced with mischief, as she continued slowly teasing and tantalize Freen, hovering just above her mound. The slickness on her finger confirmed Freen’s arousal.

A soft gasp escaped from Freen’s lips “Ooh.. Y–yes, I did..B-beck please.. ”

“Please what?please stop…or please continue? ” Becky replied, her tone playful yet commanding as she expertly circled the slick, feeling its warmth, gliding deftly up and down.

Freen’s fingers tightened around Becky’s wrist, her grip firm, insistent. urging her to intensify the pleasure.

“Please …” she murmured, voice low, threaded with a mix of pleading and frustration.

But Becky didn’t move.

She held her ground, chin lifting slightly, eyes dark with something unreadable. She knew exactly what Freen craved. Knew how badly she wanted it.

And Becky was willing—more than willing.

But not yet.

Her lips curved, slow, deliberate—a challenge.

“Patience, my dear.” she said, her words a mix of silk and steel, teasing and prolonging the inevitable

Freen’s jaw clenched as she exhaled, breath sharp, uneven. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes locking onto Becky’s. A quiet tension passed between them—heavy, undeniable. Her breath hitched, lips parting, anticipation coiling tight in her chest.

Then, Becky leaned in, capturing Freen’s lips in a heated kiss. 

In one fluid motion, she draped Freen’s leg across her own, spreading her open and vulnerable, before slipping her hand between her legs.

“Now I want you to come for me as I touch you, and don’t you dare look away,” Becky commanded, her voice low and sultry. 

Freen nodded, Her gaze fixed on Becky, her arm reaching back to caress her cheek.

Becky was wrapped up with the thrill of the moment, eagerly recalling how pleasure had engulfed her last night. Now, she was determined to share that ecstasy with Freen. 

With deliberate intention, she began to tease and caress the already heightened nub, drawing an intoxicating gasp from Freen. The tension in the air crackled as Freen struggled to steady herself, the sensations overwhelming her senses. 

Becky quickened her pace, her fingers dancing in a tantalizing rhythm-teasing, gliding and igniting Freen into a whirlwind of sensation. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slipped a finger inside, thrusting expertly, and Freen found herself unravelling beneath the waves of bliss.

Each movement from Becky was a delicious torment, pushing Freen closer to the edge.

“B-beck…” Freen breathed, her voice tinged with urgency

Becky sensing Freen’s escalating desire, she added another finger and drove her rhythm even faster. Their shared moans resonated in the room.

“Let go Freen…come for me…” Becky murmured, her voice dripping with desire.

With one final, fervent thrust, a tidal wave of warmth surged through Freen’s body, igniting every nerve ending, it was an exhilarating surrender, a breathless clash of longing and ecstasy.

********

Freen, breathless and flushed, met Becky’s playful gaze. “Now where the hell did you learn that?”she  exclaimed, still catching her breath.

Becky giggled, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I have an amazing teacher. In fact she gave me a special lesson last night. She was really.. hands on ”

A warm smile broke across Freen’s face as she brushed her fingertips against Becky’s cheek. 

Then, in a moment of boldness, Becky captured Freen’s lips in a teasing kiss, laughter shimmering in the air. “Now we can have breakfast.”she declared playfully

Chapter Text

1 week later

The ocean stretched wide and endless, its gentle waves rolling in rhythm with the moment. The beach was breathtaking, bathed in golden light, as flowers lined the red aisle, their colors vibrant against the pale sand. Guests whispered in quiet anticipation, waiting for the groom to appear.

Everything had been meticulously arranged. The organizer had done an incredible job, setting up a beautiful platform where the ceremony would take place. Poom stood beneath the soft canopy, exuding quiet confidence in his tailored suit, and beside him, Freen—effortlessly striking in a custom-made girl suit, her posture relaxed yet radiating an undeniable grace. Their happiness was palpable.

Then, the moment arrived. Poom’s fiancé stepped onto the aisle, walking arm in arm with his parents. His excitement was unmistakable—his steps eager, his gaze fixed ahead, ready to finally seal the commitment they had built together.

Becky watched from her seat, warmth swelling in her chest as she smiled for Poom. He deserved this happiness. But when her eyes found Freen, something inside her shifted.

“She’s effortlessly gorgeous,” Becky thought, her gaze lingering a little too long.

A week had passed since that night —since they had crossed that invisible line. Mornings had been lighter, filled with secret smiles and quiet laughter. Nights had burned with fire, with intense passion. But they had avoided speaking about it, letting it remain undefined, yet undeniably present.

Becky sighed. At some point, they would have to address it. They couldn’t leave it like this forever.

As the couple exchanged vows, Becky found herself lost in thought—imagining a different wedding. Her own wedding. She saw herself in a flowing white dress, standing at the end of the aisle. And there, waiting for her— Freen.

Freen.

Oh god .

What was she thinking? Could she truly believe there was a future for them—an ending that held something beautiful? Her breath hitched, and unconsciously, her hand drifted to her belly, where new life had begun to grow.

********

The tent buzzed with energy, laughter spilling into the salty night air. Drinks flowed, hands clinking glasses in celebration, while music pulsed from the speakers, fueling the party. People swayed and spun, lost in movement, their conversations blending into the beat.

Then, the shift. The rave track melted into something softer, slower—a melody meant for stolen moments rather than wild abandon.

Becky sat in the corner, idly swirling the ice in her non-alcoholic drink, enjoying the way the cold slid down her throat. The change in music brought a quiet smile to her lips. And then—

“Hey there, gorgeous. May I have this dance?”

That voice. Low, smooth, effortlessly teasing.

She didn’t need to look up to know.

“Sure, stranger. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She slipped her hand into Freen’s, letting herself be led onto the dance floor. Their movements settled into easy rhythm, the chaos of the party dulling into background noise. Becky rested her head lightly against Freen’s chest, warmth curling around her.

“You know,” Freen murmured, fingers tracing slow circles against Becky’s skin, “you shouldn’t be so easily swayed by a stranger’s smooth moves.”

Becky hummed, teasing, “I wouldn’t, but when said stranger is this fine, how can I resist?”

Freen’s chuckle vibrated through her, their steps seamless.

And before anything could become anything—

“How’s the food?” Freen asked, fingers tracing Becky’s hand

“The food’s great. The booze, though… I have complaints,” Becky teased, glancing up just enough to catch the amused glint in Freen’s eyes.

Freen smiled, holding her a little closer, their movements effortless.

Then, the inevitable interruption.

“Ehem… May I cut in?”

Poom. Standing there with a smirk, eyes flicking between them with mock innocence.

Freen narrowed her eyes. “And why would I let you do that?”

Poom sighed, lifting his hand with exaggerated patience. “It’s just one dance. And, hello—” He flashed his wedding band for emphasis.

Becky bit back a laugh as Freen rolled her eyes. “Here,” she said, nudging Becky toward him with amused reluctance. “You can complain to him about the booze instead.”

Poom wasted no time, twirling Becky into his arms. “Alright, darling, tell me—enjoying the party?”

“Yes, Poom. Everything is wonderful. Congratulations. Married life looks good on you.”

His grin widened, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I should say—Freen looks good on you.”

Heat flushed through Becky’s skin, her smile barely contained.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

Poom smirked. “Just stating the obvious, darling,” he teased, then his voice softened. “Between us girls… how are things with you two?”

Becky sighed, her gaze shifting away.

Poom hummed knowingly. “That pink elephant’s still hanging around, huh?”

He squeezed her hand gently, his tone light but sincere. “You two have something special. I really hope you figure out exactly what you want. And whatever happens, I’m here for you both. Always.”

Becky met his eyes, a small smile forming. “I know. Thanks.”

********

Three months since Poom’s wedding, and Bangkok had slipped back into its usual rhythm. Freen buried herself in work, taking on extra weight in Poom’s absence. Most nights, she came home late, worn out, barely making it through dinner before retreating to her room. Becky didn’t push—she understood.

She kept herself occupied—dinners with her parents, long conversations with Shup. Anything to fill the silence. But late nights with Shup? She skipped those. Not because Freen had said a word—she never did. But Becky saw it anyway. In the subtle shift of Freen’s expression when Shup’s name came up, in the way her jaw tightened just slightly before she turned away. Jealousy, quiet but unmistakable.

That thought made her chuckle. Freen would never admit it, never demand anything outright—but the jealousy was there, simmering beneath sharp eyes and clipped tones. Always restrained, always controlled. Until it wasn’t. Becky had seen it flicker before, in the way Freen lingered a second too long, in the way her fingers curled slightly when someone got too close.

Fierce, quiet, intense.

And Becky? She had no interest in testing it.

********

Most mornings, Becky woke to find Freen curled up beside her, despite their supposed arrangement of separate rooms.

This morning was no different.

Becky stirred, blinking against the soft morning light.

“Good morning,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “You fell asleep here again?”

Freen barely moved, just hummed in response, one arm draped lazily over Becky’s belly—where the small curve had grown more prominent.

“Sshhh… you’ll wake up the little one,” Freen whispered, fingers grazing over her stomach with quiet tenderness.

Becky chuckled, shifting just enough to press a soft kiss to Freen’s cheek. “Last time I checked, you have your own room.”

Freen didn’t even bother pretending this time. She just smiled, shameless. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

Becky rolled her eyes, but she let the warmth settle deep in her chest.

She stretched, preparing to sit up. “Okay, Miss Chankimha, what do you want for breakfast? I can ask Somsak to—”

Before she could rise, Freen gently tugged her back down, her hold firm but careful.

“Hmm… stay. Please?” Her voice was softer now, eyes half-lidded, warm.

Becky sighed, feigning exasperation even as she sank back against the mattress. “Freen—breakfast.”

Freen leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips. When she pulled back, there was the faintest trace of a smirk.

“This is breakfast, ” she murmured.

Becky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But she didn’t pull away.

********

Freen barely lifted her gaze from the stack of contracts, her mind locked in, sorting through numbers and negotiations. The steady rhythm of her work was interrupted by the buzz of her phone.

An unknown number. She hesitated, then answered.

A slow, sultry voice curled through the speaker, and she sighed before the words even settled.

“Hello… I missed you. Such a shame we didn’t get to talk much.”

Freen exhaled, already regretting picking up. “Oh, Chloe. Where did you get my number?”

Poom, I swear, if this is you—I don’t care if it’s your honeymoon. You’ll definitely hear from me.

Chloe laughed, unbothered. “Does it matter, honey? Why don’t we pick up where we left off? Dinner tonight—you can’t say no. I know a wonderful Italian place. I’ll send the details.”

Freen opened her mouth, but the line clicked off before she could respond.

She dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling. Chloe—her ex. The kind of beauty that turned heads, the kind of presence that commanded a room. Flawless on paper, magnetic in motion. Once, they had been the perfect pair—poised, powerful.

But beneath the charm, there was nothing soft. Nothing warm. Just sharp edges, cold smiles.

She had learned quickly—Chloe never bent, never yielded. Everything was a fight, a power play, a game. It had been exhausting. A slow suffocation dressed as something glamorous.

She had walked away. And she had never looked back.

Until now.

Her mind drifted—not to calculated perfection, not to old mistakes.

To Becky .

The way she fit so easily into Freen’s life, like she had always belonged there. No power plays, no complications—just warmth. Just ease.

With her, Freen never had to second-guess her words, never had to weigh silences or tread carefully. Becky softened the sharp edges, made her feel lighter—free.

Her laugh, bright and uninhibited, was a sound Freen found herself chasing. Her teasing, sharp yet gentle, always pulled an answering smile. Her presence—steady, unforced—had become something Freen sought without realizing.

It was in the way Becky’s eyes lingered, in the quiet moments stretching between them, brimming with unspoken things. The way she melted into a touch, how she trusted Freen without hesitation.

A quiet chuckle escaped her as she brushed a thumb over her phone screen, thinking of the way Becky curled into sleep in the mornings, the way she stirred at the lightest touch—barely awake but still reaching for her.

Her pocket sunshine.

Freen sighed, the weight of the thought settling.

Oh no.

She wasn’t just falling.

She had already fallen.

Since Poom’s wedding, Becky had been scarce—only mornings, fleeting glimpses before the day stole her away. Freen had to make those moments count. 

Watching her sleep, tracing gentle fingers over her belly, whispering to the little one inside. Her favorite way to start the day.

Another buzz.

Chloe.

Chloe: Teoria Rosa @ 7:30pm. I’m ordering your favorite.

Freen stared at the message, her lips pressing into a tight line. Chloe had always been direct, always assumed control. It was just who she was.

But the thought of sitting across from her tonight, indulging old routines? It didn’t sit right.

Freen: I’m sorry, no can do. I have to get home to my wif—

She froze. Wife. The word sat there, blinking at her. She backspaced. Adjusted.

Freen: I’m sorry, no can do. I have something important to do.

Without another thought, she pressed “0” on the receiver.

“Peggy, I’m leaving early. Can you contact the florist?” A beat. “Same flowers, same address… and oh—” she hesitated just briefly. “Include this in the card.

********

Becky had barely finished freshening up when the doorbell rang, pulling her brows together in curiosity. She padded over, opening the door to a familiar sight—the same flowers she had received before. A smile tugged at her lips.

“Miss Rebecca Armstrong?” the delivery man prompted.

“Yes.” She accepted the bouquet, inhaling deeply, eyes lingering on the delicate petals. “ So beautiful.”

Just as she was about to close the door, a presence filled the space. Freen, leaning lazily against the doorframe, her gaze slow and sultry.

“Hmm… Flowers again?” Freen mused, voice low, teasing. 

“You know, Becky, you really shouldn’t be accepting gifts from strangers .”

Becky tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Oh? Let’s see who they’re from.” 

She plucked the card, reading aloud.

To: B
How about a kiss, gorgeous?
From: F

Her lips parted, amusement flashing in her eyes. She lifted her gaze to Freen, lingering, deliberate.

Slowly, she raised a single finger, curling it in invitation. “Come here, stranger.”

Freen didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, closing the space, her fingers grazing Becky’s jaw before tilting her chin up. A slow, lingering kiss—just enough to tease, just enough to make Becky chase her.

“Hi,” Freen murmured, lips barely moving against hers.

Then, she deepened the kiss—drawing out a quiet gasp, stealing the breath right from Becky’s lungs.

Becky clung to her, lost in the warmth, the scent of flowers mixing with the scent of Freen herself. The moment stretched, sweet and intoxicating.

Finally, Becky pulled back just enough to smirk. “Hmm… you’re early today.”

Freen’s hands settled on Becky’s waist, her thumb brushing lazy circles against her hip. “Well,” she mused, gaze flickering down to Becky’s belly, her touch softening, “I figured we could do something.”

She leaned in, voice hushed against Becky’s skin. “You, me… and this little one.”

********

They sat curled up on the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting gentle shadows across the room. Toy Story played, its playful animation filling the space. Becky chuckled at the thought—two adults watching a kids’ movie.

Freen had insisted. “Good to start early,” she had said, brushing a hand over Becky’s belly. “She should get used to the classics.”

Becky rolled her eyes, but secretly, she liked the idea.

Halfway through, Becky startled, sucking in a breath. Then, a slow, glowing smile. “I think she moved.”

Freen sat up instantly, eyes wide with excitement. “Really? Can I feel her?”

Becky took Freen’s hand, pressing it gently against her belly. Freen held her breath, waiting—then felt it. The tiniest flutter beneath her palm.

“Oh—she’s excited,” Freen whispered, grinning. “Hello there, little one. You love the movie?”

Becky watched her, warmth pooling in her chest. The happiness on Freen’s face, the way she spoke so gently to the baby—she looked completely at peace.

As the movie carried on, Freen dozed off, her weight sinking into Becky’s shoulder, hand still resting over her belly. Becky smiled, adjusting just enough to make sure Freen stayed comfortable.

Then, a flicker.

Freen’s phone lit up beside her. Becky glanced at it absently—until she saw the name.

Chloe.

Her jaw tensed.

Of course it was Chloe.

She shifted slightly, gaze narrowing at the screen, resisting the urge to reach for it.

Freen stirred beside her, letting out a quiet sigh, oblivious.

Becky exhaled, forcing herself to relax. She wasn’t going to ruin the moment. But still—her eyes lingered a little too long before she returned to the movie.

Not now, Chloe.
Not tonight.
Not when Freen was here, 

with her.

Chapter Text

The room was filled with quiet anticipation, the steady hum of the ultrasound machine the only sound.

“Alright, you two ready?” The doctor smiled, squeezing gel onto her glove. “Becky, I’m going to apply this now—it’s a bit cold.”

Becky shivered at the sensation, the chill spreading across her bare belly.

“Ssss…” she hissed softly but managed a smile.

Freen tightened her grip on Becky’s hand, her excitement barely contained. This was it—the moment they’d learn if their little one was a he or a she.

The doctor adjusted the transponder, eyes focused on the screen. “Sometimes the baby’s positioning makes it tricky to determine the sex,” she explained. “Let’s see if your little one wants to cooperate today.”

Becky nodded, trying to relax. Freen, meanwhile, was on edge—anticipation, nerves, and pure joy tangled together inside her.

“Hmmm… this one’s a little shy,” the doctor murmured, shifting the transponder slightly. “Oh—wait. There it is.”

Freen held her breath.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You have a little prince!”

Becky let out a small gasp, eyes flying to Freen’s. And Freen—she was beaming, her whole face alight with happiness.

“Ooh, the little one is a little guy,” she breathed, barely believing it, looking at Becky as if needing to confirm the moment was real.

Becky’s smile was just as bright, the same joy reflected back at her.

“You’ll have another guy to protect you, Freen,” Becky murmured, voice tender.

Freen exhaled, pressing a gentle kiss to Becky’s temple.

Their little prince.

And just like that, the world felt a little sweeter.

********

The doctor glanced at them with a reassuring smile. “So far, all tests look great, and the baby is doing well. Becky, now that you’re in your second trimester, you’ll notice more changes—weight gain, back pain, maybe some swollen feet. Try wearing more comfortable shoes and doing light stretches to help with that.”

Becky nodded attentively, taking it all in, while beside her, Freen was quietly making mental notes like she was preparing for an exam.

“Everything looks good overall,” the doctor continued. “Just remember—if you experience any vaginal bleeding, come see me immediately.”

Both Becky and Freen nodded at the same time, almost in sync.

The doctor paused, scanning their expressions. “Any questions?”

Freen hesitated for a beat, then cleared her throat. “Uh—doc, is it still okay to, um…” She fidgeted slightly. “You know, to have—”

The doctor didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, sex? Yes, it’s completely fine.”

Becky let out a soft gasp, face instantly turning pink. Without thinking, she swatted Freen’s knee.

Freen tried—really tried—not to grin, but the effort failed miserably. “What?” she said, laughter dancing in her voice. “It’s a valid question!”

Becky groaned, covering her face with one hand. “You ask at the most embarrassing moments.”

Freen leaned in, teasing. “Would you rather I ask Somsak instead?”

Becky shot her a glare, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

The doctor chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “You two will be just fine.”

********

Poom squinted at the ultrasound picture like a detective dissecting evidence. “Hmm… are you sure that’s his pointer?”

Freen rolled her eyes but pointed firmly at the screen. “Yes, it’s there. He is, without a doubt, a little guy.”

Poom hummed, tilting his head as if trying to see it from a different angle. “Ooh, so no tutus then. Shame. Hmmm… I wonder if Valentino has a toddler line for boys.”

Freen let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head.

Poom stretched his arms dramatically. “Anyway, here I am, fresh from my honeymoon, skin glowing, love still dripping from my pores… And look at you,” he smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Seems like you also had a honeymoon of sorts.”

Freen scoffed but couldn’t bite back the small smile tugging at her lips.

She knew Poom had earned his long break—deserved the time to bask in newlywed bliss. But she also knew he couldn’t stay away from work for too long.

“And, of course, I have something for you and the missus,” Poom added with a sly grin.

At the word missus , Freen’s breath hitched slightly—reminded of the near-slip she had with Chloe.

Poom handed her a lavish, elegant-looking paper bag. Freen immediately tried to peek inside, but Poom swatted her hands away.

“Ah-ah, no peeking! Not until you get home. Open it with Becky,” he winked.

Freen sighed, giving him a look before relenting. “Fine.”

Poom grinned, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

********

Poom sifted through the latest revisions of the Smith deal, his focus razor-sharp as he double-checked every adjustment.

Then—his phone buzzed.

He sighed, picking it up. This better be good.

“Boss, we have a huge development.”

Poom straightened immediately. “Go ahead—I’m listening.”

“The guy we’ve been tailing? We finally know who he’s working for—it’s Abhisit Panpruet. 

Silence.

Poom exhaled sharply.

Panpruet. CEO of Wachira Group. Their fiercest rival—always outmaneuvered, always trailing behind SC Industries in acquisitions, negotiations, influence.

Until now.

A former client of Becky’s. And the man behind that video.

Was he?

Poom’s fingers curled into a fist. “Are we certain he’s the one who commissioned it?”

A beat of hesitation.

“No direct proof. But all roads lead back to him.”

Poom’s jaw tightened. “This just got interesting.”

“Boss, there’s more.” A pause. “We’ve got pictures. He’s been meeting a woman. Regularly. Not his wife.”

Poom’s brows knitted. A woman?

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

Panpruet—leaning in, locked in conversation. Too familiar. Too at ease.

Poom didn’t recognize her.

But he would.

“You have all of them?”

“Yeah,” his man confirmed.

“Keep digging. Everything—who he meets, who he deals with, every move. Quietly.” A slow breath. “Something’s off.”

“And the other guy?”

Poom leaned back, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“Not yet. Panpruet first.”

“Understood. I’ll call if anything turns up.”

Poom stared at the image, unreadable.

You sly old geezer.

If you orchestrated Becky’s video… why?

And what else are you hiding?

Soon enough, he’d know.

********

Freen stepped into the unit, arms practically overflowing with shopping bags.

Becky, sitting on the couch, frowned the moment she saw them. “ That’s your ‘little’ shopping trip?”

Freen had messaged earlier, saying she was picking up just a few things. Clearly, that had been an understatement.

“I wasn’t sure what would look good on him, so I got everything,” Freen said matter-of-factly, pulling out a tiny onesie. “Look at this! Isn’t it adorable? ”

Becky sighed, shaking her head. “You do realize  he’s going to grow out of half of these before he even wears them, right?”

Freen waved her off, completely undeterred. “That’s future Freen’s problem.”

Before Becky could argue, Freen pulled out an extravagant-looking paper bag and handed it to her.

“This one’s from Poom,” she explained. “He gave us a souvenir from his trip. Didn’t let me peek—said we had to open it together.”

Becky eyed the bag suspiciously, then shot a look at Freen.

“Poom,” Becky muttered, already bracing herself, “is never subtle.”

Freen gave her a pointed look. “We might as well get it over with.”

Becky sighed and opened the bag.

The moment she saw its contents, her entire face flushed red. “Oh no, he did not. ”

Freen, still sorting through baby clothes, glanced over—and promptly groaned.

Inside sat two pairs of sheer black lace lingerie.

And the real kicker?

A pair of hot pink edible G-strings!

Becky slapped a hand over her face, absolutely mortified.

Freen? She pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. “You absolute menace, Poom,” she muttered.

Becky shook her head, still pink. “He really sent this as a gift?”

Freen rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite fight back her grin. “He probably thought he was helping. ”

Becky huffed, tossing the bag aside. “You are never letting him pick gifts again.”

“Oh, absolutely not. ”

But deep down, they both knew Poom was never going to stop teasing them.

This was just the beginning.

********

They had just finished sorting through the baby things when Freen stood, rolling her shoulders in a slow, indulgent stretch.

A smirk played at her lips as she met Becky’s gaze—amusement flickering beneath the surface.

“I think I’ll have a shower,” she murmured, voice light, playful, letting the words linger just a second too long.

She stretched again, deliberately, letting the moment settle.

Becky exhaled, slow, measured. She could feel it—the suggestion hovering in the space between them.

Freen finally turned, unhurried, the ghost of a smirk still playing at her lips.

Leaving behind something unspoken.

Something undeniable.

********

Warm water cascaded over Freen’s skin, easing the tension in her muscles, washing away the weight of the day. She breathed in, letting herself sink into the soothing rhythm, eyes fluttering shut as the heat seeped into her bones, unraveling tightness she hadn’t even realized was there. It wasn’t just comfort—it was release, a quiet kind of healing.

Soft footsteps echoed against the tiles. Becky stepped inside, the thick swirl of steam clinging to her, blurring the edges of the mirror with a hazy mist. The warmth wrapped around her, settling against her skin.

She reached for the hem of her clothes, slipping them off, the fabric pooling at her feet. Then, with a slow, fluid motion, she slid open the glass door, the inviting rush of heat drawing her in.

Freen’s gaze was dark with intent as she took Becky’s hand, drawing her in with slow, deliberate ease.

“Come here,” she murmured, voice low, edged with something sultry. “Let me wash your hair.”

She pumped a generous amount of soap into her palm, working it into a soft lather before her fingers traced gentle circles against Becky’s scalp. Foam spilled over, trailing down her skin.

Warmth and familiarity curled around them, the water rushing between touches, smoothing over every movement.

Becky sighed, a quiet hum slipping past her lips as Freen’s fingers worked through her hair—gentle, rhythmic. The sensation melted the tension from her muscles.

“Hmmm…” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “That feels nice.”

“Relax while I do your back,” Freen said, voice soft.

Becky exhaled, sinking into the warmth, into the steady, intentional touch.

“You’re being awfully thorough,” she teased, cracking an eye open.

Freen’s lips curled in quiet amusement as her hands swept over Becky’s skin, fingertips gliding just enough to send shivers through her.

“I take my responsibilities very seriously,” she murmured.

She chuckled, letting herself lean into the touch. “Mmm. Not complaining.”

Freen’s thumb traced along her wrist, lingering. “Good,” she whispered.

Water streamed between them, steam curling in the air, soft and weightless. Becky let herself sink into the moment, into the warmth, into Freen—every touch effortless, every glance carrying something unspoken.

It was quiet, simple, yet somehow full. A promise without words, a feeling that stayed long after the water washed over them.

“I think you might have missed a spot,” Becky whispered , Her gaze locked onto Freen, filled with playful intensity

“Oh? Did I?” Freen replied, her fingers hovering near that sensitive area, but before she could touch, Becky pulled her in closer, a sultry grin on her lips. “No, not that..” she teased, wrapping her fingers around Freen’s hand with a thrilling confidence.

“I want you to use your mouth…”

Freen flashed a mischievous smile before claiming Becky’s lips in a tantalizing kiss—soft, charged, pulling her deeper into the moment. With quiet ease, she guided Becky against the shower wall, the water flowing around them, wrapping them in warmth. 

Slowly, she trailed fiery kisses along Becky’s jaw, enjoying the warmth of her skin, moving down to her neck, igniting a warm thrill that sent shivers through her. As Freen’s lips danced lower, she indulged in each of Becky’s breasts, teasing with her tongue and drawing gasps from her as waves of sensations coursed through her body.

When Freen reached Becky’s belly, she pressed a gentle kiss against it, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief as she whispered, “Close your eyes, little man…” The corner of her mouth curled into a teasing grin that made Becky chuckle. With a playful tug of Freen’s hair, Becky urged her downward, “I think you have something to do…”

Freen eagerly obeyed, leaving a hot trail of kisses as she knelt before Becky, treating her like a goddess. The intensity of the sensation made Becky squirm, her composure leaning on the edge of bliss. Sensing her struggle, Freen firmly clasped her hips for support

As Freen’s mouth lingered on Becky’s most sensitive spot, Becky tugged at Freen’s hair, breath hitching in her throat. 

“F–Freen…” 

Each breath came out uneven, a testament to the pleasure mounting within her. Freen reveled in it, teasing with her tongue, lapping, hungry for more of Becky’s essence. Gradually, she spread Becky’s legs, lifting one to rest on her shoulders, securing her.

Moans echoed around them, mingling with the steam enveloping the room as Freen lavished attention on Becky. With the swirling of her tongue, she sent waves of exhilaration crashing over Becky, stoking the fire of her mounting passion. 

The tension surged as Freen quickened her pace, keenly aware that Becky was tipping on the brink of ecstasy.

With the masterful flick of the tongue, Becky felt warmth coursing through her—a fleeting surrender, a breathless collision of longing and release. Her body shuddered with breathtaking intensity.

Freen glanced up, eyes sparkling with quiet amusement as she took in Becky’s flushed face. As she began to rise, her fingers lingered for one last teasing touch, skimming over damp skin in a way that was more deliberate than soothing. 

“There, you’re all done,” Freen murmured, her voice laced with something playful—something knowing.

She kissed Becky slowly, just enough to tease, to tempt. Then, pulling back with a smirk, she let the moment settle before adding,

“All cleaned up.”

Chapter Text

30 minutes ago

Becky was in the middle of organizing things when her phone buzzed. She barely spared it a glance—until she saw the name. Poom.

Hmm… what does he want now?

With a flick of her thumb, she opened the message.

Poom: Darling! Get ready tonight—we are going to PARTEY! 🎉 It’s Freen’s birthday!
I know that girl likes to keep it quiet, but nope! Not on my watch! Last year we let it slide, but this time? Oh-ho, it’s going to be a blast!

Becky blinked. Birthday?

She hadn’t known. Freen never mentioned it, never hinted at it. And now? Now, Becky was left standing there, phone in hand, mind racing.

What could she possibly give this woman?

********

Freen skimmed through wallpaper designs, eyes moving slowly over each option. Cars? Airplanes? Too predictable. She wanted something fun, something he’d wake up to and grin at. Dinosaurs, stars, the moon—yeah, he’d like that.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Becky until her voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey, how long have you been here?” Becky’s tone was light, amused.

Freen glanced up, lips curling into a slow smile. “Ooh, you’re here…” She reached for Becky instinctively, draping an arm over her shoulder. “Not long. I was thinking about redecorating this room for the little guy. Take a look—any favorites?”

Becky felt a tug in her heart. Freen wanted her opinion? She scanned the samples before pointing to a shark print. “I don’t know much about these, but this one’s cute.”

Freen grinned, pleased. “You’ve got great taste. Alright—this is the one.” She turned, leaning in with clear intent, eyes flickering to Becky’s lips.

Becky caught on immediately. With practiced ease, she lifted a hand, pressing two fingers against Freen’s mouth before she could steal a kiss.

“Nope. Not so fast.” Her voice held a teasing edge. “Something tells me you’re hiding something.”

Freen blinked. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday. Poom did.” Becky’s tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes held something softer. “I could have gotten you something.”

Freen’s grin faltered just slightly before she sighed. Of course Poom couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

With a slow smirk, she closed the space between them, fingers brushing lightly against Becky’s belly as her voice dipped into a whisper.

“Oh, but you already have.”

Becky’s breath hitched slightly at the warmth of the words—then melted completely when Freen kissed her, slow and sure.

********

Poom was relentless, as always. Freen sighed, rubbing her temple as she stared at the invitation now sitting obnoxiously on her desk. Birthdays had never been her thing—just another mark on the calendar reminding her of the endless cycle of existence. Another year, same routine, same monotony. But that was before. 

Before Becky.

Now, everything felt different. Becky had given her a quiet, unexpected kind of gift —the kind you don’t ask for but somehow end up needing. A reason to wake up, not just to exist but to truly live.

With Becky, the days felt lighter, softer—filled with stolen smiles and warmth she hadn't realized she’d been missing. And now, with the little one on the way, life wasn’t just something to get through. It was something to cherish.

“Alright, darling, no escaping this time!” Poom practically danced into her office, slapping the invitation onto her desk like it owed him money.

Freen groaned. “What the heck, Poom? Do we really have to?You know I hate social gatherings.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s your birthday! We should celebrate.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Speaking of which, is it okay if I invite Becky? Don’t worry, I’ll limit her alcohol intake to just one beer.”

Freen sighed, avoiding Poom’s knowing look. “I already asked her, but she declined. Said I should go and have fun.”

Poom drew back slightly, eyes widening in exaggerated surprise. “You actually asked her. You? Willingly?” He shook his head, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well. That’s new.”

Freen rolled her eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Ahhh, now I really get it.” His grin widened. “You don’t want to go because you’d rather be with her. ” He leaned forward, voice dripping with mock conspiracy. “Can’t get enough, huh?”

Freen narrowed her eyes. “Poom.”

“Admit it.” He poked her arm playfully. “You’re whipped , Freen. Completely and hopelessly gone .”

Freen didn’t dignify him with an answer, but the slight twitch of her lips betrayed her.

Poom smirked, tapping his chin. “Alright then, we’ll let the pregnant princess rest. But you should at least bring her something sweet.” He wiggled his brows. “Maybe something romantic. Candles? A love letter? Or you in a birthday suit ”

Freen cut him off with a pointed glare, but Poom only laughed.

“Fine, fine.” He held his hands up in surrender, backing toward the door. “I’ll make sure of it, don’t you worry.” He winked before dramatically exiting, leaving Freen shaking her head.

She sighed again, but this time, she was smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, Poom was right.

********

The event center pulsed with energy, the bass vibrating through the floor as laughter and cheers mixed with the music. Poom had truly outdone himself—every detail was perfect, from the sleek DJ booth to the meticulously stocked bar. Freen couldn’t deny his talent.

Maybe we should look into event organizing. She made a mental note.

“Told you this would be a blast!” Poom practically shouted over the music, grinning.

Freen smirked. “Yeah, I can see that. I’m thinking we should branch out—add this to our portfolio.”

Poom was about to respond when a voice cut through the conversation, smooth and unwavering.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to celebrate. I was starting to think I’d have to chase you all over the city just to get a response.”

Freen inhaled sharply. Chloe.

She turned to Poom, her gaze sharp, silently asking What the hell is she doing here? Did you invite her?

Poom coughed, feigning innocence. “Oh, Chloe! What a surprise!” Then, under his breath, he hissed, “Who the hell invited you?”

Chloe ignored him, sauntering past, eyes locked onto Freen like a predator cornering prey. “You know I never forget your birthday,” she purred. “I’ve got something special for you later.”

Freen kept her expression blank, refusing to give Chloe any reaction.

“Well then,” Poom interrupted, clapping his hands together. “Freen, you have to see what I set up. Excuse us, Chloe!” He grabbed Freen’s arm and pulled her away before Chloe could push further.

Once they were out of earshot, Freen hissed, “Poom, what the hell? Why is she fucking here?”

“I didn’t invite her!” Poom groaned, rolling his eyes. “Probably one of our old uni friends. Damn it.” He exhaled. “Don’t worry—we’ll make sure she doesn’t get near you again.”

Freen nodded, but her mind wandered. Becky. She shouldn’t be here.

The night carried on, laughter and liquor flowing freely. Then the inevitable happened.

“Body shots!” Someone shouted.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Everyone was into it—except Freen, who had barely touched her beer.

Before she could slip away, Chloe pounced. “I’ll go first!” she announced, then pointed directly at Freen. “And what better way to start than with the birthday girl?”

Freen stiffened. The room seemed to shrink, all eyes landing on her.

Poom immediately jumped in. “Hey, it’s still early for that—maybe we can—”

“Body shot! Body shot! Body shot!” The chant grew louder, drowning him out.

Chloe smirked, stepping forward with practiced confidence. Tequila in one hand, a plate with lemon and salt in the other. She held Freen’s gaze—challenging, daring, pushing her agenda.

“Alright, everyone, pay attention. This is how it’s properly done.” She dipped her fingers into the salt, brushing it against Freen’s neck with deliberate slowness.

Freen stayed completely still. The air was thick with anticipation.

Chloe leaned in, eyes burning with amusement. “First, you lick the salt.”

Her lips brushed Freen’s skin. Freen’s jaw clenched.

“Now, the shot.” Chloe downed the tequila effortlessly.

Then, the final step. She picked up the lemon and placed it between Freen’s lips.

Freen’s pulse hammered. The crowd waited, breathless.

Chloe leaned in—too close, too slow.

Freen exhaled and pulled back, tilting her chin slightly. “I think that’s enough.”

A moment of silence, then loud cheers erupted.

“There you have it!” Chloe declared, tossing the empty shot glass aside. “Happy birthday, Freen!”

The crowd roared louder, but Freen barely heard them. She felt Chloe’s smirk more than she saw it.

She had played along—just enough. But Chloe wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

*******

Freen rushed into the washroom, gripping the edges of the sink as she exhaled sharply. The frustration sat heavy in her chest, simmering beneath her skin. 

She’s so infuriating—always twisting everything to be about herself.

She needed air. She needed to leave.

Just as she turned toward the door, a figure stepped into her path. Chloe.

The scent of alcohol lingered between them, sharp and unmistakable. Tipsy. Of course she was.

Chloe’s smirk was slow, knowing. “Where are you running off to, honey?” Her voice was lazy, laced with something Freen had long since grown tired of. “I haven’t even given you my gift yet.”

She reached out, fingers curling around Freen’s waist in a move so casual, so practiced, it made Freen’s skin prickle.

Freen didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. She simply met Chloe’s gaze, blank, unreadable. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chloe leaned in, the space between them vanishing, her breath brushing against Freen’s cheek. “Don’t you miss me?” Her voice was a whisper, almost coaxing. “The hot sex? The way I touched you?”

Freen turned her head away, stepping back— forceful this time . “No.” Her voice didn’t waver. 

“So stop whatever this is.”

Chloe chuckled, unfazed. “You think it’s that easy?” Her fingers trailed lightly down Freen’s arm—deliberate, testing. 

“You may have walked away, but I never did.”

Freen clenched her jaw, irritation sparking in her veins. Enough

“You can’t tell me you don’t think about it,” Chloe continued, voice dipping lower, silkier. “About us. About how effortless it was.”

Freen’s patience snapped. She met Chloe’s gaze, firm, unwavering. “I don’t want anything to do with you.” Her voice was sharp, cutting. 

“If you don’t want me to lose the last shred of respect I have for you, leave. Stop this.”

For the first time, Chloe hesitated—just a fraction, just long enough for Freen to catch it. But then, as if deciding it wasn’t worth acknowledging, she tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

“Ooh… annoyed much?” The smirk returned, slower this time, calculated. “Is there someone new?”

Freen didn’t blink. Didn’t waver.

“Yes.” She let the word sit, heavy, final. “My wife. ”

Chloe froze. The smirk faltered—barely—but Freen saw it.

“She’s waiting for me.”

Freen didn’t linger to see the full reaction. She stepped past Chloe, brushing against her without another word, leaving her standing there, speechless.

********

Becky hadn’t meant to stop. She had been casually scrolling on IG, letting the soft glow of her screen distract her from the quiet, until something pulled her attention—someone.

She tapped the video.

Music thumped in the background, the energy of the room practically spilling through the screen. Wild cheers filled the air, the kind of unfiltered excitement Becky rarely found herself a part of. The camera zoomed in—two figures, close, too close. One woman leaned in, lips grazing the other’s neck as the crowd roared.

Becky’s stomach twisted.

Body shot! Body shot!

Then she saw her.

Freen.

Her breath hitched, fingers tightening around the edges of her phone.

The caption read: Happy Birthday, Freen! Wow, that was hot!

Hot? Becky felt anything but.

A wave of heat crept up her neck, sharp and unwelcome, settling like a knot in her chest. Her thumb hovered over the comments, scrolling instinctively.

"The hot couple is back!"

"Oh my god, Chloe!"

"You guys are the perfect pair!"

Chloe. So this was Chloe.

Becky’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing at the confident woman in the video. She was striking—radiating charm, owning the room effortlessly. That kind of presence, that confidence, had always seemed foreign to Becky.

Her gaze flickered back to Freen, and this time, Becky noticed it.

Freen wasn’t smiling. Not really.

She sat there, posture calm, expression unreadable. Not annoyed, not amused—just neutral.

No reaction.

Yet Becky still felt the sting, irrational and sharp.

She exhaled sharply, an uncomfortable warmth curling beneath her skin. 

Hmp! Yeah, enjoy your party! You’ll never get a kiss from me! Go to your Chloe.

The thought came bitterly, too quick, too sharp, slipping past her defenses before she could stop it.

She threw her phone onto the couch, crossing her arms tightly.

Jealousy was consuming. It made no sense, had no logic, crept up when she least expected it, and twisted things she couldn’t control.

And worst of all, she hated that she couldn’t do anything about it.

******** 

Freen entered the unit quietly, careful not to make a sound. Becky might be asleep, she thought.

In one hand, she carried a bouquet of red ever roses; in the other, a pack of Becky’s favorite strawberries. A small smile played on her lips, but it quickly faded when she noticed the couch was empty.

Maybe she’s just tired.

She made her way to Becky’s room, pushing the door open gently.

Becky lay on her side, her back facing the door. A barricade of pillows stood beside her—a little fortress separating her from the world.

Freen frowned. Since when did she start doing this?

Carefully, she reached out, pulling away one pillow, then another. Just as she reached for the next, Becky’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Don’t remove that! I feel comfortable with those beside me,” Becky said firmly, her tone laced with irritation.

Freen hesitated, then her voice softened. “Would you rather have these pillows beside you than me?”

Becky didn’t turn around, but her response was sharp, edged with something Freen recognized all too well—a quiet frustration beneath the words.

“I think you’d rather be at your party… doing body shots.”

Freen stiffened. Damn it. She saw it. Someone must have posted something.

She exhaled slowly, willing herself to stay composed. Freen stepped closer, voice gentle, coaxing.

“Baby, I didn’t have a choice, but I swear, you were on my mind the whole time. Every second, I was wishing I was here with you instead.”

“Hmph! You can go back there for all I care!” Becky huffed, gripping the nearest pillow tighter.

Freen chuckled softly, reaching out to brush her fingers against Becky’s arm, even though she knew she might get swatted away.

“Come on… you know I’d much rather be here, fighting to get past this wall of pillows and making up to you.”

Becky hated how that made her chest ache—how part of her wanted to believe it.

Silence. Then, Becky let out the tiniest sigh, barely audible, but enough for Freen to catch it.

“And I brought your favorite strawberries,” Freen added in a teasing whisper. “Think of them as my peace offering.”

Becky didn’t respond, but Freen saw the way her fingers curled slightly, as if fighting the temptation.

Freen pressed on, voice warm and coaxing. “And these roses? Only the prettiest flowers for the prettiest girl.”

Still no words from Becky, but her grip on the pillow loosened just a little.

Freen smiled, sensing the crack in Becky’s resolve. “Beck… please don’t stay mad at me. Let me make it up to you?”

The barricade of pillows suddenly didn’t seem as impenetrable.

Becky shifted slightly, just enough to glance at Freen, her expression still stubbornly grumpy.

Freen smiled softly. “Hi.”

She reached out, fingers brushing Becky’s cheek before trailing down to her belly, lingering there with gentle affection.

“Hi, little guy.”

Becky adjusted herself, turning fully to face Freen, eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny.

“Did you… do that to her too?”

Freen blinked, caught off guard—but then amusement flickered in her gaze.

She’s jealous. Cute.

“No,” she said simply, her voice steady. “I wouldn’t do that. She was my ex, okay? And everything ended between us. I don’t want to go back there again.”

Becky’s eyes searched hers, still guarded.

“Why are you explaining? You don’t owe me that.”

Freen let out a small breath, gaze softening.

“But I want to. I want you to know.”

Becky huffed, turning her head slightly. Not quite forgiving, not quite holding onto the anger—but Freen could feel the shift.

“Beck… please.”

Freen’s fingers traced a lingering touch along Becky’s arm, gentle, coaxing.

Becky didn’t pull away.

And just like that, Freen knew—the storm was passing.

Becky sighed, a quiet surrender. She sat up, turning to face Freen.

“I made something for you. Tom Yum Kung. I figured you might have a hangover, so I—”

She never finished.

Freen leaned in, kissing her tenderly, cutting off her words with soft, lingering warmth.

“Thank you, wifey… I mean, Becky.” Freen chuckled nervously. “It kind of rhymes.”

Becky smiled, shaking her head.

“Happy birthday. Sorry I wasn’t able to—”

Another kiss.

“Hey, can you stop for a sec—”

Freen kissed her again.

“Less talk, more kiss,” Freen murmured against her lips, continuing her slow, unhurried devotion.

Becky’s breath hitched as Freen deepened the kiss, her arms instinctively wrapping around her, pulling her close, letting her feel everything—the tenderness, the warmth, the quiet promise between them.

Freen pulled back, resting her forehead against Becky’s, voice barely above a whisper.

“Best birthday gift ever.”

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the Business District

The rain drummed against the high-rise window, tracing restless paths down the glass. Outside, the city pulsed—neon signs flickering, distant horns slicing through the damp air. But inside the office, buried in shadows, silence ruled.

A man stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, fingers tapping idly against the polished desk. His expression was calm, but there was a tightness in his stance—a quiet edge beneath the composed exterior.

“Mr. Panpruet, we have a problem.” The voice on the other end was careful, measured. “Poom Isarabhakdi is on to us. He’s following the money trail, pulling in sources. He won’t stop until he finds something.”

The breath on the other end was slow. Calculated.

“There’s something else,” the man continued, shifting his stance. “Becky Armstrong never left the city. One of our men saw her entering and leaving a condo. It belongs to Freen Sarocha.”

Silence.

Panpruet leaned back, fingers gliding across the desk’s smooth surface. 

Freen Sarocha. CEO of SC Industries. Powerful. Untouchable. She had always bested him—every deal, every acquisition, every quiet maneuver. And now, she was protecting Becky.

His fingers stilled. They were getting too close. Becky should have been handled. Yet here she was, standing in Freen’s shadow, tangled in something bigger than she understood.

“There’s one more thing,” the voice on the line added, hesitant. “The man who made the video—is gone. No trace. Took his family and disappeared. Best case, he’s running. Worst case…” A pause. “He could talk.”

Panpruet exhaled slowly. His grip tightened against the polished wood of his desk.

A quiet breath. “Then we should say hello to Becky,” he murmured. A pause. “Send her our warm regards.”

The man hesitated but nodded. “Understood, Sir. We’ll try to find out more.”

Panpruet didn’t respond. His attention had already shifted.

He picked up his second phone, scrolling through contacts before clicking on one. The line rang twice before connecting.

“Honey,” he said smoothly, voice edged with quiet amusement. “You’ll never guess where Becky is.”

A pause. He exhaled softly. “So, are we on for tonight? I miss you.”

A beat. A quiet sigh. “Of course I love you. Don’t you worry… they’ll never find out.”

Another pause. Then, low and certain—“Same place. See you.”

********

“Darling, coffee and bagels for my favorite CEO,” Poom declared, breezing into Freen’s office, a knowing grin already in place.

Freen barely glanced up, brows knitting together as suspicion flickered in her gaze. “Okay, cut the sweet crap. What do you want? I’m knee-deep in numbers for the Forester deal. Did you run this past our accountants?”

Poom gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Yes, mother, I did. They’re reviewing it as we speak. I’ll have the report ready by lunch, don’t worry.” His tone was light, teasing, like always.

Freen huffed, leaning back in her chair. “So what’s with the coffee and bagels then?”

“Uhm… nothing much, just checking in on you.” Poom hesitated, then his expression shifted, concern flickering across his face. 

“And also—about Chloe. Sorry about that body shot stunt she pulled. Didn’t think she’d be that desperate.”

A pause.

“One of the staff mentioned you left, and then Chloe followed. I hope she didn’t harass you or anything.”

Freen sighed, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off the memory. “Let’s just say she got a piece of my mind.”

Poom smirked knowingly, tilting his head. “And… ehem, ehem. How about your little ‘celebration’ at home?”

Freen stilled. Then, a quiet chuckle. That ridiculous pillow barricade flashed in her mind. That woman was going to drive her crazy… crazy in love . Love—a word she used to keep at arm’s length—was now something tangible. Something real. Though they hadn’t put words to it, she felt it lingering between them.

Poom snapped his fingers. “Hello? Darling, come back! Must’ve been a mind-blowing celebration, huh?” He wiggled his brows, ever the shameless instigator.

Freen’s playful expression dimmed slightly, shifting into something more thoughtful. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Poom held her gaze, serious now. “Have you ever told her how you feel? Or asked her how she feels about you?”

Freen let out a slow breath. “I just want our issues resolved before we jump into something serious.” 

Poom nodded, but his usual mischief flickered behind his eyes. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll be here, watching it all unfold like the nosy best friend I am.”

********

Becky lounged on the balcony chair, engrossed in her book, when her phone screen lit up. A familiar name flashed across it— Freen . Her lips curled into a smile before she even read the message.

Freen : Hi, gorgeous. As part of my 'making it up to you' package, I would like to invite you to lunch.

Heart emoticons. Heart eyes. Becky chuckled. She’s being silly, she muttered, shaking her head, but the warmth in her chest betrayed her amusement. Silly, yes—but undeniably sweet.

She tapped out a reply. 

Becky : I was told not to take offers from strangers.

Send.

Almost instantly, a new message arrived. 

Freen : Oh, not this stranger.

Attached was a selfie—Freen in a sharp black custom suit and blazer, looking effortlessly fine. The way she stared into the camera sent a pleasant shiver down Becky’s spine. She bit her lip.

Damn. How does she get hotter every day?

Becky : Hmmm... Fine indeed. But I have to think about it.

Freen : Pretty please...  

Another selfie followed—this time Freen with a dramatic pout, lips pursed in an exaggerated fish-lip expression. Becky giggled. She’s ridiculous, she murmured, shaking her head. 

Ridiculous, but cute.

She sighed, giving in. 

Becky : Okay. You’re lucky you’re cute. I’ll drive over. Send the details, stranger.

The restaurant had a cozy elegance, dim lighting casting a soft glow over polished wood. Freen had secured a private dining area, and on the table rested a bouquet of red Ever roses. 

She stood as Becky walked in, her smile lighting up her face. "Hi."

Becky couldn't help but smile back. "I’m kind of liking this package."

Freen pulled out Becky’s chair, guiding her to her seat with smooth confidence.

"Hmm... Such a gentlewoman," Becky teased, arching a brow.

Freen chuckled, handing her the menu. "All right, what does this grumpy cutie want for lunch?"

Becky stuck out her tongue, earning another laugh.

Lunch passed in lingering stares, fingers brushing over the table, quiet smiles between bites of delicious food. Conversation ebbed and flowed, comfortably punctuated by laughter.

Between moments of playful banter, Freen cleared her throat, voice turning softer. "I was thinking… it might be nice to spend some time outside the city. You, me, and the little guy. What do you think?"

Becky considered it, tapping her fingers against the table. "Hmmm… A change of scenery could be good." She stood up. "Let me think on that while I go to the washroom. Be right back."

She was still drying her hands when she opened the door, only to find Freen blocking the way, leaning against the wall with a casual ease that betrayed the sharp intensity in her gaze.

"What the heck do you think you’re doing?" Becky asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Freen tilted her head. "Nothing. I just needed to use the washroom too." The teasing lilt in her voice was obvious.

Becky scoffed. "Whatever you're thinking—or planning—don't." Her tone carried warning, but the smirk playing on her lips gave her away.

Freen feigned innocence. "What? I’m not doing anything."

Becky rolled her eyes, moving past her toward the vanity sink. As she reached for the faucet, Freen moved in behind her, slipping her arms around Becky’s waist, her breath warm against Becky’s ear.

A soft kiss landed just below Becky’s jaw, right at the sensitive spot between her ear and neck.

"Hmm… I miss you," Freen murmured, voice low.

Becky inhaled sharply. "Freen, can you stop that… not here. "

Freen’s smile lingered against Becky’s skin, slow, deliberate.

"Why not?" she murmured, her voice low, edged with something dangerous—something that made Becky’s breath hitch.

Freen's hands began to explore Becky’s waist, teasingly caressing her as electricity crackled between them. She then trailed soft kisses on Becky’s neck, prompting a gasp that escaped her lips. 

“Freen… please… stop,” Becky managed, her voice shaky but laced with desire. 

Freen flashed a teasing smile. "Come on, give me something to hold onto—I’ve been missing you like crazy."

Becky took a deep breath, stepping back with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Freen’s gaze followed her as she slowly lifted her dress, reaching underneath to loosen something discreetly. 

With a deft motion, she pulled down her delicate red lace underwear, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As she approached Freen, she slipped the garment into the pocket of her blazer, a teasing smile gracing her lips.

“Here, something to remember me by.” 

Their eyes locked, and she leaned in, capturing Freen’s lips in a heated kiss before whisking away, leaving Freen grinning, heart racing, and thoughts swirling in delight.

********

Back in their unit, Becky found herself unable to stop smiling. Lunch with Freen had been effortless—warmth wrapped in laughter, lingering touches, knowing glances.

It wasn’t just the way Freen looked at her. It was the way she made her feel.

Safe. Seen. Wanted .

And with each passing day, that feeling grew stronger.

I think I love her .

The thought settled into her chest, familiar yet terrifying. Was this real? Was she ready to admit it?

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from the swirl of emotions.

Freen.

Freen: Someone’s been naughty today.

Then—an image.

Becky gasped, then burst into laughter. Freen had sent a selfie, biting down on something undeniably familiar.

Her lace underwear.

Heat rushed to Becky’s face. She’s impossible .

Becky: Stop! Now focus on what you’re doing.

Freen: Hard to concentrate when I have such a nice souvenir.

Becky groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead.

Becky: You are utterly shameless.

Freen: And you love it.

Becky bit her lip, trying—not very successfully—to fight the smile tugging at her lips.

Becky: No comment.

Freen: Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.

Becky exhaled, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all. How did she manage to disarm me like this?

She glanced down at her phone again, thumb hovering over the screen, before whispering softly to herself—words she wasn’t quite ready to send.

“I love you.”

Becky settled into the couch, the warmth of earlier memories still lingering in her chest. Her phone buzzed.

She smiled instinctively. It must be her again.

But as she glanced at the screen, her smile faded.

An unknown number.

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the message.

A video attachment.

Her pulse quickened.

She tapped it.

The screen flickered to life, showing a sleek, modern hallway—chic, expensive. A hotel? The lighting was dim, the air thick with quiet luxury.

Then, movement. A figure appeared, walking purposefully down the hallway. A woman.

Becky watched, her breath shallow, eyes fixed on the screen.

The woman stopped in front of a door. Key card swipe. The door clicked open, revealing another woman inside—barely covered, poised, waiting.

And then—

Freen.

Becky’s heart jolted, fingers tightening around her phone. No. What is this?

Her mind raced. Her stomach dropped. Who sent this?

Another message came in.

Becky’s stomach twisted before she even read it.

Unknown Number: We know you’re associated with Freen Chankimha. Stop snooping around our business. Do whatever it takes to stop looking into that Vital video.

You know what happened with that, right?

If this leaks, our Freen’s reputation will be ruined.

No police. No interference.

Especially no Freen.

Becky’s breath hitched.

Pressure built in her chest—a suffocating weight she couldn’t shake.

They knew. They knew about her. About Freen.

And they were watching.

Her mind spiraled, words blurring on the screen. Reputation ruined. No police. No Freen.

A warning. A threat.

She swallowed hard, pulse thundering in her ears.

The walls suddenly felt too close, her own heartbeat a deafening force against the silence.

********

Poom was reviewing the Forester deal when his phone buzzed. He glanced down, a smile tugging at his lips. Ah, my favorite person .

He answered smoothly, his voice warm with familiarity. “Yes, darling. Let me guess—you’re calling for tips to spice things up?”

Silence.

Becky didn’t laugh.

Instead, her voice came quiet, careful. “Uhm, Poom, can we meet up tomorrow? I need to speak with you.”

The sudden shift in tone sent a ripple of concern through him.

“Oh… okay, darling. Is everything alright?”

A pause. Then—

“Y-Yes. See you. Is it okay if we meet at the café near the office?”

Poom frowned slightly but kept his tone easy. “Sure, honey. See you then. Bye, darling.”

As he ended the call, an unease settled in his chest. Something felt off. Becky never stumbled over her words like that—not with him. But he dismissed the feeling, choosing instead to look forward to seeing her.

Friday arrived, and inside the café, Poom set down a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in front of Becky.

“Got you OJ, freshly squeezed. You look good, darling. Pretty preggy.”

Becky smiled at the comment, but it barely reached her eyes.

Then—seriousness.

“Poom, I want you to stop investigating the Vital video.”

Poom stilled, taken aback by the sudden demand, though he remained composed.

“But, dear, that’s part of the contract you and Freen signed. And—more importantly—I thought you wanted to clear your name?”

Becky swallowed, forcing herself to steady. “I don’t want it anymore. I’ve moved on.”

Poom narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something buried beneath the words.

“What do you mean? They wronged you, dear. This is your reputation we’re talking about.”

There it was again. Reputation.

The word sent a sharp pang through her chest.

If she didn’t do this, Freen’s reputation would be in jeopardy.

She had to protect her.

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Then—her breath shuddered.

A sob slipped through.

Poom’s expression softened instantly. “Oh, my dear. What is wrong? Tell me, please.”

Becky quickly wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t mind me. Must be the hormones.”

She forced a weak smile, but Poom wasn’t convinced.

“Please, Poom, just drop investigating it, okay?” She paused. “And please… don’t tell Freen.”

Poom studied her carefully, searching for an answer she wasn’t willing to give.

“Are you sure about this, dear?”

Becky inhaled deeply, nodding. “Yes.”

She stood, grabbing her bag. “I have to get back now. Thank you for seeing me today, Poom.”

She turned and walked away before he could press further, leaving him sitting there—stunned.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Becky had fought so hard for the truth, for her name—why would she suddenly want to drop it?

His gut tightened.

I have to find out what’s going on. Before it’s too late.

********

Two weeks later.

Freen beamed with excitement as she scrolled through her phone, her eyes sparkling. "Baby, I’ve got everything set up for our little getaway. Check this out—gorgeous views, a mini lake. Cool, right?"

Becky smiled, reaching out to touch Freen’s face, her fingers brushing over her cheek. "Yes, that’s great."

Freen’s expression shifted, concern creeping in. "Are you okay, Beck? This past week, you haven’t seemed like yourself. We can cancel if you’re not up for it."

Becky shook her head quickly. "No. Please, don’t mind me. Maybe it’s the hormones." She forced a small smile before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to Freen’s lips. "Sorry if I made you worry. Let’s go on this trip."

Freen studied her for a beat, as if searching for something beneath her words. "Alright. It’s a two-hour drive. Are you sure you want to go ahead alone? I can ask someone to drive you."

Under different circumstances, Freen would be right there with her. But the Forester deal demanded her attention—an important meeting she couldn’t avoid.

Becky nodded, giving a small shrug. "It’s fine. I miss long drives anyway." Maybe some time alone would help her think.

Freen softened, stepping closer. "Okay then, Baby. See you and the little guy there." She reached out, gently caressing Becky’s belly.

Becky swallowed, her chest tightening.

Freen leaned in, whispering against her lips, "I love you."

Becky froze, caught in the weight of those words.

Freen smiled, stepping back and waving as she walked out.

Becky stood there, watching her leave, a tear slipping down her cheek.

I love you too.

********

The open road stretched ahead, a long ribbon of asphalt disappearing into the horizon. The gentle hum of the engine filled the car, but Becky barely noticed.

Her mind was elsewhere.

The warning. The threat.

She had convinced Poom to withdraw the investigation, but how could she be sure they wouldn’t leak the video anyway?

Freen’s reputation—everything she had built, everything she had worked for—could be shattered in an instant.

Becky would not let that happen.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel tighter.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see it.

The sudden glare of headlights—too close, too fast.

A truck.

Swerving.

Becky’s breath caught in her throat.

The world blurred.

Then— impact.

A deafening crash.

Metal shrieked, the violent crunch of steel folding into itself. Glass exploded, scattering like shards of ice. The force whipped Becky forward, her body slammed against the seatbelt with brutal force.

Pain. Sharp, immediate.

Spinning.

Her vision flickered—red, white, darkness.

A sickening weightlessness.

The car flipped.

Once.

Twice.

The sound—bone-rattling, relentless.

Then stillness.

Silence.

Smoke curled into the night air, the scent of burning rubber and fuel mixing into the cold.

The world dimmed at the edges as Becky’s grip slackened, her consciousness slipping, drowning in the void.

********

Freen was locked in a tense meeting, barely registering the voices around her. She kept glancing at her phone, waiting for Becky’s message.

She should have been there by now.

Her fingers drummed against the table.

Her phone buzzed.

Relief surged—until she saw the screen.

Unknown number.

A chill spread through her.

She hesitated, then picked up.

“Hello, is this Freen Chankimha? This is Bangkok General.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Yes, this is her.”

Her voice was tight, her chest constricting with sudden dread.

“Ma’am, there’s been an accident involving a certain Rebecca Armstrong. You’re listed as her emergency contact—as her wife. We highly suggest you come to the hospital.”

The room spun.

Everything around her dissolved into static.

She gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself.

No. No. No.

She barely registered her own voice as she dialed Poom.

“I have to go to Bangkok General—contact the helicopter. Just explain to the executives why I need to leave.”

Poom didn’t hesitate. “Helicopters are always on standby. Go now! Update me, okay?”

She was already moving.

The flight felt suffocatingly long despite the speed.

The second she landed, she rushed inside, straight to the nurse’s station.

“I’m Freen Chankimha. My wife is here. Your hospital called me—there was an accident.”

Her heart pounded violently in her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

The nurse nodded gently. “Please wait here, Miss Chankimha. I’ll call the doctor.”

She was led to a waiting room.

But waiting wasn’t possible.

She paced. Over and over. Fingers digging into her palms.

She needed to see her. She needed to know.

The door opened.

A doctor stepped in, expression composed but cautious.

“Miss Chankimha?”

She turned sharply, voice desperate. “Yes. Doctor—how are they?”

The doctor approached carefully, his voice steady but grave.

“The trauma was too much. We’re so sorry, Miss Chankimha… but we could only save your wife.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer.

The floor beneath her ceased to exist.

A ringing filled her ears.

Only Becky.

Only her.

Her breath caught in her throat, body frozen, the world collapsing around her.

Chapter Text

The doctor’s voice was steady, carefully measured, but nothing could soften the weight of what he was about to say.

“Miss Chankimha, your wife is in stable condition. She’s lucky to have survived with only two broken ribs, a broken arm, and bruises. Her neurological function is intact, and we don’t foresee any lingering effects. She’ll need plenty of rest. Here are her prescribed medications, including painkillers.”

Freen nodded mechanically, the words registering only in fragments. Her wife had survived—that was supposed to be reassuring—but the relief barely touched the raw ache threatening to consume her.

Then, the doctor hesitated, his voice gentler, more cautious.

“Miss Chankimha, I know this is a trying time for you, but we will need a name to register your deceased son for his death certificate.”

The world blurred.

Deceased son.

The words slammed into her, stripping away whatever fragile control she had left. She gritted her teeth against the surge of pain, breathing through the tightness in her chest. 

My son.  

The phrase echoed in her mind, a wound that refused to close.

She forced herself to speak, voice barely audible. “It’s Boribun Chankimha.”

Bun-bun. The name she had chosen with love, believing he would complete her. And now, it was the same name that was breaking her apart.

The doctor gave a small nod. “Thank you. We’ll be back soon. Your wife will be transferred to the recovery room—you’ll be able to see her.”

Freen nodded again, watching as he walked away, his words dissolving into the emptiness around her.

She clenched her fists, staring blankly ahead.

“ Complete”. That was what his name meant.

But now, with him gone , there was nothing left to hold her together.

********

Becky stirred, a low groan escaping her lips as pain throbbed through her body. Everything ached. Machines hummed softly around her, and something heavy weighed on her arm—a cast? Confusion clouded her thoughts. Where am I?

White walls. The sharp scent of antiseptic. A hospital.

Then a memory flashed—the road, the headlights, the desperate attempt to swerve. And then... nothing.

She tried to speak, but her voice came out too weak. A warmth pressed against her hand. 

Freen .

Becky’s fingers instinctively tightened around the familiar touch, grounding herself. Freen stirred, blinking away sleep, and the moment her gaze landed on Becky, her eyes filled with tears.

"Becky…" Her voice trembled.

"Water…" Becky rasped.

Freen immediately stood, pouring a glass and bringing it to Becky’s lips, her hands careful, tender. She helped her take a sip before easing her back onto the pillow.

Becky swallowed, her throat raw. "Where am I?"

Freen inhaled shakily, struggling to keep her voice steady. "You’re in the hospital. You were in an accident." A pause. "Let me get the doctor."

Becky’s fingers tightened around Freen’s wrist before she could move. “The baby…” Her voice was hoarse, fragile. "Is he okay?"

Freen froze.

Her composure shattered in an instant. The grief she had been holding back crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body shaking as sobs wracked through her. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, but it did nothing to stop the pain spilling out of her.

"Beck…" Her voice cracked. "He’s gone. "

Becky felt the words like a dagger sinking deep into her chest.

Gone.

Her breath hitched, panic clawing its way up her throat as her hand flew to her belly, desperate for any sign—any proof—that it wasn’t true. 

But she felt nothing. 

No life beneath her palm. 

No tiny flutters.

"No…" Her voice broke into a shattered whisper. "No, no, no… Freen, no!"

Her cries escalated, raw and guttural, her body trembling violently as the truth crashed down. The baby she had carried—the baby she had loved before she even met him—was gone.

Freen grasped her hands, wiping away Becky’s tears even as her own spilled freely. "Becky, please… you need to rest."

But Becky couldn’t. She wouldn’t. "No… no… no…" Her wails filled the sterile room, hollow and agonizing.

Freen pressed the call button in desperation. "Please, please help her," she begged the nurses as they rushed in.

A syringe. A murmured assurance.

"We’re giving her something to calm her and let her sleep," the doctor said gently.

Freen nodded, silent tears streaming down her face as she watched Becky slowly succumb to the medication.

Even in sleep, tears stained Becky’s cheeks.

Freen wiped them away, even as her own refused to stop falling.

********

Freen clutched her phone tightly, her voice barely steady as she called Poom.

"Poom, can you arrange for Becky’s parents to come to the hospital? I—I can’t do it right now. I have to go back to our unit, get some of her things. She’ll be here for a while… I had her transferred to the VIP suite," she said, trying to keep herself together.

On the other end, Poom’s voice was soft, careful. "Darling, I’m so sorry. I’ve informed the board, and they understand. They’re suggesting you take two months off to…" He hesitated. "Make the necessary arrangements."

Freen swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut. Necessary arrangements. The words felt suffocating.

Poom continued, his voice laced with sorrow. "How is Becky? Does she…"

Freen exhaled shakily. "Y-yes," she whispered. 

"She knows. She didn’t take it well. The doctors had to give her something to calm her down."

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, the weight of everything crashed down. "Poom… Oh God, I don’t know how to— I’m so devastated right now," she choked out, her voice breaking as tears spilled freely.

Poom’s heart clenched. "Darling, do you want me to come there? Or maybe have your parents—"

"N-no…" Freen wiped at her face, pressing the end button before she could fall apart completely.

She turned to leave, but a voice stopped her.

"Miss Chankimha?"

Freen turned, and the nurse was standing there, holding a transparent plastic bag.

"These are your wife’s belongings from the accident," the nurse said gently. "Since you’re her immediate contact, you should have them."

Freen’s breath caught as she stared at the bag, her fingers trembling as she took it.

Inside, Becky’s cellphone sat among other small items—a painful reminder of everything that had just been ripped away from them.

Her grip tightened around the plastic, and for the first time since the nightmare began, she felt herself unravel completely.

********

Sadness clung to Freen like a second skin as she stepped into the unit, the quiet pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. She wiped at her face, but the tears refused to stop. Freen, focus, she told herself, forcing her legs to move. Becky’s things first.

She turned toward Becky’s room, but something pulled her attention.

Bun-Bun’s room.

Her breath hitched as she took a step closer, then another, until she was standing at the threshold, staring inside.

It was nearly complete.

The shark wallpaper stretched across the walls, playful and bright—just as she’d imagined. His crib sat in the center of the room, the tiny mobile swaying ever so slightly. Stuffed animals lined the shelves, plush toys scattered neatly, waiting.

Waiting for a baby that would never come.

Freen’s chest tightened, a sob clawing its way up as she stepped inside. Her fingers trembled as they traced the edge of the crib, the cold wood sending a shock through her. She could almost picture him there, tiny hands reaching up, eyes wide with wonder.

Her Bun-Bun.

She reached for one of the shark plushies, her grip tightening around its soft fabric. That was all it took.

The dam broke.

Freen sank to the floor, pressing the plushie against her chest, her sobs tearing through her, relentless and raw.

He would have loved this.

The thought shattered her.

Her silent cries filled the room, swallowed by the emptiness, by the loss she would never escape.

********

Freen shoved Becky’s clothes into the bag, her movements rough, driven by a restless energy she couldn’t contain. Every fold, every item packed, felt mechanical—like if she just kept moving, she could stop herself from thinking.

Then Becky’s phone lit up.

Freen barely glanced at it until the preview message flashed.

Unknown number: Have you done what we asked? Remember—no Freen.

Her body went rigid.

Her name.

Something dark and sharp twisted in her gut. What the hell is this?

She didn’t have access to Becky’s phone—but suddenly, nothing else mattered.

She finished packing with tense precision, grabbed the phone, and drove back to the hospital, the device burning in her palm the entire way.

When she stepped into the VIP suite, Becky was still asleep, unaware of the storm brewing inside Freen.

Carefully, she set Becky’s things aside, sat beside her, and reached for her hand.

She hesitated.

Then pressed Becky’s thumb against the phone’s sensor.

Unlocked.

Freen took a deep breath, stood, and walked toward the receiving area before opening the message thread.

Her breath caught.

A string of texts. A video.

She tapped the clip.

The moment it started playing, her pulse slammed against her ribs.

Playthings.

Her own figure flashed on the screen—walking into the room, caught on camera.

Then she saw the messages.

Threats. Blackmail.

Her grip tightened, fingers shaking.

She knew. She knew this was happening, and she didn’t tell me.

Her vision blurred, rage rising like a fire she couldn’t extinguish.

She had just lost their son. Had just been ripped apart by grief that felt endless.

And all this time—Becky had been hiding things.

Had been keeping secrets.

Had been facing this alone.

Why? WHY?

Freen’s breath hitched, her knuckles white as she clenched the phone.

If she had told me… if she had trusted me… could I have prevented this?

Her heart thundered, a slow, consuming fury overtaking the grief.

This wasn’t just devastation anymore.

It was anger.

And Becky—Becky would answer for it.

********

Becky stirred, the weight of medication still heavy in her body. Her senses returned sluggishly, the sterile scent of the hospital mixing with the soft hum of machines around her.

Then she saw Freen.

Perched at the edge of the bed, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. The tension in her body was palpable, coiled like a storm waiting to strike.

Then came the voice. Low. Unforgiving.

"How long were you planning to keep this from me?"

Becky’s stomach twisted, the words slicing through the fog in her mind like ice.

"Freen, I—"

"No." The response cracked through the air, sharp and unwavering.

"You knew. You knew you were being threatened, and you didn’t tell me. You thought you could handle this alone—what did you think would happen?"

Freen’s voice trembled, grief and fury battling for control.

Becky swallowed, sitting up despite the sharp ache in her body. "I just—I thought I could fix it. I didn’t want to drag you into it."

Freen let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "You were protecting me?"

And then came the words that shattered Becky.

"Becky, I lost my son."

Pain struck her like a sudden blow to the chest, stealing the air from her lungs.

Their son.

No—Freen’s son.

Becky’s fingers trembled as she pressed them against her stomach, searching—remembering. Soft flutters. Tiny kicks. The warmth of life beneath her skin.

She had known, since the beginning, that he wasn’t hers. But it hadn’t stopped her from loving him.

She had whispered to him at night, traced her fingers over the curve of her belly, imagined his giggles, his tiny hands reaching for her, the way he might have curled into her chest, seeking comfort.

She had loved him.

And now, he was gone.

Her breath shuddered. "I didn’t mean for—"

"Didn’t mean for what?" Freen’s voice rose, raw and broken. "For this mess? For everything to fall apart?"

Becky’s vision blurred with tears. "I was scared! I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I handled it myself, it wouldn’t—*"

"Wouldn’t what? Blow up in your face?" Freen stood abruptly, her body shaking.

Then came the final blow.

"If you had told me sooner, would he still be alive?!"

The words sent Becky spiraling.

She gasped, but no air filled her lungs.

She had tried so hard to protect them. To shield Freen from a truth she thought she could carry alone.

But she had failed.

She had loved a child that was never truly hers, and now, she would never have the chance to love him at all.

Silence smothered them, thick and suffocating.

Becky wiped at the tears streaking her face, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I was just trying to keep you safe."

Freen inhaled sharply, jaw tight, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Your job was to keep the baby safe. You should have trusted me."

And in that moment, everything—everything lost, everything broken—crashed between them.

Neither of them knew how to fix it.

Neither of them knew if it could be fixed.

Chapter Text

3 months later

Poom exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as he studied the documents scattered across his desk. Three months. It had been three months since the accident, since Freen had stepped down as CEO—not just because she was struggling, but because it was the only way to protect her.

If she remained in her position, the blackmailers would have leverage. They would exploit her pain, use it against her. Stepping down was the only way to cut off their power. But that didn’t mean she was okay.

She was drowning, numbing herself with alcohol instead of facing what had happened. And Poom was worried. More than worried.

Then there was Becky. The moment she was discharged from the hospital, she left Freen’s unit. Losing Bun-bun had shattered her, and being near Freen only deepened the ache. So she retreated—to the safety of her parents’ house, where she could grieve alone.

But Poom hadn’t stopped digging into what happened at Vital. He had the information he needed to ruin them. They were just waiting for the right time.

Pushing back his chair, he reached for the receiver and dialed.

"Peggy, has she picked up yet?"

"No, sir," Peggy said gently. "I’ve called Miss Freen several times, but there’s still no response."

Poom let out a heavy sigh, the tension tightening across his chest. This couldn’t go on. She was shutting the world out, and it was tearing him apart.

"Alright, Peggy. I’m heading out for a while. Let the team know to look into that deal I approved—I’ll check it later."

"Noted, Sir Poom. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Tell them not to call me today."

He set the receiver down, grabbed his coat, and stepped out. There was somewhere he needed to be.

********

Poom pulled into the driveway and rolled down his window. His jaw tightened as he glanced at the doorman.

"Are they still there?"

The doorman exhaled heavily, his expression grim. "Yes, Sir Poom. They haven’t left."

Poom’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay. Thanks."

He strode toward the private elevator, swiping his key card—the one that gave him access to Freen’s unit, the one he never wanted to use for this reason.

The second he stepped inside, his eyes swept the disaster zone.

Liquor bottles sprawled across every surface. The air smelled of stale alcohol and bad decisions. This wasn’t Freen. She hated mess. The chaos in front of him wasn’t just carelessness—it was decay.

And then his attention snapped to them—the three women lounging on the couch, barely dressed, half-drunk, giggling as if none of this was wrong.

"Oh, hello there, handsome," she purred, pushing herself up. "Why don’t you join us?"

She reached for him, fingers trailing toward his arm.

Poom recoiled immediately, his disgust plain. "Don’t put your filthy paw on me."

She laughed, but he wasn’t listening. His patience was thin, his mind already ahead.

"Where’s Freen?" His voice was sharp, unyielding.

One of them scoffed. "In that room. She’s a bore. Keeps crying about this Bun-bun and some girl named Becky all night long. I told her my name is Samantha, but she wouldn’t let us in."

Poom’s jaw clenched. He knew exactly which room they were talking about.

Bun-bun’s room.

He approached the door, knocking softly. "Darling, are you okay?"

Silence.

He knocked again, firmer this time. "Freen, please. Open up. Let me see your face."

A click. Then, slowly, the door creaked open.

Inside, Freen sat on the floor, legs pulled to her chest, arms curled around a shark plushie. Her hair was a mess, her face tear-streaked, her body slack with exhaustion. The alcohol had dulled her, but the pain in her eyes was unmistakable.

Poom’s heart twisted. He crouched beside her, his voice soft. "Oh, darling… What are you doing to yourself?"

Freen inhaled shakily. "Poom… I miss them. My Bun-bun… Becky…" Her words were uneven, slurred.

Poom exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Destroying yourself won’t bring Bun-bun back. You have to fight through this, darling. You can't—won't—let this consume you." His voice was firm, but his eyes were damp.

Freen’s fingers tightened around the plushie. "I need a drink…" She reached for a nearby bottle.

Poom caught her wrist, taking it from her grasp. "No. You don’t."

Freen squeezed her eyes shut, guilt pressing into her chest. "I hurt Becky. Said things I shouldn’t have… but I love her. I love her, no matter what." Her voice trembled as she exhaled. 

"The baby... it mattered. It was a part of us. But Becky—she’s everything. No loss could ever change that.”

Poom sighed, his grip gentle.

The silence hung heavy, but something in it—small, fragile—felt like hope.

Poom stood and then strode out of the room, gripping the bottle. The women on the couch perked up as he returned, one of them stretching toward him.

"That’s more like it! Come here, handsome—"

Poom’s voice was cold, unwavering. "Party’s over bitches. Get the hell out of here. And don’t come back. If I so much as hear your name again, you’ll be dealing with our lawyers."

He motioned to their scattered clothes. "Take your trash with you."

They scrambled, grabbing their belongings before scurrying out the door.

Once they were gone, Poom let out a long breath, then turned back to Bun-bun’s room. She was still sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped.

"And as for you… Shower. Now ."

Freen groaned, grabbed a plushie, and flung it at him. He dodged easily.

"Go away, Poom!"

He folded his arms. "No. I won’t."

He pulled her up, guiding her toward the bathroom.

"What the hell are you doing?" she grumbled weakly.

Sliding the glass shower door open, he turned on the water, then looked at her pointedly.

"You’ll shower, or I’ll do it for you."

Freen scowled at him. "Fine! Get out!"

Poom smirked, stepping back. "Thought so."

As he left, he rolled up his sleeves, grabbed his blazer, and started tidying up the disaster zone Freen had turned her condo into.

He wasn’t leaving. Not until she started fighting for herself again.

********

Freen stepped out of her room, towel draped over her shoulders as she ran her fingers through her damp hair. The condo was spotless—every bottle, every discarded item had disappeared. Poom.

She groaned as a sharp pain pulsed in her temples. Hangover. Of course.

The familiar scent of spices drifted through the air, pulling her toward the kitchen.

"Ahh, the drunken master has awakened!" Poom called out, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Come here, dear. I made Tom Yum Kung—I heard it’s a good hangover cure."

Freen sank into the seat by the counter, staring at the steaming bowl as she took a hesitant sip.

The taste hit her instantly. Memories surged—Becky, standing by the stove, carefully preparing this exact soup for her. The warmth, the familiarity, the way Becky had laughed when she got the spice levels wrong the first time.

Freen sighed, staring into the broth.

"I know… I know… Mine isn’t as good as hers, " Poom murmured, watching her closely.

She glanced at him but said nothing, simply taking another spoonful.

Poom leaned against the counter, voice softer now. "Darling, you know I love you, right?" 

He paused before continuing. "But alcohol isn’t the answer. And those women you had over—they sure as hell don’t qualify as therapists." His voice took on a sharper edge. 

"So stop this."

A single tear slipped down Freen’s cheek. She clenched her fingers around the spoon, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

"Poom… I just want to wake up from this nightmare."

Poom exhaled, stepping toward her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. His hold was firm, grounding.

"If I need to slap you to wake you up, I’ll do it, dear." His voice was thick with emotion, but unwavering. "But you need to help yourself too."

********

Becky still felt the weight of the accident pressing down on her, unrelenting, suffocating. The cast had been removed, but the pain remained—a dull, ever-present ache in her ribs, a reminder of how fragile she had become. 

Yet, that was nothing compared to the agony tearing through her heart.

The loss of Bun-bun. The fallout with Freen.

She blamed herself for all of it.

She lay curled in bed, clutching the sheets, replaying every second leading up to that night—every choice, every silence, every moment where she should have spoken, should have done something.

If she had said something sooner, would Bun-bun still be here?

Would Freen still be by her side?

Tears pooled in her eyes, slipping silently down her cheeks.

And Bun-bun… my poor, sweet boy… I was supposed to protect you. I failed you.

A soft knock at the door.

"Dear… Beck, let’s eat," her mother called gently.

Becky wiped her face quickly, carefully pushing herself up in bed. "I’m full, Mom. You guys go ahead," she said, forcing her voice to stay even.

"But, dear… you hardly ate breakfast." Her mother’s voice was tender, coaxing, her palm resting gently against the door as if she could reach through it.

"I’m fine. If I’m hungry later, I’ll grab something from the kitchen." Becky’s words were firm but tired.

A pause. Then her mother sighed. "Okay, dear…" Worry laced every syllable.

Ever since Becky had come home, she had barely left her room. They heard her crying late at night, muffled sobs that she tried to stifle. They saw her pushing food around on her plate, barely eating. But what could they do, except be here?

Shup stepped beside Becky’s mother, watching the closed door. "Ma, let’s give her space. I’ll check on her later."

Becky's mother nodded, squeezing Shup’s shoulder before stepping away.

Shup exhaled slowly, her  gaze lingering on Becky’s door.

Becky was crumbling, disappearing into guilt and grief.

********

Shup knocked softly, voice gentle but persistent.

"Beck… can I come in? I brought you boat noodles."

Silence.

She sighed, adjusting the tray in her hands. "Okay, I’m coming in. You haven’t eaten anything since this morning. Come on, Beck."

Slowly, she turned the knob. It wasn’t locked.

As she stepped inside, the sight before her made her chest tighten. Becky lay curled on the bed, her body folded in on itself, her tear-streaked face half-buried in the pillow. She looked so small, so broken.

"Oh, Beck…" Shup whispered, setting the food down before kneeling beside her.

She hesitated before reaching out, brushing away the damp trail on Becky’s cheek.

"Please don’t do this to yourself," Shup murmured. "It was an accident, Beck. You can’t keep punishing yourself."

Becky inhaled shakily, her fingers twisting into the sheets. "I should have been more careful, Shup. Bun-bun could have been—"

Her voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence crumbled into quiet sobs.

Shup’s heart clenched. She rested a hand gently against Becky’s back, rubbing slow circles in comfort.

"Beck… Bun-bun wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself." Her voice was quiet but firm. "You loved him. You did everything you could. This—this guilt you’re carrying? It’s not yours to hold."

Becky shut her eyes, more tears slipping through.

"I miss him so much…"

"I know," Shup whispered, pressing her palm lightly against Becky’s shoulder. "And Freen…?"

A sharp inhale, a stifled sob.

Becky didn’t answer.

Shup sighed, letting the silence settle between them before reaching for the tray.

"Come on, Beck," she urged softly, nudging it closer. "Just eat a little. If not for yourself, for Bun-bun."

Becky hesitated, staring at the steaming bowl.

Then, slowly, she sat up.

********

Poom stalked across his office, tension coiled tight in his chest, fury radiating from every step.

"That bastard! So that’s his plan—using Becky to get to Freen!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

His fists clenched, jaw tightening. "He’s drowning in trouble. And he doesn’t even see it coming." His mind was racing—Freen, the scandal, the damn video that could’ve ruined everything.

One of his men stepped forward, his tone grave. "Boss, we’ve confirmed the identity of the woman in the picture—Parinya Johnson, an American-Thai. She heads Vital’s HR department, but she’s deeply connected to Panpruet. Together, they built Playthings —an illegal operation. Our sources say the girls involved weren’t exactly willing participants."

A glorified prostitution den , he thought bitterly. 

Dangerous silence filled the room.

Poom’s grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. Every detail, every piece of this puzzle—it was all leading to one inevitable conclusion.

Freen could’ve been dragged into this filth. Becky was already caught in the crossfire.

No more.

His voice dropped, low and lethal. "Panpruet thinks he’s untouchable."

He exhaled slowly, his mind sharpening, calculating.

"Let’s prove him wrong."

Poom’s gaze was sharp as he turned to his man. "What about the guy who made Becky’s video?" His voice was clipped, demanding answers.

"He’s willing to cooperate, boss—but only in exchange for protection. His safety, his family’s," the man explained. "He’s already handed over something—a video of Panpruet."

He pulled up the footage, the screen casting a cold glow over Poom’s face.

Poom leaned in, watching closely. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took in the scene—Panpruet, tangled in a passionate encounter.

"You’ve been very busy, haven’t you, Abhisit?" he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t look away as he asked, "And the woman?"

"Yes, sir. That’s Grace Nim, she works at Vital. We’ve tracked them to a high-end hotel a few times now."

Poom exhaled, straightening. His mind was already moving ahead, fitting the pieces together.

"So, you enjoy a little show, Panpruet?" His smirk deepened.

Let’s see how your board of directors enjoy the next act.

********

BREAKING NEWS: Vital HR Executive Arrested!

Anchor: "Good evening, we begin tonight with breaking developments in a high-profile investigation. Authorities have just arrested Parinya Johnson, the Head of HR at Vital, after an anonymous tip linked her to an illegal operation known as 'Playthings.'

According to sources, law enforcement also has received compelling evidence that implicates Johnson’s involvement in the alleged activities. While further details are yet to be released, early reports indicate that the operation may have far-reaching implications.

Vital representatives have yet to release an official statement. Meanwhile, officials are urging anyone with relevant information to come forward.

Stay with us as we continue to track this unfolding story. More updates as they become available."

The television screen flickered, the breaking news report filling the room with tense energy. Becky sat frozen, her grip tightening on the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.

Shup, standing by the door, let out a whistle. "You worked there, right? Damn. I had no idea they were involved in illegal stuff."

Becky’s stomach churned. Miss Johnson had always carried herself with elegance—poised, articulate, effortlessly commanding a room. But behind that polished veneer was something vile.

The realization made her shiver.

Shup shook his head. "Good thing you left that shady company, Beck."

Becky barely heard Shup. Her mind had already drifted, pulling her back to those days at Vital—the long hours, the ambition, the sense of purpose she once had. But more than anything, it was where she had met Freen.

The memory hit hard.

She could still see Freen leaning against the doorway to her office, arms crossed, a teasing smirk pulling at her lips. Those moments had been so ordinary, yet now they felt distant, unreachable.

Vital had given her so much. And now, it was just another stain in her past.

Her chest ached.

Becky exhaled shakily, forcing herself to look away from the screen.

Freen was gone. Bun-bun was gone.

And somehow, it all led back to Vital.

********

The prison walls hummed with restless energy, inmates shifting impatiently as they waited for their turn at the phones. An elderly woman tapped the receiver, frustration etched in every movement as she waited for an answer.

Then, finally—

"Hello?" Her voice snapped through the static. "I’ve been trying to reach you! What the hell is going on? Where are the lawyers you promised me? I need to get out of here, Abhisit!"

Panpruet’s voice came through, calm but distant. "I can't do anything right now. We can’t be seen together. That would not look good."

Parinya’s patience snapped. "What do you mean?! You expect me to rot in here for another week? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"Relax," he said smoothly. "I’ll take care of it."

She let out a bitter laugh. "You always say that. But let me make something clear—if you leave me in here, I’ll drag you down with me."

A pause. Then, his voice dropped, sharp and cutting. "Are you threatening me?"

"I’m warning you," she shot back. "You never listen. Just like when you made me fire one of my best therapists—all because of your whining little lover."

"Grace is the love of my life," Panpruet said coolly. "So whatever she wants, she gets. And when she wanted Becky gone, I made sure it happened."

Parinya scoffed. "That will be your downfall, Abhisit."

"I don’t think so," he said, unfazed. "Just stay calm. I’ll handle it when the dust settles."

With that, the line went dead.

********

The lobby of SC Industries buzzed with activity—phones ringing, employees moving with purpose, conversations blending into a steady hum. 

Then she walked in.

A figure in a perfectly tailored suit strode through the entrance, radiating quiet authority. Heads turned, but no words were spoken—only knowing glances, whispers exchanged in hushed tones. The receptionist, mid-call, looked up, recognition flickering in her gaze before she quickly ended the conversation.

"Good morning," she greeted smoothly, her voice practiced but touched with surprise. 

"Good Morning, Ma’am"

She offered a polite nod. "I’d like to see the CEO."

"Certainly." Without hesitation, the receptionist led her to the private elevator.

Upstairs, Poom was consumed by the documents scattered across his desk—contracts, revisions, deals that demanded his attention. He barely registered the knock.

"Come in…"

Footsteps approached. He didn’t look up at first, still scanning through numbers and clauses, barely registering the presence in front of him until something was placed on his desk.

Coffee. A bag of bagels.

His brow furrowed. "I didn’t ask for—"

And then, he looked up.

His breath hitched.

Standing before him, casually smiling, was Freen.

"Hi… Morning." Her voice was light, familiar, effortless—as if months hadn’t passed, as if everything had been as it always was. She gestured toward his cluttered desk. "That looks intense."

Poom didn’t speak. His throat tightened, his chest warm with emotion he hadn’t let himself feel in too long. Then, in one swift motion, he was on his feet, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Welcome back, darling." His voice was thick, carrying an unmistakable relief.

"Hey… hey… watch the suit," Freen complained, but there was a teasing edge to her tone.

"Shut up! I don’t care." Poom held on, unwilling to let go just yet. "Let’s stay like this for a while. I missed you."

********

Freen had never been one to settle for small victories. She had returned with a purpose, and this time, she wanted something big.

As she took a measured sip of her coffee, her gaze remained fixed, unwavering. "Poom, can we shift those other accounts to our team?" Her voice carried the weight of intention, sharp and resolute.

Poom watched her carefully, sensing the intensity behind her words. "You just got back," he reminded her. "Are you sure?"

She set her cup down with deliberate precision. "Oh, I’m very sure. I want this acquisition."

His fingers tapped against the desk, reading between the lines. "Which company?"

Her answer came without hesitation. "Wachira Group."

A beat of silence. Poom inhaled slowly, recognition settling in. Abhisit Panpruet’s empire.

"You know this won’t be easy, right?" he said, his voice edged with caution. "Their assets are nearly on par with ours."

Freen’s jaw tightened. "Find a weak point. A weak link in their corporate lineup. I want controlling shares. And once I have them, I’ll dismantle that company, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left."

Poom sighed, measuring his next words. "And their employees?"

"I don’t care," she said coldly. "First, we take control."

A slow smile curled at Poom’s lips. He reached for his iPad, swiping deliberately. "Then you might find this useful. I was planning to show it to you…"

Freen’s fingers wrapped tightly around the device as she watched the video play. Her grip firmed, eyes darkening.

"I got you now, Panpruet," she murmured.

Chapter Text

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Miss Wachira. It’s been a while," Freen said, offering a polite smile.

Seated across from her was Nalin Wachira, the sole heiress of Wachira Group and wife of Abhisit Panpruet.

"Oh, it certainly has been, dear," Nalin replied, a knowing glint in her eyes. "I remember when you were just starting out—and look at you now, a remarkably successful woman."

Freen’s smile remained, but there was something measured in her expression. She stirred her coffee slowly, gaze flicking toward the city skyline beyond the window. "Success comes with responsibility," she mused. "Every decision, every partnership, every deal… they all have consequences."

Nalin tilted her head slightly, sensing the shift in tone. "That’s true. Business can be ruthless."

"Indeed," Freen agreed, setting her cup down gently. "Especially when certain connections become liabilities instead of assets. Bad press, shaky investments… even whispers of inappropriate dealings can make shareholders uneasy."

Nalin’s fingers tightened subtly around the stem of her glass, but her expression remained smooth.

"What exactly are you getting at, Freen?" she asked, her voice even, but edged with curiosity.

Freen met her gaze directly—calm, deliberate. "Wachira Group is a pillar in the industry. Stability is everything. I imagine any uncertainty—especially linked to… questionable activities—could cause stocks to fall. Investors tend to get nervous when there’s too much smoke."

Nalin let out a small laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "A smart woman like you doesn’t waste time with gossip."

"Of course not," Freen said, lips curving faintly. "But speculation has a way of shaping the market. And sometimes, it’s not about what people know—it’s about what they suspect."

A pause.

Nalin exhaled slowly, tapping a manicured finger against her glass. "I see."

Freen leaned back, letting the weight of her words settle.

This conversation was only the beginning.

She had come prepared—her presence deliberate. There was no room for hesitation.

Across from her, Nalin Wachira sat poised, but beneath her polished exterior lay a quiet stiffness, an unspoken tension.

"I’m still not quite sure what you’re trying to get at, dear," Nalin said smoothly, though a flicker of unease laced her voice. "Or what this meeting is really about."

Freen slid a folder across the desk—her movements calm, precise. "I think you’ll find this interesting, Miss Wachira."

Nalin adjusted her glasses and skimmed the documents. A subtle shift in her expression betrayed her surprise.

"You’re trying to buy a controlling stake in Wachira Group?" she asked, her tone steady, yet laced with disbelief.

"Yes," Freen said without hesitation. "Because if certain reports regarding your husband's dealings were to surface, the consequences would be immediate. Stockholders would panic. Shares would drop. And once that begins… you know how fast control can slip away."

Nalin's fingers tightened over the edges of the papers, but she held her silence.

Freen leaned in slightly, voice measured, deliberate. "I understand how much this company means to you. Your father built it, and you’ve fought to preserve his legacy. But once trust is broken, loyalty crumbles. The moment investors begin to question Wachira Group’s stability, they will start pulling out—leaving it vulnerable. Open for acquisition."

Then, with quiet precision, she laid out the next set of documents—photographs, records, undeniable evidence. Panpruet, deep in conversation with Miss Johnson. Deals made behind closed doors. Proof that could shake the very foundation of the company.

"I’m sure you’ve seen the news," Freen murmured. "I imagine you recognize that woman."

Nalin’s breath hitched.

She turned the pages slowly, absorbing each damning piece of evidence. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Freen watched her closely—then delivered the final blow.

"If you want to minimize the fallout, protect your father’s company, and ensure Wachira Group stays in your hands—there is only one way forward. Accept my offer."

She let the words sink in before continuing, steady and sure.

"As a sign of good faith, we will not be removing or proposing the removal of the name Wachira . Jobs will be kept. You’ll retain a minority stake and remain the face of the company."

Silence stretched between them.

Nalin swallowed hard, her throat dry. She blinked rapidly, willing herself to keep control—but her hands trembled against the pages.

Freen sat back, letting the weight of the moment settle.

The decision had already been made.

********

The Wachira Group boardroom buzzed with unease. Something had shifted—something big, and everyone felt it.

The emergency meeting had pulled board members from their daily routines, leaving them restless and uncertain.

"What is this all about?" one of them grumbled, adjusting his cufflinks. "I was in the middle of a golf game."

The murmur of confusion rippled through the room, conversations folding into one another—until the doors swung open.

Poom strode in, composed yet commanding.

"Alright, gentlemen and ladies, please take your seats," he said smoothly, surveying the expectant faces before him.

A hush settled. The CEO of SC Industries had no business here—yet here he was.

"Thank you for making time," Poom continued. "Now, first, I want you all to take a look at the files in front of you."

The rustle of paper filled the room as board members flipped open the documents.

A collective gasp followed.

SC Industries now held 55% of Wachira Group’s controlling shares—authorized and approved by Nalin Wachira herself.

Poom let the shock settle before speaking again.

"Now, now, I know this is unexpected," he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "But rest assured, despite our majority stake, no jobs will be axed." He leaned back casually. "It’s part of the agreement we had with Miss Wachira."

The tension thickened.

"And the main highlight of this meeting?" Poom continued. "Selecting a new chairman."

Before anyone could react, the doors slammed open.

Abhisit Panpruet stormed in.

"What the hell is this?!" His voice crackled with rage. "A new chairman? I am the chairman!"

Poom didn’t so much as flinch.

"You see, Abhisit," he said smoothly, "your involvement in several… questionable dealings has put the company at risk."

A flick of his wrist, and a new set of documents were revealed.

Miss Wachira had seen them. She had approved the change. She wanted to preserve her father’s legacy.

Panpruet paled. He tried to speak, but words failed him.

Poom allowed the silence to stretch. Then—

"Shall we proceed?" He raised an eyebrow. "All in favor of Freen Chankimha for chairman, say aye."

A chorus of "aye" echoed through the room.

Panpruet clenched his fists. "You’ll never get away with this!"

Poom chuckled, utterly unfazed. "Oh, but we already have."

The screen flickered to life.

A video.

Gasps rippled through the boardroom as the footage played—Panpruet and Grace, locked in a heated exchange, undeniable proof of everything.

Murmurs rose among the board members, their disbelief turning to silent judgment.

"Stop that! Shut it off!" he barked, voice nearly cracking. But no one moved.

Then the doors swung open once more.

Miss Nalin Wachira stepped inside, Freen by her side.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Her gaze found Panpruet, cool and unreadable, heavy with unspoken consequences. His stomach twisted. He knew—this was the end.

"And to think I defended you from my father, only for you to betray me like this—" She let out a slow, measured breath, eyes sharp and steady.

"I want a divorce. You'll be hearing from my lawyers."

Panpruet's shoulders slumped, the weight of her words pressing down on him like an undeniable force.

Across the room, Poom exchanged a knowing glance with Freen. No words were needed. As they turned on their heels and strode out of the boardroom, their fingers met in a swift, silent high five—victory sealed.

********

4 months later

Poom and Freen sat across from each other, sifting through stacks of contracts, revising deals, and signing off on amendments. Ever since the Wachira acquisition, work had consumed them—especially Freen, who threw herself into it like a lifeline. Poom knew why. He sighed, watching her immerse herself in deadlines and figures.

Well, at least it was better than alcohol. Or those— he shuddered, cringing at the memory of the parade of women who had drifted in and out of Freen’s unit. He knew it wasn’t about them. She was compensating, running, trying to deny the one truth she refused to face—s he missed her.

“I heard she opened her own physiotherapy clinic back in her hometown,” Poom said casually, still focused on the paper in front of him. 

“Small, but it’s picking up traction.”

Freen exhaled, her fingers tightening around her pen. She gave him a knowing look before muttering, “I don’t think she’ll ever talk to me again. After what I did… she hates me.”

Poom hummed. “Well, you won’t know unless you try, right?” He leaned back, throwing her a teasing smirk. 

“Come on now, darling. You close major deals, take down corporations without breaking a sweat—but you can’t even show your face to her?”

“It’s different, Poom.” Freen’s voice was quieter now, resignation creeping in. “I hurt her. And I hurt myself in the process. I shattered her heart, and she probably doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Hmmm… I wouldn’t be so sure.” His lips curled into something devious, his voice laced with amusement.

Freen narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Poom slid a paper toward her, far too pleased with himself. “You’ve got an appointment with her. Under the name DokMai Amarin. Rehab for your broken arm and—well—your broken heart.”

“You WHAT?!” Freen’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you insane?”

“Relax, we’ve got you a fake cast to make it look realistic.” Poom grinned, utterly pleased with his own genius. “The broken heart, though? That part doesn’t need faking.”

********

Becky ran a careful eye over every detail in her clinic. Her clinic. It was small, modest even, but it was hers—a symbol of everything she had fought for. A fresh start.

The past months had unraveled her, piece by piece. The fallout with Vital, the truth about Miss Johnson. And then Nam’s revelation—that Grace had been the one behind her removal. It should’ve left her bitter, but it didn’t. She felt only pity for Grace.

But it wasn’t just about Grace, or Vital, or even Miss Johnson. It was about everything that had led her here. The sacrifices. The nights spent wondering if she could rebuild herself. The painful realization that the people she had once trusted weren’t who she thought they were.

And Bun-bun.

The weight of his absence had been unbearable at first, but now—now it was different. The ache remained, but it didn’t drown her. She had learned to live with it, to let it settle in her heart without consuming her. Moving forward didn’t mean forgetting.

Then there was Freen.

For so long, the pain of their fallout had been sharp, unbearable. But now, when she thought about her—about the words thrown at her—it didn’t hurt the same way. Everything had faded, the bitterness gone.

She didn’t need closure. She didn’t need explanations.

She just needed to keep moving.

This clinic was her way forward. A testament to her resilience.

And despite the slow beginnings, attention had started to come her way. Her clients weren’t as high-profile as those at Vital, but she didn’t need them to be. She was content.

Then came the call. A corporate client. Something that could change things—open doors. Excitement flickered to life in her chest. She grabbed her iPad, scanning the name.

DokMai Amarin.

She would personally handle this case, she decided. This was a step forward—a chance to prove herself again. Not just to the industry. Not just to those who had underestimated her.

But to herself.

********

The clinic hummed with life, a steady rhythm of hushed conversations, quiet footsteps, and the occasional laughter of patients exchanging pleasantries. Becky was on her fourth client of the day, but exhaustion never touched her—she thrived in moments like these.

“You’re such a lovely young woman,” Mrs. Anong mused as Becky gently massaged the elderly woman’s aching joints. “I can’t believe you don’t have someone special yet. When I was your age, admirers flocked to me!” She giggled, reminiscing with the kind of warmth only the elderly possessed.

Becky smiled, eyes crinkling with affection. “I bet they did, Mrs. Anong,” she teased. She had always enjoyed working with the elderly, their stories rich with nostalgia, their presence comforting in its familiarity. Mrs. Anong had been coming to the clinic for weeks—sometimes just to chat. Their easy banter felt like part of the routine now.

Their conversation was interrupted by the receptionist’s voice through the intercom. “Miss Becky, your five o’clock client is here—Miss Amarin.”

Becky sighed, squeezing Mrs. Anong’s hand reassuringly. “Make sure to take your meds, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

The older woman nodded with a knowing smile, and Becky stepped into her office. She pressed the receiver. “Send her in.”

Pausing, Becky smoothed her dress, fingers reflexively combing through her hair to ensure she looked presentable. She reached for her iPad, scrolling through patient history—only half-aware when a soft knock echoed against the door.

“Come in,” she said absently.

She barely glanced up at first. “Hello, Miss Amar—” The words halted in her throat.

The name on her schedule evaporated into nothing.

It wasn’t Miss Amarin standing before her.

It was Freen.

A beat of silence. The air shifted.

“Hi, Beck…” Freen’s voice was soft, but the weight of it pressed against Becky’s ribs, tight, unrelenting.

Everything else ceased to exist.

********

Becky felt the dam inside her begin to crack, the pressure straining against her resolve. Still, she held firm, exhaling softly as she steadied herself.

DokMai Amarin?

A fake name? Really? Freen was playing games, testing the boundaries Becky had spent so long reinforcing.

Fine. If this was how Freen wanted to play it, Becky would play along.

She folded her hands neatly, keeping her expression controlled, unreadable. "Please take your seat, Miss Amarin ," she said, calm and even.

Freen hesitated, as if reconsidering, before sitting down.

"Beck—"

"I see here that you broke your arm," Becky cut in, her tone perfectly professional. "What caused this?"

Freen sighed, seeing exactly what Becky was doing. Holding her at a distance, keeping it clinical.

"I—It was caused by a fall," she said quietly.

Yeah. And I fell for the wrong person, Becky thought bitterly.

"And how long have you had this cast?" Becky continued, her voice steady, precise.

Freen shifted in her seat. This Becky felt different—cold, detached, strangely formal. It made her uneasy.

"A month, I guess…"

Becky stood, moving with careful intent toward her. 

"Let me examine the affected area."

Freen felt herself tense as Becky approached, the movement so familiar, yet so foreign now.

As Becky reached for the cast, Freen suddenly stopped her, fingers wrapping gently around Becky's wrist.

"Beck… I came here to say—"

Becky inhaled sharply. The contact burned, but she didn’t flinch.

Instead, she removed her hand with quiet precision, effortless and unyielding.

"Please don’t mock our clinic," she said, voice dangerously calm. "It may not be as big or grand as the others, but we value our clients here."

No softness. No cracks.

"I highly suggest," Becky continued, words sharpened to a blade, "that you find another clinic that can cater to your needs ."

Freen exhaled, long and slow, something deep inside her unraveling.

She stood, lingering for a moment. Searching Becky’s face.

But Becky was already gone.

Not physically. But she had retreated so far within herself that there was no reaching her.

Freen turned and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

Becky stared at it.

The silence pressed down. Suffocating.

She leaned back, blinking up at the ceiling, forcing the air into her lungs.

Still, her chest tightened.

Still, the tears slipped past the cracks.

She was supposed to be okay.

Apparently, that was a lie.

Chapter Text

"Okay, darling, spare me the corporate nonsense and give me the real progress report— now !"

Poom strode into Freen’s office with the effortless confidence of someone who had done this far too many times before. A bag of warm bagels dangled from his hand, two coffees expertly balanced in the other.

The scent of roasted beans and fresh bread filled the room, comforting, familiar—but Freen barely reacted.

She groaned, rubbing slow circles against her temple, exhaling heavily. The weight of that pseudo-treatment session was still pressing against her ribs, constricting her breath. The memory of Becky—so painfully distant, so impossibly cold—wouldn’t leave her.

Poom set the coffee down, watching her carefully before sliding one toward her.

"Darling, you look about two seconds away from combusting," he murmured, nudging her shoulder gently. "Sip first, complain after."

Freen gave the coffee a slow, skeptical glance, but lifted it anyway. A quiet sip.

"She hates me… I just confirmed that."

Poom’s teasing faded instantly. He sat down across from her, eyes softening.

"What happened?"

Freen lifted her head slightly, but only to stare blankly at her desk. 

"She thinks I’m mocking her. Belittling her clinic." The words sat bitterly on her tongue before she let her forehead fall against the table.

Poom let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around his cup.

"Ah, sweetheart," he murmured, tapping his thumb against the lid. "That’s rough."

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

"Alright," he finally sighed. "Maybe you need a different approach. But—fair warning—this one’s harder."

Freen lifted her head just enough to look at him, eyes brimming with unspoken desperation.

"Tell me. I’ll do it."

Poom leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, gaze steady.

"You have to do it straight up. No more games. No fake names. No calculated moves."

He softened, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand briefly.

"Just be you, Freen. The real Freen—the one who pours her heart out."

Freen held his gaze, waiting.

"But," Poom continued, firmer now, "whatever she says—no matter how painful—you have to accept it."

He pulled back slightly, voice gentler but no less serious.

"No running. No shutting down. And absolutely no wrecking yourself over it."

Silence again. But this time, the air was lighter.

Freen inhaled deeply, exhaled slower. Letting the words settle, digesting the reality of them.

Then, finally, she nodded.

"Alright," she whispered.

Her voice carried determination. Resolution.

"Let’s go that route."

********

Becky was in the middle of treating Mrs. Anong when the intercom crackled to life.

"Miss Becky, a client wants to see you," the receptionist announced.

Becky barely looked up. "Who is it?"

"She says her name is Freen Chankimha. Complains of shoulder pain."

Becky inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay composed. She’s back again.

Mrs. Anong chuckled knowingly. "Hmm… she must be an interesting one for you to react that way, dear."

Becky pressed her lips together, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up her neck.

Instead, she sighed, reaching for the intercom. "Fine. Send her in."

By the time Becky entered her office, Freen was already there.

Sitting in the chair across from her desk.

Looking nervous.

Like a student sent to the principal’s office.

Becky took a slow breath, letting the sight of this powerful CEO looking so small amuse her—just for a moment.

Still, she kept her expression unreadable.

Before Becky could speak, Freen stood abruptly.

"Look, I’m sorry if I offended you," she started, voice steady but edged with something fragile. "That wasn’t my intention. I come from small beginnings, too. I would never belittle a business."

Becky didn’t respond right away. She simply walked to her chair, sinking into it with deliberate calm.

"You can sit now."

Freen hesitated before obeying.

Becky took her time swiping through the file, barely sparing her a glance. "So… what fake illness are you consulting today?"

Freen gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "No fake illness. My shoulder really hurts."

Becky froze—just for a second.

Damn. That smile.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself back into control.

"There are three thousand physiotherapy clinics in the city," Becky said, not looking up. "And yet, you come all the way here?"

Freen’s voice softened, almost teasing. "Because the best one is here."

Becky forced herself to keep looking at the tablet. Forced herself to ignore the way Freen’s words felt like something more.

"Alright," she muttered. "Did you do anything strenuous to injure your shoulder?"

"No," Freen said easily, but the way she stared at Becky—studied her—was anything but casual.

Becky could feel it.

The weight of her gaze.

It crawled under her skin, making her throat tighten, her hands restless.

She refused to react.

"Let me conduct some tests," Becky said briskly, motioning to the patient's bed.

Freen stood, adjusting her blazer. "Do I need to take this off?"

Becky’s breath hitched.

Focus, Beck.

"Yes," she said evenly. "Please remove it so I can palpate your shoulder."

Freen nodded, sliding the blazer off, exposing flawless skin.

Becky stared—just for half a second too long.

Damn it.

She forced herself to move, placing her fingers against Freen’s shoulder.

"I’m going to apply pressure here."

The moment her thumb brushed against warm skin, Freen gasped—soft, unintentional, but real.

Becky stilled.

Her pulse hammered.

"Is it painful?" she asked, though her voice was quieter than before.

Freen hesitated.

Too long.

"Oh… no. No," she rushed out, laughing nervously. 

"Just… surprised, I guess."

Becky didn’t move.

And neither did Freen.

Not for a long, dangerously charged second.

Freen let out a slow breath, her voice quiet but firm. 

“Let me show you where it hurts the most.” 

She reached for Becky’s hand, guiding it gently to rest over her chest.

The steady beat beneath Becky’s fingers was strong, almost restless.

“Here,” Freen whispered, pressing Becky’s hand a little closer. “This is where it hurts the most.”

Becky swallowed, keeping her voice controlled. “Then I suggest you see a cardiologist instead.” 

She pulled her hand away and turned toward the door—only to be stopped.

Freen was there in an instant, her body close, hands braced against the doorframe, locking Becky in place. Her breath was warm against Becky’s ear, steady but strained.

“I’m so sorry,” Freen murmured. “You might not want to talk right now, but I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes.” 

Her voice softened. “I know I hurt you. I know saying sorry isn’t enough. But I’ll put in the work, because losing you is worse than anything I’ve ever felt.”

She hesitated, then whispered, “I miss Bun-bun too. But mostly, I miss you.”

Freen lingered for a moment before stepping back, grabbing her blazer, and walking out—leaving Becky standing there, speechless.

********

2 months later

 Life moved forward for Becky, but the quiet persistence of one particular presence never waned. 

Her clinic thrived, growing busier by the day. With demand for her services increasing, she had started thinking seriously about expansion. 

Nam had officially become one of her greatest assets, stepping in as Clinical Supervisor after leaving Vital. 

Though administration now took up much of Becky’s time, she still found moments to treat patients—especially Mrs. Anong, who remained one of her special cases.

It was during one of those long administrative afternoons, buried in paperwork, that a soft knock pulled Becky from her thoughts. 

"Come in," she called, barely glancing up.

The door cracked open, revealing Nam’s smirk as she stepped inside, holding a familiar delivery box. 

"Hey, boss—you got another one. Again ." She exaggerated the last word with a dramatic roll of her eyes before plopping the package down with an amused shake of her head. 

"Seriously, when do I get someone like this? So sweet."

Becky sighed. It had been like this ever since that afternoon Freen showed up—roses, strawberries, twice-weekly visits with suspiciously vague ailments, and an endless stream of messages, emojis, even selfies. 

She never replied. Not once. 

But Freen never stopped.

She didn’t hover or demand anything, didn’t push where she wasn’t welcome. She simply… stayed. A steady presence. 

And somehow, despite herself, Becky didn’t find it annoying. 

Her eyes flickered to the latest package before she recalled that message she had received after that Freen’s visit: *Thank you for seeing me. I meant everything I said.* 

She let out another sigh, standing abruptly and gesturing toward the door.

"Just put it at the front desk, Nam."

Nam huffed in amusement, picking up the box. "At this rate, we might need to open a flower shop," she teased before disappearing into the hallway.

Becky shook her head, fighting the smile threatening at the corners of her lips. 

Freen was nothing if not persistent.

********

A week later

Becky’s brows furrowed as she stepped in front of the clinic, its windows dark and still. It was nearly 8 AM—where was everyone? She exhaled, shaking her head. Maybe her employees were just late.

As soon as she turned the key in the lock, the door swung open to a chorus of voices.

“Surprise! Happy birthday, Becky!”

Her staff, a few patients, and—standing just behind them all— Freen, smiling warmly.

Becky blinked, momentarily stunned as colorful streamers and balloons dotted the clinic walls.

“Boss, why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday? Good thing Miss Freen told us about it,” one of her staff chimed in.

Another joined, grinning, “Right! She was so nice to organize this. So sweet.”

The crowd launched into another round of “Happy Birthday,” voices rising with enthusiasm as Freen stepped forward, carrying a cake. Becky let out a quiet sigh. 

How did she know? Hmmm… Shup? Poom? Those two are in trouble. She made a mental note to grill them later.

Freen stopped in front of her, eyes twinkling. “Don’t forget to make a wish, Beck.”

Becky met her gaze, then smiled. With a deep breath, she blew out the candles. Cheers erupted from the group, claps echoing in the clinic.

A moment later, Freen gently set the cake on the table before stepping back.

“Happy birthday, Beck. I should get going now,” she said.

“Hey, aren’t you going to stay for a slice?” Nam asked.

Freen tilted her head slightly, smiling. “If she wants me to.”

The clinic bustled around them, laughter and chatter filling the air. Becky didn’t speak. Instead, she reached for a paper plate, handed it over without a word.

Their fingers brushed.

Freen held her gaze, quiet but certain, before taking the plate with a small, amused smile.

Becky looked away.

The room hummed with chatter, the celebration continuing around them.

*******

Becky was meticulously arranging her belongings when a soft knock interrupted the quiet hum of her routine.

“Dear… are you busy? Can I come in?” her mother’s voice came, warm and gentle.

Becky exhaled, barely lifting her gaze from the drawer she was sorting. “You can come in, Ma. It’s open.”

The door creaked slightly, and her mother stepped inside with a familiar softness, carrying a tray. 

“I brought you some jasmine tea, dear. It’ll help you relax after a long day at the clinic.” 

She set the tray down on the bedside table, the delicate scent weaving through the air.

Becky gave her a small, appreciative smile and continued organizing, but she could feel her mother’s gaze lingering—watching her with quiet concern.

“Yes, Ma?” she finally asked, pausing.

Her mother hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed, fingers smoothing over the blanket. 

“Well, dear… your father and I— we’ve noticed that you’ve been spacing out a lot lately. Always deep in thought. Is everything okay?”

Becky’s fingers stilled. She blinked rapidly as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

“She’s trying so hard to get me to forgive her,” she whispered, voice brittle.

Her mother’s expression softened further. “And how do you feel about that?”

Becky let out a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Ma. I want to, but there’s this pain I can’t even understand.” Her voice wavered, and suddenly, the weight of it all crushed her, leaving her unable to hold back her quiet sobs.

“Oh, sweetheart…” her mother murmured, pulling her close, wrapping her in the safety of her arms.

“You don’t have to force yourself, dear. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. Whatever you decide, know that we’re here for you, always.”

Becky buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, letting the warmth of her embrace soothe what words could not.

********

Poom was deep in work, skimming through proposals, when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen—Freen.

With practiced ease, he answered, already in teasing mode. "Yes, mother, what is your bidding this time?"

"Poom, you have to come here. I’m in my kitchen and I slipped, and I—ahh!" Freen groaned, her voice sharp with pain.

Poom arched a brow, leaning back. "Hmm… what exactly are you plotting, dear? Some brilliant scheme to get her to treat you?"

"Damn it, Poom! I’m in pain!"

"Ooh… shit!" Poom gasped, dramatic as ever. "You mean actual pain?" He straightened, playful tone shifting into something sharper. "Alright, don’t move—I’m coming now!"

Within minutes, he was out the door, weaving through traffic as fast as he could without breaking every road law in existence.

At the hospital, the doctors confirmed it was a grade 1 sprain—nothing catastrophic, but definitely painful. They prescribed rest and physiotherapy.

Freen winced as she adjusted her leg. But then, physiotherapy registered. Her lips pressed together, eyes flickering with something suspiciously close to satisfaction.

Poom caught it instantly. He smirked, arms crossing.

"Now, why do I feel like you’re enjoying this recommendation a little too much?"

Freen shot him a look, but there was no hiding the glint in her eyes.

"Unbelievable," Poom mused, shaking his head. "You really found a way to turn a sprain into an opportunity."

********

"BA Physiotherapy, how can I help you?"

Nam’s voice was bright, polished with routine professionalism—but there was a glimmer of intrigue beneath it.

She listened carefully, nodding along, then hummed thoughtfully. "Ooh… I see. Well, let me check with my supervisor, and we’ll get right back to you."

Her smile lingered as she put the receiver down, but the way her fingers drummed against the desk betrayed something extra. A flicker of amusement, maybe a hint of mischief.

With barely contained energy, she walked toward Becky’s office and knocked softly.

"Boss, can I come in?"

Becky barely glanced up from her notes, giving a small nod.

Nam stepped in with a certain bounce in her movements. "So… I just received a special request for a home treatment session."

Becky’s forehead furrowed slightly. "Why do you need to ask me about that? We always cater to home services."

"Well…" Nam drawled, tilting her head, her smile edging toward something knowing. "This one is for Miss Chankimha. Thought I’d consult with you first."

Becky’s pen stilled for half a beat.

Nam caught the moment—a split-second hesitation, barely there, but oh-so-telling.

Becky exhaled, rolling her shoulders back as if it would dispel whatever thing Nam was silently teasing her about. "We’ll take it," she said, voice steady.

Nam didn’t respond immediately. She just grinned—big, giddy, entirely entertained.

Becky, for her part, remained collected, focused—though she could already sense the silent giddy energy Nam was trying (and failing) to contain.

********

2 days after

Freen couldn’t contain her excitement.

It felt like Christmas morning—just seconds away from unwrapping the gift you’ve been waiting for.

The moment Becky’s clinic confirmed her request, she had been over the moon, her anticipation bubbling over into careful preparations. Somsak had helped her set everything up, and Mr. Somchai had come over to cook all of Becky’s favorite dishes.

With Somsak’s assistance, Freen was propped on the couch, her injured ankle resting gently on a pillow, perfectly positioned.

Then—a soft knock.

Her heart hammered against her chest.

This was it. The first time she’d see Becky back in her unit since she left.

Freen took a slow, steady breath, trying to calm herself.

Somsak answered the door, and as it swung open… it wasn’t Becky.

"Hello, Miss Chankimha," the woman greeted warmly. "My name is Nam from BA Physiotherapy. I’ll be conducting your therapy session today."

Freen nodded and forced a small smile, but the flicker of disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable. She had hoped—maybe even expected—someone else.

Nam didn’t miss it. A knowing glint crossed her expression before she spoke, teasing lightly, 

"Oh. Were you expecting someone?"

Freen stiffened for half a second but quickly recovered. "Oh no… no. I’m thankful your clinic accepted my request," she said, voice measured.

Nam didn’t push, just smiled. "Alright then, shall we begin?"

The session went smoothly, and by the time it ended, Freen felt a tangible relief in her ankle.

"Remember not to put weight on it," Nam advised. "If the pain gets unbearable, you can take mild painkillers." She gathered her things, glancing at Freen before adding, 

"I’ll be back for further sessions."

Freen watched her go, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips.

Softly, barely audible, she muttered, "I wish I could see you."

********

It was the last day of her therapy session.

Two weeks had passed since Nam first took her request, and in that time, Freen had grown fond of her—the way she brought warmth to each session, her easy encouragement every time Freen made progress. Her ankle had improved drastically, the swelling gone, the pain fading into something manageable.

They had never talked about Becky. Maybe Nam had sensed it wasn’t a conversation Freen wanted to have. Or maybe Freen herself had carefully avoided it.

Now, she waited—settled on the same couch she had sat on weeks ago, waiting for Becky then, too.

She had prepared a small token of appreciation for Nam, a gesture for the way she had been patient and kind throughout it all.

Then—the door opened.

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t Nam.

It was Becky.

"Oh… Hi," Freen said, forcing a smile, nerves tightening in her chest. "I—I thought Nam would be here for my last session."

Her heart pounded, so fierce she could feel it in her ribs.

Becky stepped inside with her usual calm. "She had an emergency session with one of our clients. Would it be okay if I handled the last session?"

Would it be okay? It was more than okay . Freen’s mind reeled. 

She had been hoping for this. Hoping to see her. Hoping for any excuse to be near her again.

"Y—Yes, of course," Freen said quickly, voice filled with barely contained excitement. "Who wouldn’t want to be treated by you?"

Becky gave a small nod. "Alright. Let’s begin."

The session moved smoothly—structured, clinical, but the air was anything but neutral.

Freen kept looking at Becky, eyes flickering toward her every few seconds. She felt it—knew Becky could feel it, too—but Becky remained composed, professional, never letting any emotion slip through.

Until Freen reached out.

Her fingers wrapped gently around Becky’s wrist, stopping her movements.

"Beck…"

Becky inhaled sharply, eyes locking onto hers with undeniable intensity.

"Freen," she sighed, her voice steadier than her expression. "Please, you have to stop this."

Freen froze.

"I see everything you're doing," Becky continued, her voice unwavering, measured. "And I appreciate it. But I can't do this— not like this. "

Freen swallowed, throat tight.

"I forgive you," Becky went on, deliberate, firm—her words cutting through the silence like a blade. "But I need to heal. For me . Not for you or anybody else. Not because of all this effort you're making."

The silence stretched, thick and unavoidable.

Freen felt it—every word sinking deep.

She had hoped. Hoped so badly.

But Becky had already made up her mind.

Chapter Text

2 years later

Becky’s life had settled into a steady hum of success, the kind that felt both hard-won and deeply satisfying. 

Her third clinic had opened its doors last month—a milestone she hadn’t anticipated reaching so swiftly. 

The city branches were thriving, with Nam proving herself as a branch manager whose quiet competence and warm confidence steadied the team. 

Yet, Becky remained rooted in her hometown, bound to the familiar streets and faces that had shaped her, anchoring her through the whirlwind of growth.

She sat at her desk, poring over financial reports with a sharp, practiced eye, the numbers falling into place like a familiar melody. 

The soft hum of the office enveloped her, a comforting rhythm—until a gentle knock broke her focus.

“Boss, this came in the mail,” her assistant said, holding out a crisp envelope.

Becky glanced up, her eyes briefly catching the envelope before returning to her screen.

“Just set it there,” she said, nodding toward the corner of her desk, her voice calm but distracted. 

The reports called her back, and she dove in, determined to maintain her flow.

But the envelope lingered in her peripheral vision, its presence like a quiet pulse. 

Minutes later, curiosity tugged at her. She reached for it, her thumb grazing the edge as she turned it over. 

The elegant script on the front stole her breath for a moment—Poom’s wedding anniversary invitation. 

Two years. Two invitations. 

Two moments she’d let pass unanswered, as if ignoring them could keep the past at arm’s length.

And then there was Freen. The memory of their last session lingered, heavy with finality. 

The gestures that had once arrived like clockwork—vibrant bouquets, baskets of ripe strawberries, hesitant texts—had faded into silence. 

Distance had settled between them, deliberate and necessary, or so Becky convinced herself. Now, this invitation rested in her hands, stirring a feeling she couldn’t quite pin down. 

Becky exhaled, the weight of it sinking into her bones, a quiet ache. 

Some things, it seemed, had a way of finding her, no matter how far she tried to run.

*******

Freen glared at the invitation on her desk, its gold-embossed script gleaming obnoxiously, as if taunting her. 

Why did every event have to be a spectacle? 

She barely had time to sigh before Poom breezed into the office, his relentless energy flooding the room.

“Good morning, darling! I see you’ve got the invite. Now bring your date, and let’s wine and dine the night away!” he announced, flourishing his hands.

Freen let out a slow, heavy exhale. “I don’t have anyone to bring,” she mumbled, barely audible.

Poom tilted his head, grinning. “What’s that, dear?”

Another sigh, sharper now. “I said, no date. And why can’t you two just whisk off to the Bahamas or Timbuktu? Somewhere far, no RSVP required.”

Poom laughed, unfazed. “Oh, come now, you know I live for parties! What better way to celebrate love than with family and friends?” 

He paused for effect, then smirked. “Wait a second—the two-time Executive of the Year, dateless? Unthinkable!”

Freen shot him a flat look. “There’s no one I fancy.”

Poom gasped, clutching his chest. “What about that actress you charmed last summer?”

“Vain enough to outshine the sun,” Freen muttered.

“The executive from that L.A. convention? She was smitten!”

“Needed more attention than a puppy.”

“And the professor from that café—gorgeous, wasn’t she?”

“Bored me into a coma.”

Poom clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No one’s good enough for you, hmm?” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes glinting. 

“Or are you holding out for someone special?”

Freen’s glare could’ve turned him to ash. “Poom. Stop.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Just bring a date, okay?”

Freen groaned, slumping back in her chair as Poom sauntered out, humming gleefully. Her eyes drifted to the invitation, its golden script glinting like a challenge. Not this time, she thought, but a flicker of doubt tugged at her.

********

Becky sat with Mrs. Anong, enjoying the quiet hum of the afternoon, when her phone buzzed against the table. She glanced at the screen—Poom.

“It’s alright, dear. You can take it. Must be something important,” Mrs. Anong said with a knowing smile.

Becky exhaled, pressing the answer button. “Hello, Poom. What can I do for you?”

“Oh my God, why so formal, darling? It’s me.” Poom’s voice carried its usual charm, drawing a chuckle from Becky.

“Sorry, dear. Did I catch you at a bad time?” he continued, sensing her hesitation. “I’ll make it quick. I know how busy you are.”

Becky leaned back, already expecting where this was going.

“You haven’t replied to my invite, so I figured I’d call—make it more personal,” Poom teased. 

“You didn’t attend the first one, so I was really hoping you’d come this time.”

A sigh left Becky’s lips, soft but weighted. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“Good enough for me! Bye, darling.” Poom’s easy laughter lingered before the call ended.

Becky stared at her phone for a moment before tucking it away.

Mrs. Anong, ever perceptive, studied her expression. “Is something wrong, dear?”

Becky shook her head lightly, chuckling. “Oh… nothing much. Just a friend inviting me to their anniversary.”

“A party, hmm?” Mrs. Anong’s eyes twinkled. “Are you going?”

“I’m not quite sure, Mrs. Anong.” Becky offered a small smile.

Mrs. Anong patted her hand gently. “Why not go, dear? You never know—you might meet  the lucky one there.”

Becky laughed, shaking her head at the teasing. But even as the conversation shifted, the invitation lingered in her thoughts.

********

The celebration was lively, set against the beautiful backdrop of the beach. The grand hall opened toward the shore, letting in the crisp evening breeze. 

Soft lights glowed overhead, music played, and the sound of laughter filled the air. 

The setup was elegant yet inviting—tables adorned with fine wine, plates filled with expertly crafted dishes, and a bar stocked with endless choices. It was a night of celebration, warmth, and indulgence.

Poom and Freen stood near the bar, drinks in hand.

“Wow,” Freen murmured, scanning the venue. “You always outdo yourself, Poom. This looks marvelous .”

Poom grinned. “Oh, well, you know me, darling—nothing but the best. Now, where’s your date?”

Freen sighed, already tired of the question. “She’s… somewhere.”

Poom’s eyes flickered around the room. “Ah, there she is. So, the model is tonight’s flavor ?” His voice dripped with teasing amusement.

Freen rolled her eyes, preparing to retort when something—or someone—made her pause.

A shift in the air.

Becky stepped into the hall, her movements effortless yet striking. 

The soft glow of the chandeliers skimmed over the smooth black fabric of her dress, accentuating the quiet elegance she carried.

 She moved through the crowd with measured ease, offering polite smiles, but there was something unreadable in her expression—a certain restraint, a distance only a few would notice.

Freen felt her breath catch.

“What—why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” she asked, unable to mask the tension.

Poom chuckled. “Didn’t know she would, darling. But look at her.” He smirked. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Freen didn’t respond—her gaze was locked onto Becky, and then—

A figure stepped into view.

Eric.

Freen recognized him immediately—the same guy Becky had danced with before. He greeted her smoothly, too smoothly, and Becky smiled.

Something in Freen tightened.

She inhaled sharply, gripping her drink a little harder than necessary.

Poom, ever observant, chuckled. “Ah. Now this is interesting.”

Freen shot him a glare, but Poom only winked in return.

The night was far from over, and Freen had the distinct feeling it would be anything but simple.

********

Becky stepped into the grand hall, taking a slow breath to steady herself. The place was stunning—Poom, ever the master of spectacle, had truly outdone himself. 

Warm lights shimmered against the polished floors, soft music played in the background, and the scent of fine wine and fresh seafood drifted through the air.

She was scanning the room, looking for Poom, when a familiar face appeared in front of her.

“Becky?”

Eric.

“Hey, didn’t know you’d be here. How are you?” he asked, his tone casual yet warm.

Becky offered a polite smile. “I’m fine. Did you just arrive in Thailand?”

“Oh no, I’ve been here for a while. Thinking of staying permanently.” His easy grin never faltered. “Tried to contact you, but apparently, you changed your number.”

Becky gave a small nod. “Yeah, I have a different one now.”

Before Eric could say anything more, an exuberant voice cut through the moment.

“Hello, hello, darling! So nice of you to come!”

Poom.

Becky barely had time to react before he pulled her into a hug, his usual flair for dramatics in full force.

“How’s it been? I missed you, you know,” he continued, drawing back but keeping a firm grip on her arms, as if assessing her.

Becky chuckled lightly. “Everything’s been great. The clinic is doing well.”

“Oh, I know that, darling. You’ve got branches in the city now,” Poom said, his tone teasing, ever playful.

Becky smiled, about to respond, when her gaze drifted across the room—pausing on a figure at the bar.

Freen.

She looked effortless, leaned casually against the counter, chatting with someone—a striking woman, tall, poised. She was laughing at something Freen had said, her hand resting lightly against her arm.

Becky exhaled softly

Poom followed her gaze, humming knowingly. “Oh. She’s a model,” he supplied with casual ease. “They met during one of the firm’s promotional shoots.”

Becky said nothing, fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as she kept her expression carefully neutral.

Poom, ever observant, glanced at her and offered a knowing smile. “It’s good to see you here,” he said, his voice lighter this time, less teasing.

Becky exhaled, letting the weight of the evening settle in. This is going to be a long night.

********

The room buzzed with excitement as the MC’s voice carried through the grand hall.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats—the festivities are about to begin!”

A ripple of applause swept across the crowd.

“Tonight, we celebrate not only Poom and his husband’s anniversary but also the friendships and family that make love all the more special.”

Becky settled into her seat, offering polite smiles to her fellow guests. She clapped along, soaking in the warmth of the moment. Eric sat beside her, grinning as he took in the grand event. 

Across the room, however, Freen sat stiffly at her own table, her expression unreadable, her grip on her drink just a little too tight.

“Let’s give a round of applause for the lovely couple!” the MC called out, and the crowd responded with cheers.

Poom and his husband stepped forward, radiating happiness. Poom, ever the theatrical one, spoke words of love so effortlessly that the room was completely enraptured. 

Becky listened, smiling as she recalled the day of their wedding—the vows, the joy, the certainty.

Then, almost instinctively, her thoughts drifted. Freen.

She exhaled softly, shaking off the memory as the evening carried on—drinks flowed, laughter echoed, stories of love and adventure were exchanged like treasured keepsakes.

Then the MC, always one to keep the energy high, leaned into the microphone.

“Now, to make the night even more interesting—we’ll be having some games… with a twist!”

The crowd erupted with whistles and cheers.

“With that said, bring out the Roulette of Fate! ”

A large spinning wheel was rolled onto the stage, its bold labels impossible to miss— Seven Minutes in Heaven, Spin the Bottle, Suck and Blow, Post Office, Dare and Dare.

The energy in the room instantly shifted—thrill, amusement, a touch of nervous anticipation.

“For fairness’ sake,” the MC continued, “we collected all the single people's names upon arrival at the venue, and our lovely couple here will be picking who gets to play.”

Eric leaned in toward Becky, his voice hushed with amusement. “I hope we get picked.”

Becky just smiled, watching the MC, waiting.

“Now, of course, we know we’re all consenting adults here, and this is just for fun,” the MC assured, scanning the crowd with playful mischief. 

“If anyone wants to back out when their name is drawn, you absolutely can.”

Then, the final call.

“So, the question is—ARE YOU READY?”

A roar of YES! shook the hall.

This was about to get even more interesting.

********

The night hummed with laughter and cheers as the roulette spun, pairing guests in delightfully unexpected ways. Each turn sparked a surge of excitement, anticipation thick in the air.

Then came Seven Minutes in Heaven.

A couple stepped forward, expecting a playful romp, but Poom—never one for the ordinary—had grander plans.

“Seven minutes?” he scoffed, flicking his wrist with theatrical flair. “Darling, that’s nowhere near enough!”

With a flourish, Poom unveiled his surprise: a honeymoon suite for the night, brimming with chilled champagne, gourmet delicacies, and the lavish indulgence of a newlywed’s dream. 

The crowd roared with whistles and applause.

Stunned but delighted, the couple laughed as Poom handed them the key. The suite was theirs—no interruptions, just a night to savor in decadent bliss, the faint scent of jasmine candles promising luxury.

As the couple vanished with their prize, playful banter swirled through the room, guests eager for the roulette’s next spin.

The air crackled as the MC dipped his hand into a glittering tambiolo box, pulling out the first name. The crowd leaned closer, breathless with anticipation.

“Alright, our next couple… The first is…” He paused, grinning for effect.

“Becky Armstrong!”

Cheers and whistles erupted as Becky blinked, caught off guard. Poom, ever the showman, clasped his hands dramatically.

“Step up, darling! Humor us with this delicious game, hmm?”

Becky hesitated for a heartbeat before striding to the stage, the crowd’s murmurs buzzing with curiosity over her partner.

She wasn’t alone in wondering.

A few tables away, Eric gripped his glass tightly, muttering what seemed a fervent prayer under his breath, his tension palpable.

Poom’s husband reached into the box for the second name.

“And for Becky’s lucky pair…”

He paused, eyebrows raised, then flashed the slip to Poom, whose gleeful smile widened.

Poom spun to the crowd, voice dripping with mischief.

“Our favorite CEO, Freen! Come to the stage, darling!”

A hush swept the room, followed by teasing murmurs and knowing glances.

Freen, mid-sip of her drink, froze. Her fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening.

Becky glanced up, catching the stunned flicker in Freen’s eyes.

Poom chuckled, relishing the moment. “Don’t keep us waiting, love!”

Freen exhaled, setting her drink down with deliberate care. Her gaze locked with Becky’s across the room.

As she stepped toward the stage, the night crackled with a new, unpredictable energy, promising a game neither would soon forget.

********

15 minutes ago

Freen leaned against the sink, the cold porcelain grounding her as she drew a slow breath. 

The ladies’ room was a quiet reprieve—cool air, the faint hum of a fluorescent light overhead. 

She hadn’t expected Becky here. Not tonight, not looking like that—her effortless glow sharper than Freen remembered.

But then there was Eric. Always lingering, always too close. He had annoyed her back then, and now? Now, it was worse.

She exhaled, reaching for a paper towel. Just as she was about to dry her hands, movement flickered in the vanity mirror. A familiar figure stepped into view. 

Becky. 

Freen’s pulse kicked into high gear, hammering against her ribs.

“Hi,” Becky said, soft and simple. 

Yet somehow, it sent a chill down Freen’s spine. She steadied herself. “Hello. How are you?”

“Fine,” Becky replied. “Still busy with the clinic and all. How about you?”

Freen cleared her throat. “Uhm… well, same old. Still stuck with Poom.” A small, teasing smirk played on her lips.

Becky smiled. 

Silence stretched between them. 

“She’s beautiful,” Becky murmured.

Freen blinked. “Huh?”

“The woman you’re with,” Becky repeated. “She’s beautiful.”

Freen shifted, forcing her voice to stay even. “Yeah.”

Her own words hung in the air a second too long. And then— 

“Eric, huh?” she said.

Becky let out a soft breath, as if amused. “Yeah. I was surprised he remembered me. He tried to contact me, but I changed my number.”

Freen held her composure, though something sharp curled inside her chest. 

“Right. Quite unexpected.”

********

“Alright, let’s hear it for our newlyweds—Freen and Becky!” The MC’s voice boomed, brimming with mischief. Laughter rippled through the crowd, their cheers crackling under the stage lights.

“Just teasing,” the MC added, grinning. “But seriously, you two are stunning together.”

Heat climbed Becky’s neck, settling in her cheeks. It was just the MC’s routine, a playful jab for the charity event’s mock-wedding game. Yet it hit too close to home.

Two years. Two years since she’d last seen Freen—since their eyes locked in a crowded room, voices fading into a silent pull. 

Becky had changed since then, her confidence forged through loss and the ache of Bun-bun’s memory, a nickname that still stung. 

But Freen? Her gaze held that same quiet certainty, her beauty sharper now—or maybe Becky had just spent years pretending it wasn’t.

The woman beside Freen caught her eye—a friend? Something more? Becky shoved the thought away, but it lingered, curling like smoke.

“Ooh, our blushing newlywed’s too stunned to speak!” the MC teased.

Becky snapped back, flashing a grin to hide her racing pulse. “Sorry, nerves got me. What was that again?”

The crowd laughed, and the MC chuckled. “I’m interviewing our couples. So, do you know your partner—Freen?”

Becky glanced at Freen, who gave a small, approving smile, her fingers brushing her sleeve—a nervous tic Becky hadn’t forgotten. 

“Yes. We met through Poom.”

Poom shot a thumbs-up, sparking more cheers. Freen exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

“Well, well,” the MC mused. “Maybe Poom’s the bridge to unite them for good.”

“Alright, folks, settle down!” The MC waved a hand. “Now, let’s let the fates have their fun. Spin that roulette!”

Freen extended her hand, beckoning Becky closer. Her fingers hesitated, then grazed Freen’s—warm, steady, too familiar. 

Together, they spun the bar, the roulette’s clicks echoing like a heartbeat.

The dial slowed, inching toward its verdict: Dare and Dare.

Becky’s stomach twisted. These dares were notorious—some silly, others painfully revealing. What kind of dare were they about to face?

********

The rules were simple. Both of them would receive a dare from Poom and his husband, and they’d have to complete their mission—no exceptions. 

Freen’s gaze lingered on Poom, studying him carefully, as if she could unravel whatever mischievous plan he had concocted.

Poom, on the other hand, was all smiles and laughter, whispering excitedly with his husband as they prepared to reveal the dares.

"Alright, before we begin," the MC announced, grinning at the eager crowd, "we want to know—does anyone want to back out? If so, we’ll draw a new name to pair with your partner or even swap them out for an entirely different couple."

"I’m totally fine with it," Freen said with ease. Becky nodded in agreement.

Freen let out a hum, tilting her head slightly before adding, "I mean, if you want to back out now and return to your seat, it’s perfectly fine." Her voice was teasing, but Becky wasn’t blind—she could tell exactly who Freen was referring to. Eric, seated comfortably next to Becky’s chair.

Becky felt the flicker of irritation rise in her chest. 

"I nodded, didn’t I?" She shot back, voice firm. "So that means I’m going through with it."

Freen raised her hands in a playful gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay… I was just checking."

The MC chuckled at their exchange.

 "Ooh… seems like we already know who’s going to be the boss in the house!" His comment sent waves of laughter through the crowd, the energy of the room crackling with amusement.

********

“Alright, my darlings,” Poom purred, grinning as he held up a neatly folded sheet of paper.

“Time for a little fun. Or should I say... dare and dare .” He handed the paper over with an exaggerated wink that earned a few laughs from the crowd.

“You’ll need to work together to find the X mark—before sunrise,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. 

Freen and Becky leaned over the paper, their expressions shifting as they realized it was a map. A cryptic, hand-drawn one, with arrows, scribbles, and a bold red 'X' not-so-subtly marked near a cluster of trees.

“And once you find the spot,” Poom added, tilting his head, “you’ll seal the deal with a sweet little selfie. Just the two of you. With the sunrise behind you. Sounds romantic, hmm?”

The audience whooped and clapped, delighted by the challenge.

“Oh! And no cheating, alright?” he wagged a finger playfully.

“No hitching rides from resort staff, and *absolutely no* stealing the hotel buggy. I’m watching you.” He made a dramatic gesture of pointing at his eyes then at them, which made the group chuckle even louder.

Freen looked at Becky, her brow raised. Becky mirrored her expression.

“What did we just agree to?” her eyes seemed to say.

Freen let out a breath, then smirked, nudging Becky lightly. “Shall we? Better start now before he adds a third dare.”

Becky laughed and nodded, and the two set off together, the crowd’s cheers echoing behind them like distant waves.

********

As Freen and Becky followed the trail marked on the map, their shoes crunching softly against the shifting sand, the muffled cheers of the crowd faded behind them.

The sky had begun its quiet descent into dusk, casting long shadows and golden hues along the shoreline.

They rounded a bend past a thicket of palm trees—and stopped.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting *that,*” Freen breathed, blinking.

There, tucked between the dunes and facing the sea, was an elegant cream-colored tent. Its sheer panels billowed in the breeze, glowing from within by the warm flicker of lantern light. 

Inside, plush pillows and throws were scattered across a low table set with chilled champagne, strawberries, and an array of tropical treats. A folded note sat atop a silver tray.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Is this part of the dare, or is Poom planning to start curating resort dates?”

Freen laughed, plucking up the note and reading aloud:

“Congratulations, you found the X... but plot twist: maybe the real treasure is the company. Stay, relax, and enjoy. Oh, and don’t forget the sunrise selfie—romance looks good in the golden hour. Love, Poom.”

They exchanged a look—half skeptical, half amused.

“Should we be suspicious that he packed chilled champagne and satin throw pillows for a dare?” Becky asked, smirking as she stepped inside and flopped onto the cushions.

“Extremely,” Freen replied, sinking down beside her, “but I’m not complaining.”

The sky deepened into a velvet blue, stars blinking awake one by one. They sat together, the silence unspoken but easy, eyes fixed on the space where night would soon surrender to dawn.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since the Poom’s wedding anniversary event, yet the memory clung to Freen like salt in the air—soft, persistent, unshakable. 

That early morning on the beach kept playing on a loop in her mind.

They had waited in silence for the sun to rise, side by side on the sand, the horizon still brushed in dusky indigo. 

Freen found herself stealing glances at Becky—at how the wind tousled her hair, how her eyes scanned the sky with quiet awe.

Then the first golden blush lit the edge of the ocean.

“Oh wow… it looks so beautiful,” Becky whispered, her voice full of wonder.

Freen's gaze didn’t leave her.

“Indeed it is… stunning,” she murmured—not at the sky, but at the way Becky’s face seemed to catch the light just right, as if the morning had been waiting for her.

“Oh! The selfie!” Becky suddenly exclaimed, breaking the spell. She raised her phone, angling it to frame them both with the sunrise curling behind. A soft click.

Now, back in the quiet of her own space, Freen looked down at that photo again. Becky’s smile, the amber light, her own barely concealed stare.

She sighed.

Sunrise. 

A symbol of something new, something unspoken. 

A fresh beginning.

She traced the light with her eyes and wondered…  

*Will it be the same for us?*

********

“Darling, I want you to take a look at this propo—”  

Poom’s sentence trailed off the moment he noticed the soft, almost involuntary smile tugging at Freen’s lips. 

She was staring down at her phone like it had just told her the sweetest secret.

He tilted his head, amused. “No way…” he muttered to himself. 

He had a sneaky suspicion—it had to be the selfie Becky sent him for that silly dare. 

As a true friend and low-key mischief-maker, he’d forwarded it to Freen with the teasing caption: *your phone’s future wallpaper*.

Curious, he leaned in slightly, eyes flicking to Freen’s screen. Bingo. The smitten look on her face said it all.

Freen glanced up and caught him mid-peek. With a flustered little gasp, she quickly turned her phone face-down and cleared her throat, trying to compose herself.

Poom smirked. “Oh come on now. Do something about that. You’ve been walking around in lovesick silence since the event.”

Freen groaned, leaning back in her chair. “What if she still doesn’t want to see me? Or talk to me?”

Poom raised a brow, but didn’t interrupt.

Another sigh escaped Freen. “I don’t think my heart can take another hit, Poom. I don’t want to chase her just to be pushed away again.”

“Well then,” Poom said, nudging her foot gently under the table, “you’ll just have to live with that uncertainty. High risk, high reward… or high heartbreak.” He paused, eyes twinkling. 

“The only real question is— is she worth it ?”

Freen didn’t answer right away. But she didn’t need to.

That shy, helpless little smile crept back onto her face.

********

Becky was adjusting the settings on a diagnostic monitor when she caught sight of someone lingering by the door. 

The figure stood there quietly, just out of full view, as if unsure whether to enter. Something about the posture felt familiar, though she couldn’t place it right away.

Then he stepped into the light, and recognition flickered across her face.

“Eric?” she said, surprised.

He gave her a lopsided smile and scratched the back of his head. “Hey. I didn’t really get a chance to talk to you much at the event, so... I thought I’d drop by. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Before she could respond, he held out a bouquet of tulips and a slender box of chocolates.

“These are for you.”

Becky blinked, accepting them with a soft smile. 

“That’s... sweet of you. Thank you.”

Eric glanced around the room briefly before returning his attention to her. “How have you been?”

She leaned against the counter, still watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Busy, mostly. You?”

He nodded. “Same. I’ve been back and forth a lot lately. Just opened my second restaurant, so things have been kind of nonstop.”

“That’s impressive,” Becky said with a teasing lilt. 

“Maybe I’ll swing by and see if it lives up to the hype.”

He grinned. “You should. Actually… I was hoping I could take you out. Lunch or dinner. Whatever fits your schedule.”

Becky raised an eyebrow, mildly caught off guard.

“And to be honest,” he continued, voice steady, “I’m really interested in you. I’d like to get to know you more. No pressure—just honestly putting it out there.”

Becky looked down at the bouquet, then back at him, her features softening.

“Well… thanks for saying that,” she said after a pause. “I wasn’t expecting it, but… it’s nice.”

He chuckled. “So… dinner? Friday at 7?”

She considered it for a moment. Then, with a nod and the hint of a smile, she answered, 

“Alright. Friday at 7”

********

Freen paced the length of her office, glancing every so often at the phone on her desk like it personally offended her.  

Come on… it’s just a call. You’ve closed tougher deals in minutes, she scolded herself. 

And yet, every time her fingers hovered over Becky’s name, she hesitated. 

She’d type in the number… then backspace. 

Again. And again.

She groaned. “Get it together,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. *Why is this so hard?*

After one last deep breath, she snatched the phone and dialed before she could second-guess herself. It rang. Her heart did, too.

Then—“Hello? …Freen?” Becky’s voice came through, light with a hint of surprise.

Freen froze for a heartbeat. *She still has my number saved.* That tiny fact bloomed warmth in her chest.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Becky asked again, this time with a soft edge of amusement wrapped around her impatience.

“Oh—yeah! I’m here. Sorry. Just… uh…” Freen could hear herself fumbling and hated it. Her mind, usually so sharp, was mush.

“…Just?” Becky coaxed, now clearly entertained.

“I was wondering,” Freen blurted, “if maybe you'd want to grab coffee and a light snack? Like… Friday night? Around seven-ish?”

There was a pause.

“Ooh… I actually have something on Friday,” Becky said, her voice careful but kind. “But maybe another time?”

Freen blinked, disappointment curling around the edges of her hope—but it didn’t completely smother it.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice softer. “Some other time works, that’s okay. Oh! And—uh… you looked really great, by the way.”

She winced at her own awkwardness, then added quickly, “Catch you some other time. Bye!”

As she hung up, she collapsed into her chair, covering her face with a groan—equal parts relief, embarrassment, and the tiniest flutter of possibility.

********

Becky sat curled up on her couch, a mug of jasmine in one hand, when her phone began to ring. She glanced at the screen—and blinked.

Freen?

Her thumb hovered for a second before she picked up. 

“Hello?... Freen?”

There was a pause—faint, but charged.

Something unfamiliar fluttered in Becky’s chest. *Why does she sound like she’s frozen in place?*

“Hello? You still there?” she asked again, this time with a teasing lift to her voice. 

She couldn’t help it—whatever was happening on the other end, Freen was clearly flustered, and it was… honestly, kind of endearing. 

It felt familiar

“Oh—yeah! I’m here,” Freen finally replied, tripping over her words. “Sorry. Just… uh…”

Becky leaned back, her lips curving slightly. She’s nervous. A tiny thrill stirred in her. 

Freen never gets nervous.

“…Just?”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab coffee and a light snack? Like… Friday night? Around seven-ish?”

The sudden rush of sincerity caught Becky off guard. She wasn’t expecting this—not tonight, and especially not from someone who always looked so composed even in chaos.

“I actually have something on Friday…” she said, gentle but honest. “But maybe another time?”

Even through the phone, she heard Freen deflate just a little. But she also heard the hope she was trying to mask.

“Yeah, some other time works. Oh! And—uh… you looked really great, by the way. Catch you some other time. Bye!”

The call ended, and Becky stared at her phone for a second, a smile creeping across her face.

Did she just… compliment me and flee?

She shook her head and set her mug down, heart unexpectedly lighter. Whatever this was, it was getting interesting.

********

Friday morning hit like a storm, and Freen was buried under a mountain of paperwork. 

Her screen flashed with unread emails, reports were due in an hour, and her coffee had already gone cold. 

Amid the chaos, her phone buzzed—*Poom*.

What now, she thought, rubbing her temple.

She didn’t even need to open the message to remember how he had cornered her earlier that morning, leaning against her office doorway like he had all the time in the world.

“Pretty please, darling,” he’d said, clasping his hands in exaggerated desperation. “Can you cover that meeting with the Lateral Group execs later? I totally spaced—I’ve got an appointment with the hubby. Hot massage and—”

“Spare me,” Freen cut in, holding up a hand, already regretting letting him speak.

“Good God, can you not traumatize me before noon?”

Poom grinned unapologetically. “What? It’s a bonding activity.”

“I’ll go,” she said with a sigh, snatching her planner. 

“Just send the damn details, alright?”

Poom gasped, placing a hand over his heart like she’d just saved him from a firing squad.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Don’t push it,” Freen muttered, though the corner of her lips betrayed a smile. 

“Now quit the drama and give me the rundown on the deal before I change my mind.”

********

The restaurant buzzed with the refined hum and quiet conversation, the soft clink of cutlery, a trailing note of jazz. 

Candlelight flickered across linen tablecloths, catching the gleam of wine glasses.

Freen followed the maître d’ toward the private room, mentally running through the bullet points Poom had sent her that morning.

 She was halfway there when a familiar silhouette by the window caught her eye.

Becky.

Freen’s step faltered, her breath catching as Becky’s soft, easy laughter floated across the room. She leaned slightly toward Eric, her date, her profile glowing in the soft light.

Freen stopped cold. Her stomach twisted, a sharp pang lodging behind her ribs. So this is her prior engagement. 

Becky looked up—and saw her. 

Her laughter stilled, her hand pausing mid-gesture. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, then something unreadable—guarded, yet soft.

But Freen didn’t wait to decode it. She turned and strode toward the ladies' room.

She wasn’t sure what she expected—certainly not the sound of the door opening behind her just seconds later.

“Freen,” Becky said, her voice calm but edged with something sharp, like she’d been bracing for this.

Freen didn’t turn. “You said you were busy.”

“I was,” Becky replied, folding her arms. “I'm allowed to be.”

Freen exhaled sharply. “You’re single. You can date anyone.”

Becky tilted her head. “Exactly.”

Freen finally looked at her, eyes burning with frustration and something deeper. 

“Yeah, I know that. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Becky stepped closer, barely a breath of space between them.

“Then maybe you should’ve said something sooner.”

Freen’s eyes searched hers, the weight of everything unspoken hanging thick in the air.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything, would it?”

Becky’s breath hitched, her gaze flickering to Freen’s lips before snapping back to her eyes.

“You don’t know that.”

There was no more space for words.

Freen closed the distance, her hand finding Becky’s waist as their mouths crashed together—a storm of heat and need.

Lips clashed, desperate, hungry. Becky’s fingers fisted in Freen’s blazer, pulling her closer, her gasp swallowed in the kiss.

Freen pressed her against the cool tile wall, fingers tangling in Becky’s hair, trembling with the weight of years unspoken. Becky arched into her, breathless, like she’d been waiting—aching—for this.

It was chaos, raw and unyielding.

They broke apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together. Freen’s eyes stayed closed, her heart hammering.

“Oh God,” she whispered, voice raw. “I missed you so much. I’m sorry.”

Becky’s breath trembled, her fingers still curled in Freen’s blazer. 

For a moment, neither moved, the air thick with everything unsaid.

Freen swallowed hard, stepping back. “You better get back to your date,” she said, her voice barely steady. 

“And me… to my meeting.”

She slipped out the door, leaving Becky against the sink, flushed, lips tingling with the ghost of a kiss she never saw coming

********

Becky smoothed her hair in the mirror, fingers trembling. Her lips still tingled from Freen’s kiss, a lingering heat that refused to fade.

Her chest felt too tight, as if her heart had clawed its way out and hadn’t settled back. She took a breath, then another. 

It didn’t help..

She stepped out of the ladies’ room, crossing the restaurant with measured calm. 

Each step felt detached, as if she were floating above herself. 

The low hum of conversation and clink of glasses blurred into the background, drowned out by the memory of Freen’s breath against her lips.

Eric looked up as she returned. “Everything alright?”

Becky nodded, flashing a practiced smile. “Yeah. Just needed to freshen up.”

She slid into her seat, crossing one leg over the other. 

Her fingers curled around the cool stem of her wine glass, seeking something solid to anchor her.

Her mind was still against that wall—Freen’s lips crashing into hers, hungry and desperate, her fingers tangled in Freen’s blazer. 

The kiss had been raw, too short, unraveling years of buried ache in seconds.

Freen’s whispered “I missed you so much” echoed louder now, tangled with the faint guilt prickling at her chest. 

Eric deserved her attention, didn’t he? 

Yet the memory of Freen’s trembling hands, the raw ache in her voice, made Becky’s pulse race all over again.

She wasn’t sure if she should feel guilty.

But what she did feel—undeniably—was alive

********

Neither of them planned it. 

But the ghost of that first kiss lingered, pulling them back like gravity.

Minutes later—maybe fifteen, maybe less—Becky stood from her table, her pulse still racing. She murmured something vague to Eric about a call and slipped away, her purse clutched tight.

Across the restaurant, Freen’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, her heart betraying her focus. 

She excused herself from the executives with practiced ease, her chair barely cool as she moved through the corridor, drawn like a compass needle to true north.

They met in the hallway.

No words. 

Just eyes locking, breaths hitching, a silent understanding that struck like lightning.

Freen reached for the door first.

Becky followed.

The click of the lock echoed in the small room, sharp and final, sealing them in a world of their own.

Neither hesitated.

Becky moved first, her hands finding Freen’s shoulders, pulling her in. 

Their mouths collided, not cautious but ravenous, a kiss that devoured the distance between them. Lips parted, breaths tangled, the heat of it sparking like a live wire.

Freen’s hands slid to Becky’s waist, fingers digging in just enough to ground them both. 

She broke from Becky’s lips, her kisses trailing slow and deliberate along her jaw, brushing the soft curve where pulse thrummed beneath skin. 

Her lips grazed Becky’s neck, teasing the sensitive hollow below her ear, each touch igniting a shiver that Becky couldn’t hide.

Becky’s breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping as she tilted her head, giving Freen more access. Her fingers curled into Freen’s collar, tugging her closer, as if the space between them was unbearable. 

Freen pressed her gently but firmly against the wall, her body a warm, unyielding weight. 

The kiss deepened again, urgent now, Freen’s lips claiming Becky’s with a hunger that felt like it could unravel them both.

Becky’s hands roamed, slipping beneath Freen’s blazer, tracing the curve of her spine. The fabric bunched under her grip, and for a fleeting moment, she remembered the last time she’d held Freen like this—under the moonlight on the beach, before everything broke. 

The memory made her grip tighten, as if she could hold onto this moment longer than the last.

They broke apart, breathless, lips still inches apart. Freen’s hands lingered on Becky’s waist, her thumbs tracing slow arcs against her hips. 

Their eyes met, heavy with everything unspoken—years of distance, regret, and something neither could name.

Freen’s breath shook as she leaned her forehead against Becky’s. “I should go,” she whispered, her voice raw, not moving. 

“We should both go.”

Becky’s thumb brushed Freen’s jaw, soft but deliberate. 

“I know.”

Neither moved. Not yet.

They stood there, caught in the space between now and everything they used to be. 

Breaths unsteady, hearts loud, the air thick with want and what-ifs.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a reminder—of what they’d had, what they’d lost, what still burned between them.

They didn’t know where it would lead. 

But as Becky’s fingers lingered on Freen’s wrist, feeling the pulse that echoed her own, they knew one thing: it never really ended.

Chapter Text

3 days later

Becky sat alone in her office, the faint hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence. Her mind, however, was anything but quiet. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping absently on the desk as she replayed that moment—the fiery kiss with Freen in the ladies room three days ago. 

Damn, why does she have to be such a good kisser? she muttered under her breath, a small smile tugging at her lips. The memory sent a warm flush through her, but it quickly faded into frustration. Freen hadn’t reached out since—not a call, not a text, not even a fleeting emoji. Nothing.

Well, I’m not going to call her, Becky thought, her stubborn streak flaring. She crossed her arms, frowning at her own conflicted feelings. 

Why am I even like this? Am I expecting something? Her mind drifted to Eric, and a pang of guilt twisted in her chest. Their date had been nice—simple, sweet, a night of getting to know each other. Yet, there she’d been, sneaking off to the ladies’ room for a passionate tryst with Freen. 

She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. I owe it to Eric to be fair. I’ll give it another try, she resolved, trying to convince herself as she turned her attention back to the stack of paperwork on her desk.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. “Boss, there’s someone here to see you,” her assistant’s voice called through the door.

Must be Eric, Becky thought, her heart lifting slightly. “Alright, send him in,” she replied, smoothing her dress and running her fingers through her hair to tame any stray strands. 

She plastered on a professional smile, expecting Eric’s familiar grin. But when the door swung open, her smile froze, morphing into a wide-eyed stare. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

It was Freen.

What is she doing here? Becky’s mind raced as Freen stood in the doorway, effortlessly radiant in a sleeveless blouse that hugged her frame, her dark hair falling in soft waves. 

“Hi,” Freen said, her voice soft but laced with a nervous edge. “I was j-just passing by town, and I knew your clinic was nearby, so I… uh, decided to take a quick visit. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

In her hands, she held a bouquet of Ever red roses—Becky’s favorite—and a box of fresh strawberries, their vibrant red peeking through the clear lid. “For you…” Freen added, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.

Becky blinked, struggling to regain her composure. “Thanks. They’re beautiful,” she managed, taking the flowers and strawberries and setting them carefully on the side of her desk. Her fingers lingered on the petals, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Freen shrugged off her blazer, revealing the deep neckline of her blouse and smooth, sun-kissed shoulders that Becky couldn’t help but notice. 

“Can I?” Freen asked, gesturing to the adjacent chair as if seeking permission to drape her blazer there.

“Uhm… sure,” Becky replied, her voice barely steady. Her eyes betrayed her, lingering on Freen’s shoulders a moment too long. Get it together, Becky.

“So… uhm, how are you?” Freen asked, her gaze softening as she looked at Becky, a tender warmth in her eyes.

Becky stood, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from the intensity of the moment. “Is that why you’re here? To ask how I am?” she said, her tone sharper than intended. She wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or just overwhelmed by Freen’s sudden presence.

Freen stood too, closing the distance between them with careful steps. “Uhm, yes… and to do this.” Before Becky could process the words, Freen leaned in, cupping Becky’s face with gentle hands and kissing her softly. 

The tenderness of the kiss caught Becky off guard, but her body responded instinctively, her hands finding Freen’s waist as the kiss deepened. A soft gasp escaped Becky’s lips as Freen’s touch ignited something reckless within her. 

The kiss grew more intense, and Freen’s hands began to wander, slipping beneath Becky’s blouse to cup her breast. “I want more of you…” Freen whispered, her voice breathless and raw.

“Freen… stop. We can’t keep meeting like this,” Becky said, pulling back, her voice shaky but firm. Her heart pounded, torn between desire and guilt. They were still caught in the haze of the moment when another knock came at the door. They sprang apart, Becky hastily smoothing her blouse as Freen helped adjust her collar before retreating to the chair.

“Yes?” Becky called, her voice still unsteady.

“Boss, a certain Eric is here to see you,” her assistant said.

Freen’s jaw clenched, her calm facade barely holding. Eric. The name alone seemed to shift the air in the room. “Okay, send him in,” Becky said, her mind spinning. Here we go.

Eric stepped into the office, his easy smile faltering slightly as his eyes landed on Freen. He recovered quickly, offering Becky a small bouquet of tulips. “For you, Becky,” he said warmly, his voice smooth but with a hint of tension.

Freen sat silently, her expression composed but her thoughts raging. 

She doesn’t even like tulips, she thought, a spark of jealousy flaring in her chest. She forced herself to stay calm, but the sight of Eric handing Becky flowers made her blood simmer.

“Uhm, Eric, you remember Freen, right? Poom’s friend,” Becky said, her voice tight as she tried to navigate the awkwardness.

“Yes, I remember her,” Eric replied, his tone flat, his eyes flicking briefly to Freen before returning to Becky.

“So, what brought you here?” Becky asked, her sigh barely audible. She could feel the tension crackling between Freen and Eric, and her own emotions were a tangled mess. 

This is going to be complicated, she thought, bracing herself for whatever came next.

********

Freen was buried in paperwork, her pen scratching across forms, when her phone buzzed on the desk. She barely glanced at it, expecting another work notification, but her heart did a wild somersault when she saw Becky’s name glowing on the screen. 

A rush of warmth flooded her chest, and her lips curled into a wide, almost giddy smile. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before answering.

“Hello? This is a nice surprise…” Freen said, her voice soft but laced with excitement.

“Hi. Can we meet? I need to talk to you,” Becky replied, her tone calm but carrying a weight that made Freen sit up straighter.

Freen’s face lit up, her mind already racing with possibilities. “Sure! Hmmm… would later be good?”

“Okay. The cafe near you. See you then.”

The cafe was alive with the low hum of conversation and the rich, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Becky had arrived early, claiming a quiet corner table where she could gather her thoughts. 

Two years. Two years since she and Freen had last been close, and yet one phone call had stirred something deep inside her—something familiar, fragile, and dangerously easy to fall back into.

But Becky wasn’t here to tumble headfirst into old emotions. She wanted clarity, a fresh start. She needed to know who Freen was now, not just cling to the ghost of who they’d been. Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup as she rehearsed what she’d say, determined to set boundaries and keep things grounded.

The bell above the door jingled, and Becky’s eyes flicked up. Freen stood in the entrance, scanning the room until their gazes locked. 

A flicker of something unspoken—hope, maybe, or recognition—passed between them. Freen’s lips curved into a soft smile as she made her way over, her presence effortlessly commanding yet warm.

“You’re early,” Freen teased, sliding into the seat across from Becky. Her eyes studied Becky with a tenderness that made Becky’s chest tighten, stirring memories of stolen moments and that unforgettable kiss.

“I had a lot to think about,” Becky admitted, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She took a breath, steadying herself. “Freen, I need to be clear about something.”

Freen tilted her head, her playful expression fading into curiosity. “Okay… that sounds serious.”

Becky managed a small smile, but her voice was firm. “It’s not bad, I promise. It’s just… I want us to start fresh. No jumping into anything because of what we felt before. No kissing, no… hanky-panky.” She blushed slightly at the phrase but pressed on. 

“We were different people two years ago, and I want to get to know who you are now. I want us to be friends first, to build something real, not just lean on old feelings. Can we do that?”

Freen blinked, her expression softening as she absorbed Becky’s words. She leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but tinged with reluctance. 

“Friends, I get. But… no kissing at all? I mean, I know we had something special before. Are you sure we can’t… just a little?” Her tone was earnest, almost pleading, but without the usual playful edge.

Becky’s eyes narrowed, and she shot Freen a sharp glare, her tone unwavering. “No, Freen. I’m serious. No kissing, no nothing. We need to do this right.”

Freen exhaled softly, leaning back in her chair with a small, resigned nod. “Okay, okay. I hear you. Friends it is.” Her eyes held a flicker of sincerity, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. 

“But you’re sure? Completely sure?”

Becky’s glare held firm, though a tiny smile flickered at the corner of her mouth before she caught herself. “Freen,” she said, her voice resolute. “No. I mean it. Friends. That’s it.”

Freen raised her hands in surrender, her smile warm but accepting. “Alright, you win. Friends first. I’m in, whatever pace you need.” Her tone carried a quiet promise, reassuring Becky that she’d respect her boundaries.

Becky’s shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting at Freen’s understanding. “That means a lot. Really.”

Freen rolled her eyes dramatically, but her grin betrayed her. “Of course it does. I’m extremely agreeable, you know.”

Becky snorted, the tension easing into something lighter. “Sure you are.”

Freen groaned suddenly, dragging a hand down her face. “Ugh, Eric’s going to love this.”

Becky raised a brow, caught off guard. “Eric?”

Freen huffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, Mr. Perfect Timing. He’s going to see this as his big chance to swoop in and charm you with his… whatever he does. Tulips and poetry, probably.”

Becky bit back a laugh, warmth spreading at Freen’s barely concealed jealousy. “He has been pretty upfront about liking me,” she teased, watching Freen’s reaction.

Freen grumbled under her breath, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, too upfront. It’s annoying.”

“Are you jealous?” Becky asked, her tone playful but her eyes searching.

Freen scoffed, though her cheeks pinked slightly. “Jealous? No. Annoyed. Big difference.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. 

“But if I have to hear him go on about ‘fate’ or ‘destined paths’ one more time, I might actually throw my coffee at him.”

Becky burst out laughing, shaking her head. This was why she needed to take things slow—moments like this, where Freen’s humor and fire shone through, reminded her how easy it would be to fall again. 

But for now, she wanted to savor this: the laughter, the ease, the promise of something new built on something true. No pressure, no rush. Just them, finding their way back to each other, one conversation at a time.

********

Freen let out a quiet sigh as she clicked her pen closed. The last paper was signed, sealing the end of another long day. Her shoulders eased as she glanced at her watch and murmured, “I can still make it.”

She pressed zero on the office phone. “Hi, Peggy,” she said, gathering the blanket, lilies, and that weathered storybook. “Everything’s signed and sorted. If Poom checks in, tell him I’m at the sanctuary—and, please, no calls unless it’s earth-shattering.”

“Understood, Miss Freen,” came Peggy’s steady reply before the line clicked off.

Freen’s car slipped into the familiar curves of the road, soothing as a lullaby. The sky softened into evening, painting the world in gold. Bougainvillea spilled like watercolor dreams along the roadside, while temple spires stood tall and quiet in the dusky light. Her thoughts drifted to her —the one whose warmth still lingered from their old days spent together.

She parked in her usual spot and stepped out barefoot. The grass greeted her like an old friend, sun-warmed and kind. Tucked in her arms were the lilies, the blanket, and the storybook they never finished.

And there he was.

Boribun A. Chankimha
You will always be loved

Bun-bun, her little boy. He never opened his eyes. The accident stole him before his first breath—before lullabies, giggles, or scraped knees. For two years straight, Freen had come to this sanctuary, her refuge, speaking to him as if he could hear. 

Because, somehow, she believed he did.

She knelt and smoothed the blanket across the grass. Placed the lilies where they always went. Lit the incense and pressed her palms together, bowing her head. Her prayer was brief—a whisper brimming with unspoken promises.

Her eyes opened, and her smile bloomed, fragile as a petal caught in the wind.

“Hey, little man,” she whispered. “Mama’s here again. Did you miss me?”

A breeze stirred the lilies as she settled beside him, her voice weaving through the rustle of leaves. “So… I saw your mom,” she said softly. “She’s still as beautiful as I remember. Still makes my heart do that fluttery thing.”

She traced the storybook’s worn spine, its pages soft from a hundred readings. “I didn’t come with expectations. Just a heart that still carries her.”

Her gaze settled on the stone, warm yet wistful. “I want to know her again—the her she is now. To show her I’m not the broken one who messed it up, but the one still here, still hoping.”

A quiet laugh spilled out, fond and shy. “We kissed again. Three times. Wild, right?” Her cheeks warmed as she paused, brushing a stray leaf from the stone. “It felt honest. Like a beginning.”

“She wants to take it slow,” she murmured. “And I do, too. I just want her laughter back, her trust, like it used to be.”

Freen’s fingers grazed the headstone’s edge, the tamarind tree above swaying as if it remembered their evenings, too. “One day, I’ll bring her here. Let her sit with us. I think she’d love it. I think… you’d love her, too.”

Freen kissed her fingertips and pressed them gently against the stone. “Okay, Bun-bun. I’ll be back soon. We’ve still got chapter six waiting.”

She stood, picking up the book and folding the blanket, casting one last, lingering smile at the flowers. As she walked back to her car, the breeze followed her, soft as a lullaby. 

And behind her, the lilies swayed like they knew her heart by name.

********

The days blurred past in a flurry of white coats and clipped pens. Becky barely noticed the week slipping away—her hours swallowed by clinic paperwork, last-minute consultations, and the occasional patient who stayed just a bit too long asking about vitamin deficiencies and heartbreak.

It was Thursday afternoon when she found herself knee-deep in inventory logs, a pencil tucked behind one ear, when her phone buzzed. Without looking, she reached for it and pressed it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said, shifting boxes with her free hand.

“Hey,” Eric’s voice came, warm and polite. “I’m just calling to check how you are.”

“Thanks for asking,” Becky replied, brushing a curl from her face. “I’m fine. Just swamped with work.”

There was a pause, tentative. “Oh… I was kind of wondering if you’re busy this Saturday? You made quite an impression on me during our last date, so I was hoping we could do a little follow-up on that?”

Becky laughed softly, her tone light but noncommittal. “Hmm… I’m not sure if I can. How about dinner on Sunday?”

Eric’s answer came fast, like he’d been holding his breath. “That would be nice! Dinner on Sunday is great. I’ll send you the details later. Thanks, and bye, Becky.”

“Alright. Bye,” she said, her thumb already hovering over the screen to end the call.

Then the phone buzzed again.

“Oh, he must’ve forgotten something,” Becky muttered, lifting it back to her ear.

“Hey Eric, what did you forget—”

“Hmmm,” came Freen’s voice, low and laced with something sharp-sweet. “So where is he taking you this time?”

Becky blinked. “F-Freen?”

“Is he taking you to that Italian place?” Freen continued, voice a notch too casual to be innocent. “You wore that black dress last time. I’m guessing it made a repeat?”

Becky scoffed, trying to keep her own smile from showing. “He didn’t say yet. Hey—what’s with the twenty questions? What are you calling me for?”

There was the sound of Freen’s soft laugh, muffled like she’d covered her mouth just too late. “Well,” she said, dragging the word out, “I was also wondering if you’re free this weekend.” She emphasized also like it was a thorn tucked behind a rose.

Becky leaned against the stockroom wall, pulse tugging between amusement and exasperation. “I can’t go with you on Sunday. I already said yes to Eric.”

A pause. Then, with not-so-subtle casualness: “Well... what about Saturday?”

“I’ll be meeting my suppliers,” Becky said, flipping through her notes as she tucked her phone between her shoulder and ear.

There was the briefest pause on the other end. Then Freen’s voice came, light but edged with a trace of disappointment. “Ooh… okay. Maybe some other time then?”

Becky hesitated, frowning at her own reflection in the clinic mirror. She hadn’t meant to brush Freen off. Something about the quiet in her voice tugged unexpectedly.

“Uhm…” she said, cheeks warming slightly. “If you’re up for it… you can come with me? And maybe afterward we can grab a snack or something?”

There was a beat. Then—

“ Really? I can go with you?” Freen’s voice nearly jumped through the phone, bubbling over with delight. “Yes! Of course! I’d love that. I’ll pick you up Saturday then, yeah?”

Becky smiled, caught off-guard by the rush of affection fluttering in her chest. “Uh… okay. I’ll send you my apartment address.”

“ Great! ” Freen said, practically beaming through the line. “I’ll see you then!”

As she ended the call, Freen pressed her phone to her chest, grinning at the ceiling like the universe had just handed her a personal win. This is better than winning the lottery

********

Saturday morning stirred to life with the hum of motorbikes and the distant call of a vendor pushing his cart down the soi. The air held that familiar mix of sunlight, humidity, and just a hint of something frying in a pan nearby.

Freen arrived early, pulling up along the curb outside Becky’s low-rise apartment building tucked in a quiet corner of the neighborhood. 

She had cracked her windows to let the breeze in, and on the passenger seat sat a tiny garland of jasmine and rose petals she’d picked up from a market stall— “no reason,” she’d told herself, but her smile said otherwise.

Becky came down a few minutes later in cropped linen pants and a loose button-up, clipboard tucked under one arm. She raised an eyebrow when she spotted the garland.

“For luck,” Freen said innocently, holding it out with a flourish. “And because you’re clearly the boss of this operation.”

Becky smirked. “Flattery and flowers. What are you up to?”

“Only everything good,” Freen shot back, eyes practically sparkling.

They headed out toward the supplier’s facility—a compact warehouse that handled equipment and therapy tools for Becky’s physiotherapy clinic. It sat tucked beside a narrow canal and shaded by a row of old tamarind trees. 

Along the way, they passed roadside stalls selling grilled squid and sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves. Freen kept the windows down and pointed out every stray dog, temple gate, and cartoonish billboard, chatting like someone who had swallowed the sun whole.

At the site, Freen was more than just present—she was very into it. She helped Becky check resistance bands, ultrasound gels, balance cushions, and foam rollers, asked curious questions about posture braces and mobility aids, and somehow convinced one of the staff to toss in a complimentary set of hand therapy balls “for the hardworking doctor.” 

Becky just shook her head, trying not to grin the entire time.

Afterward, they pulled off into a little café tucked behind a curtain of leafy vines, where woven mats and low tables overlooked the water. Freen ordered two bowls of khao soi, two iced lychee sodas, and approximately seventeen skewers of moo ping because “we definitely earned it.”

They sat cross-legged on cushions, feet bare, watching long-tail boats glide lazily past in the distance.

“So,” Freen said, nudging Becky’s knee with hers, “if I volunteer for supplier duty again, do I get paid in snacks or smile points?”

Becky glanced at her over the rim of her glass, trying not to giggle. “You get one free iced soda and limited teasing privileges.”

Freen leaned in, voice low and playful. “Oh? But I was very helpful. I think I deserve at least two privileges.”

Becky looked away, biting back a smile. “Dangerous negotiation.”

“Delightful one,” Freen replied, plucking a lime wedge from Becky’s plate like it was hers by right.

As they drove back later, the sun had dipped low—casting gold across rooftops and narrow walkways, catching on windows and telephone wires like it couldn’t decide where to settle.

When they pulled up in front of Becky’s apartment again, Freen lingered in the driver’s seat.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” she said, her voice softer now, but her grin refusing to chill.

Becky undid her seatbelt, fingers pausing on the buckle. “Thanks for not turning it into a disaster.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Freen beamed. “Next time, I’m bringing a clipboard too—just so we match.”

Becky rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She stepped out and gave a small wave before heading up.

Freen stayed a moment longer, watching Becky disappear behind the door—her heart doing all kinds of ridiculous things—and whispered to herself, She smiled the whole way.

********

Sunday arrived with soft sun filtering through sheer curtains, slow and quiet—the kind of morning that stretched itself long, as if deliberately stalling.

Becky stood in front of her wardrobe with a towel wrapped loosely around her, her damp hair dripping a quiet rhythm onto the floor. She wasn’t exactly nervous. 

Just... aware. Aware of how yesterday still lingered—how Freen’s laugh kept replaying like a favorite line in a song, how that silly jasmine garland was now sitting on her nightstand, scenting the whole room with something unspoken.

But tonight was for Eric.

She chose a dress that felt safe—simple lines, soft cream cotton, a pair of earrings she hadn’t worn in a while. Clean. Uncomplicated. She told herself it wasn’t a statement—it was just dinner.

Eric had picked a low-lit restaurant near the river, where string lights tangled in the rafters and the menus were printed on kraft paper with handwritten notes. He was already seated when she arrived, waving her over with a smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said easily, standing to greet her with a slight brush of his hand along her arm.

Becky smiled, settling into her seat. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

The food was good—a quiet mix of grilled fish, roasted vegetables, and small, shareable plates that left space between courses. The conversation followed suit. Pleasant. Smooth. Eric was charming, considerate. He listened, asked questions, complimented her work ethic.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and dessert, Becky realized she had reached for her phone three separate times, only to remember there was nothing waiting.

Except maybe there was.

And that’s when her phone buzzed.

Freen:
I passed by a random supplier today and thought of you. They had zero charm. No moo ping either. You’ve officially spoiled me.
How’s dinner with Mr. Polite Laugh? Did he survive the Becky Interview Process?

Becky pressed her lips together to stifle a smile, the corners of her mouth still betraying her.

“Something funny?” Eric asked, reaching for the check.

Becky shook her head. “Just... one of my staff being dramatic.”

Later, as she stepped into her apartment and kicked off her shoes, she sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, heart still a little too light.

She typed:

Becky:
Dinner was edible. Saturday still wins.
P.S. Stop calling yourself spoiled. You’ve been like this the whole time.

The reply came a minute later.

Freen:
Rude. Also accurate.
Also, I still have your lime wedge. I’m holding it hostage.
Your move, Physiotherapist.

Becky:
Return the lime and no one gets hurt.

Freen:
Tempting. But I’ve grown attached to it. We’ve been through a lot together.

Becky:
You’re insufferable.

Freen:
You’re smiling though.

Becky didn’t reply right away.

She curled up sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, phone glowing in her palm. The silence felt nice—not empty, just... full of things unspoken.

Then another message buzzed in:

Freen:
Since you missed my face tonight...

A photo slid into the chat. It was soft, close-up, a little grainy—Freen in a loose white tee, hair damp from a shower, barely combed, eyes half-lidded with sleep and mischief.

Beneath it:

Freen:
Goodnight, Becky. Try not to miss me too much.
P.S. I look better in person.

Becky didn’t reply.

Not because she didn’t want to.
She just... didn’t know how to respond to the stupid flutter in her chest. So she set the phone down on her nightstand, turned off the light, and stared at the ceiling.

But five minutes later, she picked it back up.
Looked again.
And again.
One final glance before pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Then—

Becky:
Okay. You win. Lime wedge privileges restored.

And quietly, in the hush of her room, she smiled like a secret.

********

Monday began with sunlight sneaking past the curtains and the faint clatter of a neighbor’s broom outside. Becky stirred under the blanket, one arm thrown over her eyes, trying to delay the inevitable.

Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but something else had already woken her.

She reached for her phone, blinking against the screen’s glow. No new messages.

But the last one—the selfie—was still open, like her thumb had never moved away from it.

She stared at it a moment longer than she meant to, then finally got up, dragging herself through her usual rhythm: shower, coffee, clipboard.

By the time she walked into the clinic, the day was already in motion. Patients waiting. Notes to review. Progress charts to update. A little boy who refused to do ankle circles unless she timed him like a race car.

It wasn’t until lunchtime, seated on a bench behind the clinic with her takeaway container barely opened, that her phone buzzed again.

Freen:
How’s my favorite physiotherapist? Any rebellious hamstrings today?
Also I might have taste-tested five moo ping sticks this morning in your honor. No regrets .

Becky:
No regrets because you have zero impulse control.

Freen:
Incorrect. I have excellent control. I just choose not to use it when grilled pork is involved.
Or you.

Becky paused mid-chew, squinting at the screen. She set her fork down. Typed carefully.

Becky:
You’re flirting in the middle of my lunch break.

Freen:
Wrong again. I’m always flirting. The timing is irrelevant.

Becky let her head fall back against the bench, eyes closed, a smile stretching despite herself.

There was something about Freen’s attention—persistent but unhurried. Like she knew exactly what she was doing but was in no rush to corner Becky into realizing it.

That afternoon, between patients and intake forms, Becky found herself checking her phone more often than she cared to admit.

No new messages for a while.

Until 4:38 p.m.

Freen:
Still thinking about Saturday.
And maybe your laugh when I stole your cashew nuts.
It was illegal but worth it.

Becky stared at the screen.

Then typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Becky:
You’re too much sometimes.

Freen didn’t reply.

But that evening, when Becky got home and found another tiny jasmine garland hanging off her door handle—with zero note, zero explanation—she knew exactly who to blame.

And she didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Freen couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at her lips as she stared at her phone. The past few weeks with Becky had bloomed into something tender.

Casual chats had deepened, leaving a warmth that lingered in her chest. Their brief snack runs now carried a quiet weight—moments she replayed in the stillness of her office, the city humming faintly beyond her window.

She wasn’t rushing. She couldn’t. The next step needed care. She wanted Becky to see her, truly—scars, hopes, all of it.

And she wanted them to heal, together, in time.

The door burst open, scattering her thoughts like petals in the wind.

“Ooh, apologies!” Poom gasped, ever the dramatist as he clutched his chest.

“Am I crashing our CEO’s swoon-fest over her honeybun’s latest selfie?” He leaned over her desk, squinting at her screen with exaggerated mischief.

“Wait—is that a spicy text? Spill the tea!”

Freen rolled her eyes, shoving his face away with a laugh. The warmth of her coffee mug pressed against her palm. “You’re ridiculous.”

Poom winked, perching on her desk. “You’re glowing, darling. That’s no caffeine high.”

She exhaled, her smile softening as her fingers brushed her phone. “It’s different this time, Poom. Two years ago, we almost had it all—then we lost him, and I lost her.” Her voice dipped, barely a whisper.

“Now, it’s like my heart’s remembering how to hope.”

Poom’s teasing grin faded into something quieter. “Then sweep her off her feet, poet! Tell her in that Freen-level romantic way you do.”

Freen glanced out the window, sunlight glinting off the glass. Her heart wavered. 

“If only I could.”

“Loving her feels effortless, like it never stopped. Even if she can’t love me back, I’ll love her anyway.”

Poom’s eyes softened, his tone gentling. “That’s rare, Freen. Loving someone like that—with no guarantee they’ll love you back? That takes real strength. Most people run from that kind of love. But you stay. That’s beautiful.”

She gave a half-smile, her thumb tracing circles on her phone. “There’s this moment… when she says goodbye. I watch her walk away, wishing she’d turn back. Just once. Like in those cheesy movies.”

Poom tapped her desk, thoughtful. “Maybe she wants to. I’ve seen the way you talk about her—the pause in your voice, the way your whole face softens. If she sees even half of that, she’ll feel it.”

Freen’s breath caught. “She makes me believe in timing again,” she said softly. “In the slow build, the space between words. I don’t want to rush this, but I need her to know she’s seen—her quiet strength, her everything.”

Poom slid off the desk, nudging her arm with a grin. “Then tell her, mushball. No confetti, no grand speech. Just you. I bet she’s waiting for it.”

Freen chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The office hummed faintly around her, but for the first time, her heart felt steady. She’d tell Becky—soon. When the silence between them felt like invitation, not distance.

********

It was a warm Friday night, the city’s quiet hum fading as Becky sat across from Eric in a cozy restaurant tucked away from the bustling streets. Hanging lights bathed their shared bites and laughter in a warm glow. Then came a pause, the clink of cutlery suddenly sharp in the silence.

Eric cleared his throat. “Becky,” he began, his voice steady but edged with hesitation, “I’m sure you’ve noticed how I feel about you. I just need to know… what’s going on with you and Freen?”

Becky blinked, her fingers brushing the cloth napkin to dab her lip. She took a slow sip of water, its coolness grounding her, and glanced at the glass as if it held answers. What is Freen to me? Her mind drifted to a night under starlight, Freen’s hand grazing hers, a silent promise—before tragedy pulled them apart.

“There was…” Becky started, her voice soft, trailing off. Their nights had been more than kisses—laughter, whispered secrets, an intimacy that stole her breath. Moments too deep for names, woven in quiet, sacred silences. Yet they’d never labeled it. Never dared.

Becky sensed Eric watching her pause. “Sorry if that was too much,” he said, his kind smile tinged with worry. “You don’t have to answer if you’re not ready.”

Becky met his eyes, her smile soft, a quiet depth beneath its curve.

Eric leaned forward slightly, his voice lower. “Were you and Freen… together?”

Her gaze held his, steady, remembering. “I don’t know how to define it,” she said softly. “We shared something… real. Then it got complicated. And now…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Now she’s back.”

Eric’s nod was slow, his fingers tightening briefly on his glass before he met her eyes again. “Thanks for being honest, Becky. I just needed to know where I stand.”

Becky reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on his. “Are you upset?”

He gave a small laugh. “No. Just… explains why she’s been giving me that piercing stare of hers.”

Becky laughed, her eyes crinkling warmly. “Yeah, she’s intense like that,” she said, fondness lacing her tone.

Eric watched her a moment. “You still care for her, don’t you?”

Becky’s laughter faded into a sigh, raw but not heavy. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s not that she drives me crazy. It’s… she makes me feel so much, like my heart’s caught in a current I can’t swim against.”

Eric’s smile was gentle. “Well, we can still be friends, right?”

Becky’s eyes warmed, grateful. “I’d like that.”

********

Becky had barely slipped off her shoes when her phone buzzed from inside her bag. One glance at the screen, and there it was—that unmistakable smile tugging at her lips.

Freen:
So… how was it? Did Mr. I’m-Totally-Cool feed you something worthy of your delicate palate?

Becky chuckled, plopping down on the couch, fingers already dancing across the screen.

Becky:
Oh, he did. I even came home with a takeout bag. Impressed?

Freen:
Oh wow, what a gentleman. Let me guess—you talked about something terribly exciting, like tax brackets and traffic?

Becky shook her head, amused. If only you knew, she thought. They’d actually spent a good twenty minutes talking about a certain someone with an annoyingly good smile.

Becky:
Maybe 😜

There was a pause. Then her screen lit up again.

Freen:
Hey Beck… are you free next Saturday?

Becky:
Yup. Why, what’s up?

A few seconds passed. Then—

Freen:
I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere special.

Becky tilted her head, curiosity piqued.

Becky:
Somewhere special? Sounds mysterious. Where?

Freen:
Now if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?

Becky let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

Becky:
Touché. Alright, then. What time does this top-secret adventure begin?

Freen:
I’ll pick you up. Let’s say… morning...8-ish? That work for you?

Becky:
Sounds perfect. See you then.

Freen:
Count on it.

********

Saturday arrived softly, the sky bruised with dawn. 

Freen was already awake, her fingers moving with quiet reverence as she packed the car. A wicker picnic basket held a light snack, nestled beside a woven blanket and a small cluster of white lilies tied with twine. In the trunk, she tucked away additional snacks and bottled water. Each item was placed with care, deliberate and heavy with intent, as if every choice carried the weight of the moment.

She pulled up outside Becky’s apartment and tapped the horn lightly. The door swung open moments later, and there was Becky—hair mussed from sleep, smile unguarded.

“Hey,” Becky said, sliding into the seat, her voice hoarse with morning warmth.

Freen’s chest fluttered, caught by the sight of her. “Ready for a surprise?” She flashed a teasing grin.

Becky’s brow lifted, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Where are we headed?”

“That’s a secret,” Freen replied, winking, her grip loosening on the wheel as a warm memory of their last laugh sparked in her mind.

The road unrolled through sleepy villages, bougainvillea cascading over stone walls like spilled paint. Golden temple spires pierced the horizon, catching the first light. Becky cracked the window, letting in the faint hum of cicadas and the scent of damp moss.

“I’ve never been out this way,” she murmured, her fingers toying with the window’s edge, her reflection blurring with thoughts she couldn’t yet name.

Freen smiled faintly, eyes on the road. “I know.”

The road narrowed as they approached a quiet grove, where tamarind trees cast long shadows. Freen parked beneath one, stepping out to gather the basket and lilies. She opened Becky’s door, offering her hand.

“Come on.”

Becky took it, hesitant, her sandals dangling from her other hand. They walked barefoot across dewy grass, the cool blades tickling their feet. Freen moved ahead, spreading the blanket with care and placing the lilies beneath a stone marker.

Becky froze, her breath catching.

Boribun A. Chankimha
You will always be loved.

Freen turned, her voice gentle. “I’ve always wanted to bring you here. I think he’d like to meet you.”

She knelt beside the marker, whispering, “Hey, little man, Mama’s here. I brought someone special… your mom.”

Becky’s knees weakened. She stepped forward, sinking to the ground, her fingers grazing the cool stone, tracing the grooves of his name. 

“Hi, Bun,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I wasn’t ready… it hurt too much when we lost you.”

Her voice softened to a whisper, as if speaking louder might unravel her. Freen rested a hand between Becky’s shoulder blades, warm and steady, giving her space to breathe.

“I think about you all the time,” Becky said, her eyes glistening, raw. “I wish you could see me now. I broke, Bun… but I’m putting myself back together. I’ll always miss you.”

Freen spoke softly. “I built this place two years after we lost him. I come here often… tell him stories, mostly about you.”

Becky turned, her gaze meeting Freen’s, eyes red but steady. “Freen—”

“I’m sorry,” Freen said, voice frayed. “For leaving you to grieve alone.”

Becky’s fingers gently swept a tear from Freen’s face. “We've already talked about this, and that’s enough.”

They sat side by side, lighting incense, the faint curl of smoke rising. Their palms pressed together in a quiet prayer, grounding them. After a moment, Freen pulled out a worn storybook, its edges soft from use, and handed it to Becky. 

“I always read him this,” Freen said.

Becky’s lips curved faintly, opening the book. “What chapter are you on?”

“Chapter six,” Freen said, her eyes softening.

“Let me read it to him today,” Becky said, her voice small but certain. She placed her hand on the stone. “Hey, sweetheart. Ready for your story?”

********

The sun climbed, golden and slow, draping the hilltop in lazy warmth, noon close behind. A breeze skimmed over the grass, rustling it like a whispered memory, carrying the scent of tamarind and sunbaked soil.

They packed in quiet. An easy silence, gentle as shared breath. Freen folded the blanket with practiced hands, her fingers lingering on its frayed edge. Becky brushed imaginary crumbs from her lap, stealing one last glance at the valley below.

“You come here alone?” Becky asked, voice low, as if guarding the calm.

Freen nodded, tucking a worn storybook into the basket, her thumb tracing its spine. “Whenever I miss him. Most days.” She glanced at Becky, voice quieter. “Today feels lighter, though.”

Becky didn’t reply at once. Her fingers grazed Freen’s wrist—light, steady, an anchor. Her eyes softened. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Freen’s lips curved faintly. “Thank you for coming.”

They walked barefoot through the grass, shoes dangling from their fingers. At the car, Freen paused, popped the trunk, and pulled out two chilled water bottles and a ziplock of glistening mango slices. She handed one to Becky without fanfare.

“Always prepared, aren’t you?” Becky teased, sipping the water.

“I like taking care of the people I love,” Freen said, too fast, eyes flicking away. She laughed, nervous. “Not trying to be smooth.”

Becky’s laugh was warm, real. “That was smooth.” She nudged Freen’s arm. “I’ll allow it.”

They perched on the hood, legs swinging. Becky bit into a mango slice and hummed, grinning. “God, this is perfect.”

“Of course,” Freen said. “Morning market in town. June’s the best for these.”

For a moment, they didn’t speak. Only the wind and a distant motorbike’s hum filled the air.

Becky turned, mango slice poised. “I don’t want to go home yet. Can we eat somewhere?”

Freen smiled, already sliding off the hood. “Let’s go.”

********

The eatery stood past a quiet soi in a sleepy village—a humble roadside shop under a weathered bamboo awning. Colorful flags swayed overhead, warm as their laughter. A som tam cart leaned by the door. Woks clattered in the open kitchen, the air thick with grilled pork, fried basil, and crushed chili.

Freen nudged aside the plastic curtain, holding it open with a raised eyebrow as Becky ducked through, grinning.

“You said ‘grab something,’” Freen said, amused. “But knowing you, we’re feeding half of Chiang Mai.”

Becky shrugged. “Emotions burn calories. You want me fainting from heartbreak?”

“That’s not a thing,” Freen shot back, grinning.

“Then why am I so hungry I could eat this whole hill?”

They reached the counter and ordered: jasmine rice with grilled moo ping skewers, spicy papaya salad with salted crab, fried chicken wings with sweet chili, and two tall glasses of cha yen—Thai iced tea, orange as a sunset. They slid into a plastic table near a standing fan, their legs brushing briefly underneath.

Freen propped her chin on her hand. “You’ve always been dramatic with food.”

Becky smirked. “And you’ve always had a thing for girls who eat like they’ve got nothing to prove.”

Freen’s eyebrow lifted. “So that’s why I liked you.”

“Liked?” Becky echoed, feigning scandal, her smile wavering just a fraction.

Freen paused, then corrected herself—gentle, sincere. “Like. Present tense.”

Becky let it hang, swirling the ice in her glass with her straw just long enough for Freen to shift. Then she leaned in, voice playful. “Good. Because I’m not sharing my som tam.”

Freen laughed, head tipped back, the sound light and full. The day didn’t feel like it was winding down—it felt like it was opening up, the hilltop’s breeze carrying away the weight of memory.

********

A week later

The drizzle painted the street in soft grays, but Becky spotted Freen at once under the café’s striped awning, her grin a flicker of warmth against the chill. 

Ever since their quiet visit to Bun-bun’s grave—the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, Freen’s hand brushing hers as they stood in reverent silence—something had shifted. 

Their silences now held a sweet, unspoken weight, like a thread of trust pulling them closer, tugging at Becky’s heart in ways she couldn’t quite untangle.

“You’re late,” Freen said, arms crossed, though her eyes sparkled. “I was about to pen a passive-aggressive haiku.”

Becky leaned forward, her voice laced with tease. “That’s bold, coming from Miss ‘Sorry, I napped through the afternoon’ texting queen.”

“I was emotionally drained from missing you,” Freen quipped, her lips twitching as she held the door open.

Inside, the café smelled of cinnamon and damp wool, a haven where secrets felt safe to spill. They claimed a table by the window, rain streaking the glass until the world outside blurred into nothing but Freen’s easy grin and Becky’s quickening pulse. 

Becky was mid-rant about a staff’s spreadsheet fiasco when Freen propped her chin on her palm, her gaze warm and lazy.

“You’re cute when you get fired up over Excel.”

“I’m cute all the time,” Becky fired back, but her cheeks warmed.

She fidgeted with her coffee cup, her fingers tracing its rim as Freen’s words settled in her chest, stirring a flutter she’d tried to ignore for weeks. 

It wasn’t just the teasing—it was the way Freen’s voice softened when she said it, like she meant more than she let on. 

Becky’s feelings for her had been growing, quiet but relentless, like ivy curling around her thoughts. Every late-night text, every playful jab, made her wonder if Freen felt it too—this pull that made Becky’s breath catch when their eyes met too long.

Freen reached across, brushing a crumb from Becky’s sleeve, her fingers lingering a heartbeat too long. “So,” she said, her voice softening, “dinner, saturday? Just us. Somewhere nicer than soggy croissants and caffeine overload.”

Becky’s heart knocked harder, a wild rhythm she couldn’t quiet. She wanted to say yes without hesitation, to lean into this thing blooming between them, but doubt lingered—what if she was misreading the signs, seeing only what she hoped for? 

She’d guarded her heart before, after promises that unraveled too fast, but Freen’s steady gaze felt like a tether, daring her to trust.

“Sure,” Becky said, pulling out her keys with a mischievous glint, hoping it hid the tremor in her chest. “But I’m picking you up.”

Freen blinked, caught off guard. “You’re what?”

“Gotta keep you guessing,” Becky said, tossing her a wink. “Now finish that croissant, my dinner date.”

As Freen’s laugh filled the air, Becky’s heart gave a defiant leap—like it was ready to bet on whatever this was, no matter how much it scared her.

********

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, but Becky stood before her mirror, a red dress in one hand, a blue one in the other, her reflection daring her to choose. Dinner with Freen was just dinner—nothing more. 

So why did her heart race like she was choosing between safety and surrender? She’s my friend , she told herself, but the lie felt thin. Freen’s teasing smiles, her effortless charm, had always stirred something Becky tried to ignore.

Her fingers drifted to the red dress, the one that hugged her curves and lit up her skin. 

I’m not trying to seduce her or anything… I just want to look good. Really good she thought, slipping it on with a shaky smirk. 

Shower. Makeup. A spritz of perfume she hoped wouldn’t betray her. Then she was out the door, nerves tucked behind a glossy smile.

When Freen slid into the passenger seat, Becky’s breath caught. Freen was radiant—hair softly curled, eyes gleaming like she knew her own power. Her scent, warm and teasing, wrapped around Becky like a whisper.

“Hi, gorgeous driver,” Freen said, her voice playful, lips curving. “Ready to sweep me off my feet?”

Becky’s fingers fumbled with the keys, her heart tripping. Don’t fall for it , she warned herself. “So, uh… where to?” she stammered, gripping the wheel to stay grounded.

“Somewhere uptown,” Freen said, eyes sparkling. “Think chandeliers and overpriced wine.”

Becky’s stomach flipped. “You’re trouble,” she muttered, stealing a glance at Freen’s easy smile.

Freen just chuckled, the sound settling into Becky’s bones.

They pulled up to a sleek uptown restaurant, chandeliers casting a warm glow over polished cutlery. Becky raised a brow as they stepped inside.

“Fancy,” she said, half-impressed, half-wary.

Freen’s lips twitched. “What, Mr. I’m-too-cool-for-this doesn’t do places like this?”

Becky elbowed her, forcing a grin to hide her skittering pulse. “Shut up and feed me.”

Dinner stretched past dessert, each laugh and glance weaving a dangerous warmth. Becky traced the rim of her glass, watching Freen over the candlelight—elegant, composed, her eyes dancing with amusement. Don’t stare , Becky scolded herself, but Freen’s presence pulled her in.

Freen leaned back, twirling her spoon, her gaze locking onto Becky’s. “You’re awfully quiet, Beck. Something distracting you?”

Becky’s cheeks warmed, her fingers tightening on her glass. “Just… the ambiance,” she mumbled, dodging Freen’s eyes.

“Mm.” Freen’s voice was soft, teasing. “Not the perfume? I wore it just for you. ”

Becky’s heart lurched. She forced a laugh, narrowing her eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’d notice.”

Freen’s smile widened, unapologetic. “You noticed.”

The walk to the car was quiet, charged with unspoken words. Streetlamps spilled soft light as they paused by the passenger door. Becky’s heart pounded, Freen’s closeness blurring every line she’d drawn.

“This wasn’t supposed to be a date,” Freen said softly, her eyes searching Becky’s. “But you’re making it hard to pretend, looking at me like that all night.”

Becky froze, keys dangling, her pulse racing. “You invited me,” she said, voice barely steady.

“And you said yes.” Freen stepped closer, her perfume curling around them like a secret. “Don’t pretend I dragged you here.”

Becky searched her face, torn between caution and want. Her lips curved, soft and unguarded. “Guess I didn’t want to say no.”

Freen’s smile was slow, victorious. “Good. I was hoping for dessert… somewhere quieter.”

Becky’s laugh escaped, nervous and warm. “Get in, dream girl,” she said, voice shaky but sure. “I’m still your ride.”

Freen slid into the car with a grin that said she’d won, and Becky, heart racing, didn’t even care.

********

The ride back to Freen’s place buzzed with unspoken heat. Every glance, every shift of Freen’s body in the passenger seat, sent Becky’s pulse skittering. She gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, hyper-aware of Freen’s jasmine perfume weaving through the car’s warm air. 

When Freen’s fingertip grazed Becky’s arm—deliberate, slow—a shiver raced down her spine.

Focus. Road, not her.

Becky pulled up to the curb outside Freen’s place, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow over Freen’s face. The silence between them thickened, heavy with possibility. Freen turned, her eyes catching Becky’s with a flicker that dipped to her lips, then slid back up.

“Well, here’s my stop,” Freen said, her voice low, teasing, a thread of challenge in it.

Becky’s fingers twitched on the wheel. “Yeah. Uh… thanks for dinner. It was… really nice.”

“Hmm.” Freen leaned in, her breath grazing Becky’s cheek as she pressed a feather-light kiss there, lingering just a moment too long. “Good night,” she whispered, her lips brushing skin.

The warmth of that touch sparked something sharp in Becky. Her heart leapt. Before she could think, she turned, catching Freen’s lips with her own. The kiss was soft, certain—a quiet exhale of everything unsaid. For a heartbeat, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, the world shrinking to their shared breath.

When they parted, Freen’s usual confidence flickered, then bloomed into a wide, reckless smile. “Wow,” she breathed. “I’m really glad I picked that restaurant.”

Becky laughed, cheeks burning, her voice unsteady. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Freen tilted her head, her fingers brushing Becky’s wrist. “So… still up for dessert?”

Becky’s smile was breathless. “Absolutely.”

********

The private elevator’s polished doors loomed before them, reflecting the hallway’s faint glow. Becky’s heart pounded, her fingers gripping her clutch as nerves fluttered in her chest. Freen stood close behind, her gaze tracing Becky’s form with slow, deliberate intensity, igniting a prickling tension in the air. 

Becky swallowed, the sound sharp in the silence, her pulse racing under Freen’s unrelenting stare.

Freen leaned in, her breath warm against Becky’s ear. 

“Dare to be my decadent dessert?” she murmured, her voice a lush, silken temptation, pulsing with raw, intoxicating desire.

The words lingered, charged and unspoken, as the elevator’s chime signaled its arrival, the doors still closed, trapping them in a moment thick with anticipation.

Chapter Text

In the soft glow of the lobby, Freen’s gaze lingered on Becky’s reflection in the polished elevator doors. The sleek surface traced every curve, every subtle shift of Becky’s form, and Freen’s breath caught

A restless warmth stirred within her, tugging at the fragile threads of her composure. She tried to ground herself, focusing on the cool marble beneath her heels, but Becky’s lavender perfume curled through the air, teasing and heady, unraveling her restraint.

The echo of Becky’s laughter from dinner—rich, unguarded, a siren’s call—resonated in Freen’s mind, fraying her control with every note.

“Dare to be my decadent dessert,” Freen had teased earlier, her words meant to spark that delicate flush across Becky’s cheeks. Now, those words turned against her, sinking into her resolve with a hungry edge. She ached to make them real, to taste the promise she’d offered.

The elevator’s soft ding pierced the tension, its doors gliding open like an invitation. Becky stepped inside, her hips swaying just enough to draw Freen’s gaze, and Freen followed, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her chest.

The hum of the machinery thrummed low, vibrating through her skin, mirroring her racing heart. Becky leaned forward slightly, her cheeks kissed with a rosy glow, her eyes catching the overhead light—sparkling with a reckless want that set Freen’s blood ablaze.

Their reflections shimmered in the mirrored walls, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. Freen’s fingers twitched, yearning to trace the delicate line of Becky’s jaw, to test the softness of her skin.

The air crackled, thick with silent longing, each second stretching into a breathless eternity as the elevator began its slow ascent.

Drawn by an unspoken pull, Freen stepped closer, her presence a quiet force. Her hands found Becky’s hips, fingers curling with gentle hunger, sending a shiver through Becky’s frame.

Their gazes met in the mirror—a fleeting, electric spark that ignited the air. The silence pulsed with unvoiced need, their breaths mingling in the dim, reflective glow, each moment a slow descent into temptation.

“You’re stunning tonight,” Freen murmured, her voice low and velvety, her eyes tracing Becky’s reflection. Her hands glided over Becky’s waist, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her dress with care, igniting Becky’s nerves.

Encouraged, Freen’s fingers teased lower, brushing the hem of Becky’s dress, inching it upward. Becky’s breath hitched, her senses alight, a flicker of hesitation quickly swallowed by desire.

“Freen…” Becky whispered, her voice a trembling sigh, quivering with need. Her resolve faltered as Freen’s fingers traced the smooth expanse of her thigh, trailing higher, sparking heat across her skin.

With a gentle touch, Freen parted Becky’s legs, coaxing them wider, her movements deliberate, savoring the softness beneath her fingertips. Becky pressed back, drawn to Freen’s warmth, a pang of restraint drowned by her craving. Freen’s fingers brushed Becky’s undies, damp with arousal.

“Want me to stop?” Freen purred, her lips grazing the tender curve behind Becky’s ear, a soft nip sending a jolt through Becky.

“Don’t,” Becky breathed, surrender laced in her words as the elevator’s hum cocooned their stolen moment.

Freen’s fingers slipped beneath the delicate lace, a single finger entering Becky with tender care, drawing a soft gasp. Emboldened, Freen added another, her touch slow and deliberate, stroking with a rhythm that set Becky’s nerves ablaze.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Freen murmured, her lips brushing Becky’s neck with a lingering kiss. Her fingers curled, finding a cadence that made Becky’s hips shift, a throaty moan escaping her lips.

Becky braced against the mirrored wall, her trembling reflection revealing her surrender. Waves of sensation crested, each stroke of Freen’s fingers sending sparks through her core. 

She leaned into Freen, her head resting against Freen’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure built. Freen’s touch grew bolder, guiding Becky toward the edge with sensual devotion.

The slick warmth coated Freen’s fingers, and she smiled, her lips brushing Becky’s ear. “Let go, Beck,” she whispered, her voice a velvet command wrapped in adoration. 

The elevator’s hum faded as Becky’s world solely focused on Freen’s touch, her breaths coming in desperate gasps. Her fingers pressed against the mirror, anchoring her as the tension coiled tighter.

Freen’s lips found Becky’s jaw, trailing soft kisses that swallowed her quiet cries. The sensation overwhelmed, a tide of pleasure crashing, sending Becky spiraling into a shuddering climax.

A broken moan escaped as her body quaked, bliss pulsing through her. Freen held her steady, her fingers slowing, guiding Becky through every trembling aftershock with care.

As Becky’s tremors subsided, Freen slowly withdrew her fingers, her gaze locking onto Becky’s in the mirror. With deliberate intent, she brought her glistening fingers to her lips, licking them slowly, savoring Becky’s essence while holding her eyes in the reflection, a provocative spark igniting the air.

Becky’s head rested against Freen’s shoulder, her breaths ragged as she melted into her warmth. Freen pressed a tender kiss to Becky’s temple, her arms wrapped around her, savoring their closeness.

“You’re perfect,” Freen whispered. For months, she’d buried this longing, convinced it would ruin them. Now, with Becky in her arms, she wondered why she’d resisted.

The elevator dinged softly, announcing their arrival at Freen’s floor. Becky’s gaze lifted, meeting Freen’s in the mirror, a shy smile curving her lips. She turned, capturing Freen’s lips in a lingering kiss, soft and full of promise, hinting at the desires awaiting beyond the elevator’s doors.

********

The sleek door of Freen’s condo slid open with a soft beep as she swiped her key card, her eyes burning with a hunger that set the air ablaze. She pulled Becky inside with a possessive tug, the door gliding shut behind them with a smooth click, like a promise sealed, its brushed steel surface gleaming under the soft glow of the light.

Her lips crashed against Becky’s, a fierce, molten kiss tasting of urgency and unspoken desires, the city’s skyline sparkling through floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Becky’s breath hitched, her body yielding as Freen pressed her against the cool marble wall, pinning her with a delicious weight that sent sparks running down her spine.

Freen’s lips wandered lower, skimming the delicate curve of Becky’s neck, each kiss a soft blaze igniting tremors. Becky gasped, her fingers tangling in Freen’s hair, urging her closer, the faint hum of the city muted by the condo’s plush silence.

Freen’s voice, low and husky, brushed her skin like velvet. “Beck,” she murmured, lips hovering near her pulse, “one chance to walk away. Once we start, I won’t stop until every inch of you is mine. ” Her words, laced with intent, tightened Becky’s core, a sultry vow echoing in the opulent room.

Becky’s eyes flashed with defiance and desire, months of longing surfacing in her gaze. She captured Freen’s lips in a searing kiss, silencing her. “Less talk,” she whispered, her voice a seductive purr against Freen’s mouth, “more kiss.”

Freen’s lips curved into a wicked smile, taking it as the sweetest surrender, her heart racing with the weight of their unspoken history.

With a deft motion, Freen spun Becky around, her fingers finding the zipper of Becky’s dress. The fabric parted slowly, revealing soft skin that glowed under the chandelier’s light, making Freen’s breath catch. 

She pressed her lips to the nape of Becky’s neck, lingering, her warm breath sending goosebumps cascading across Becky’s flesh. Her kisses drifted to the sensitive spot behind Becky’s ear, drawing a soft moan that resonated through the quiet expanse of the condo.

Freen’s hands roamed with purpose, cupping Becky’s breasts with a gentle, possessive touch, thumbs brushing over lace, coaxing another gasp from Becky’s parted lips. She nibbled Becky’s earlobe, a playful bite sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

With a flick of her fingers, Freen unhooked Becky’s bra, letting it fall like a whispered secret onto the plush velvet rug. Becky turned, her eyes dark with want, and claimed Freen’s lips again, her voice thick with desire, a husky edge that sent shivers down Freen’s spine.

“I want to undress you,” she murmured, her words a heated promise, every syllable a step closer to the intimacy they’d craved for months. 

Freen’s smile softened, laced with heat, her kiss a tender contrast to the fire igniting between them, her tongue teasing Becky’s lower lip in a fleeting dance.

Becky’s touch was deliberate, each caress a tease as she nudged Freen back a step, her fingers skimming the edge of Freen’s blazer. With a playful smirk, she tugged it off, tossing it onto a plush chaise, earning a throaty chuckle from Freen that warmed the charged air.

Her fingers worked the buttons of Freen’s silk blouse, each one undone with agonizing care as Becky gently eased the fabric apart, revealing smooth skin that caught the golden light. 

With a tender tug, Becky slipped the blouse from Freen’s shoulders, letting it fall softly to the floor, discarded. Becky’s breath caught, her gaze tracing the elegant lines of Freen’s collarbone, the soft curve of her shoulder, the hollow at her throat’s base—a spot she’d dreamed of kissing.

She leaned in, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to Freen’s shoulder, savoring the warmth, the faint pulse of Freen’s heartbeat against her tongue, a silent vow of trust passing between them. 

Her kisses wandered lower, a delicate exploration along Freen’s collarbone, each touch drawing a soft sigh from Freen, whose fingers tangled gently in Becky’s hair, urging her closer.

Becky’s hands drifted downward, fingertips teasing the waistband of Freen’s trousers, brushing sensitive skin just above. She paused, eyes flicking up to meet Freen’s, a silent question answered by the subtle arch of Freen’s hips, a wordless plea.

With a wicked glint, Becky unfastened the trousers, her movements deliberate, sliding the fabric down Freen’s thighs to pool on the polished hardwood floor. Her hands lingered, tracing the curve of Freen’s hips, the soft strength of her thighs, each touch stoking the heat coiling between them.

Freen stepped out of the trousers, her body a canvas of shadows and soft light, framed by the condo’s sleek elegance. Becky’s gaze devoured her, her own breath unsteady. She pressed closer, hands sliding up Freen’s sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, eliciting a quiet moan that sent a jolt of desire through Becky’s core.

Their lips met again, hungrier now, a clash of need and restraint, as Becky’s fingers danced across Freen’s skin, mapping every curve, every tremor, with a reverence bordering on worship.

Freen’s hand caught Becky’s, her touch firm yet tender. “Baby,” she whispered, her voice a velvet caress, “let’s take this to the bedroom.” Her eyes gleamed with promise, an invitation to unravel every secret they’d ached to share, the city’s lights twinkling like stars beyond the glass.

********

The room glowed softly under a single lamp, its warm, intimate light spilling over the bed where Becky lay, her breath catching as Freen’s tentative fingers slid her delicate lace underwear down her thighs.

It had been years since they’d shared such closeness, the weight of their loss—Bun-bun, their son—having carved a silent chasm between them. The unspoken grief had kept their love tethered yet distant, each too afraid to bridge the gap until this fragile moment.

Freen’s eyes, shimmering with a mix of longing and comfort, locked onto Becky’s, a quiet vow that tonight was for healing, for reclaiming what they’d nearly lost.

“I’ve waited for you so long,” Freen whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her touch lingering on Becky’s skin.

“I’ve missed your warmth… our nights,” she added, a tremble of memory in her words. The confession hung heavy, laden with love and the ache of too many lonely nights. Becky’s pulse raced, a wave of heat blooming within as her body responded to Freen’s gaze, the promise of rediscovery igniting her.

She bit her lip, steadying herself against the rising tide of desire, her eyes fixed on Freen’s.

Freen leaned closer, her lips brushing Becky’s in a kiss that was gentle at first, tender, like a question seeking trust.

“I love you,” she murmured against Becky’s mouth, the words a soft vow. The kiss deepened, growing bolder with a fervent need that shattered their restraint. Freen’s lips trailed to Becky’s jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive curve of her neck with delicate nibbles, each touch purposeful, as if anchoring their hard-fought love.

“You’re my home,” Freen breathed, her voice a low, sacred promise. Becky squirmed, the sensation sparking a fire that pulsed through her veins, her body awakening under Freen’s caress.

Freen’s mouth wandered downward, cherishing the warmth of Becky’s skin. She traced a slow path across her collarbone, savoring each moment as if rediscovering her anew. When her lips reached Becky’s breasts, she paused, her breath warm against the delicate skin.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, desire lacing her voice as she kissed one nipple, then the other, sucking softly at first, then with growing hunger. 

Her tongue swirled, teasing and tugging gently, drawing a quiet moan from Becky, whose body arched instinctively toward her lover’s touch. Freen’s hands roamed with reverence, gliding over Becky’s curves like a whispered prayer.

“I’ve dreamed of you like this,” Freen said, her voice husky as her fingers trailed downward, tracing the contours of Becky’s hips, teasingly close to where she burned most.

The room filled with Becky’s breathless gasps, her moans rising as Freen’s hand brushed against her mound. Freen’s touch grazed where Becky ached, finding her warm and ready, the contact sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

“You’re so open for me,” Freen murmured, her gaze alight with want, her breath unsteady as she savored the intimate discovery.

“Please, Freen…” Becky’s voice was raw, a plea stripped bare, her hand guiding Freen’s to the pulse of her need.

“I’ve needed you… your touch, your heart,” she said, her words echoing Freen’s longing, a bridge spanning their shared pain. Freen’s lips curved into a tender smile, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and desire.

“I’m here, baby,” she whispered, her fingers slipping into Becky’s warmth, teasing the sensitive bud with slow, deliberate circles. Becky’s breath caught, her body quivering as waves of pleasure surged through her.

“Oh, Freen… please…” The words tumbled out, barely coherent, as her need consumed her, the years of distance melting in their connection. Freen eased a finger inside, her touch skilled and steady, moving with a rhythm that made Becky’s body rise.

“I’ve missed your fire,” Freen said, her voice intimate, her eyes holding Becky’s. The sensation was electric, but Becky craved more, and Freen felt it, her own desire flaring as she added a second finger, thrusting slowly, letting Becky feel every motion.

The room echoed with Becky’s moans, her panting growing wilder as Freen’s pace quickened, each thrust stoking the blaze within her.

“I want you to feel my love,” Freen whispered, her fingers curling perfectly, stroking that tender spot inside. Becky’s moans turned desperate, her hips bucking against Freen’s hand as the tension coiled tighter.

“Freen… oh, God, Freen…” she gasped, her voice breaking as pleasure overwhelmed her.

With a cry, Becky’s body arched off the bed, her climax crashing through her like a tide, her core pulsing around Freen’s fingers as waves of ecstasy radiated through her.

Freen slowed, guiding Becky through the aftershocks, her lips brushing soft kisses along her jaw, each touch igniting a fresh spark beneath Becky’s skin.

“You’re radiant like this,” she murmured, her voice thick with love and a sultry edge that stirred Becky’s core. But Becky wasn’t sated—she needed to give, to pour her longing into Freen.

Her body hummed with their intimacy, yet a fiercer hunger burned within. She steadied her breath, her eyes tracing Freen’s parted lips and the flush across her skin. Then, with a surge of primal want, she surrendered to the urge to claim Freen wholly.

With a spark of resolve, she flipped their positions, pinning Freen beneath her. Freen’s surprised gasp melted into a sultry smile, her hands settling on Becky’s hips, fingers pressing with needy urgency.

The air crackled with unspoken desire, charged and heady, as Becky’s lips crashed into Freen’s in a searing, desperate kiss that burned with raw want.

“My turn,” Becky murmured, her voice low and thick, heavy with longing as she pressed closer, their bodies intertwining, skin sliding against skin in delicious friction.

“I’ve missed your laugh, your spark,” she whispered against Freen’s mouth, her hands roaming with a hunger that matched the blaze in her chest.

Her fingers trailed along Freen’s curves, teasingly slow, then gripping with fervent need, coaxing a soft moan from Freen as their bodies moved in heated sync. Her lips blazed a path down Freen’s neck, savoring the quick flutter of her pulse beneath each kiss.

“I want you to feel all I’ve held inside,” she said, her voice a sultry vow. Her hands moved with purpose, easing the delicate straps of Freen’s bra down her shoulders with a slow tease.

She unhooked the clasp, letting the fabric fall, revealing Freen’s breasts to the cool air.

Becky’s breath hitched, her eyes darkening as she leaned in, lips grazing the sensitive peaks, drawing a quiet moan from Freen’s parted lips.

Becky’s hands continued their journey, gliding over Freen’s curves, her fingers teasing Freen’s breasts with gentle pinches that sent shivers through her.

Slowly, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of Freen’s lace underwear, her touch sensual as she slid the fabric down Freen’s thighs, letting it fall away. Freen’s skin flushed under Becky’s gaze, her body bare, vulnerable, and aching for more.

Becky’s lips charted a deliberate path down Freen’s trembling abdomen, each kiss sparking her skin like embers. When she reached the pulsing warmth between Freen’s thighs, Becky paused, her breath warm against the slick folds, savoring the moment.

Her tongue flicked out, tracing the sensitive edges with featherlight strokes, and Freen’s hips bucked, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Becky’s tongue delved deeper, lapping at Freen’s arousal with a steady, hungry rhythm, alternating between soft licks and firm circles around her swollen clit.

Her lips occasionally closed to suck gently, coaxing a throaty moan that hung in the charged air. Beck’s hands slid up, parting Freen’s thighs wider as she pressed her mouth closer. Her tongue dipped lower, exploring every inch of Freen’s core before returning to her clit with relentless intensity.

“Beck… oh, please, baby…” Freen’s voice broke into a desperate plea, her body arching as her hips moved with Becky’s rhythm. Becky hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt through Freen’s frame, her fingers tangling in Becky’s hair, urging her on. 

Becky responded, her tongue flicking faster, then slowing to draw languid strokes, drinking in Freen’s taste as she teased her to the edge, easing back to prolong the exquisite torment. Freen’s breaths grew ragged, her thighs quivering under Becky’s grip, her body taut with need.

Becky’s mouth worked with devotion, lips and tongue weaving a rhythm that left Freen writhing, lost in a crescendo of pleasure, teetering on release as the world dissolved into sensation.

But Becky craved a shared healing. She lifted her gaze, meeting Freen’s eyes in a silent, electric accord. With a fluid shift, she aligned their bodies until their cores pressed together, warm with desire, their rhythm now one.

“I want us to heal together,” Becky whispered, her voice trembling with love and want. They began to move, their bodies grinding in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent sparks through them both.

“I’ve needed you… this closeness,” Freen gasped, her fingers digging into Becky’s hips, urging her on.

Their movements grew urgent, hips rocking in sync as they chased shared ecstasy. The room filled with their moans, the sound of skin against skin, and the ragged cadence of their breaths.

“Beck, I love you… always,” Freen panted, her voice raw, her eyes locked on Becky’s.

“I love you…” Becky replied, her words a vow as the pleasure built.

The intensity overwhelmed, their bodies trembling with the connection they’d fought to reclaim.

“Beck… I’m—” Freen’s words broke as pleasure surged, mirrored by Becky’s desperate cries. They moved as one, until the tension snapped. Their climaxes hit together, a shared explosion that left them gasping, clinging as their bodies shook with release.

Panting, they collapsed, limbs tangled, hearts racing. Becky pressed a soft kiss to Freen’s lips, a tender contrast to their raw intensity.

“We’ll find our way, my love,” she whispered, her voice warm, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind Freen’s ear.

Freen’s gaze softened, a tear tracing her cheek as she drew Beck closer. “With you, I know we will,” she murmured, her voice brimming with trust and love.

********

The night unfolded like a fevered dream, a tapestry of desire woven with their unyielding bond. Freen and Becky surrendered to a night of passion, their love filling the room with soft moans and shared breaths.

Each touch sparked new desire, their hunger insatiable yet tender.

On the bed, Becky knelt facing the headboard, thighs parted, inviting Freen’s touch. Freen pressed close behind, her lips grazing Becky’s neck, nibbling softly as her fingers moved with rhythmic precision, delving deep with a slow, teasing tempo.

Becky’s gasps echoed, her body quivering as Freen’s other hand roamed upward, cupping her breast with a gentle squeeze, thumb circling her hardened nipple.

Becky’s grip tightened in Freen’s hair, pulling her closer, their bodies swaying in harmony, lost in their shared desire.

By the window, moonlight bathed them as Becky straddled Freen on the rug, her body trembling as Freen’s tongue pleasured her with deliberate strokes, their gazes locked, moving slowly, cherishing each moment.

In a fleeting pause, Becky’s eyes caught the faint outline of Bun-bun’s old plush toy on the shelf, a pang of grief softened by Freen’s touch, grounding her in their healing.

Between fervor, they laughed, shared gentle kisses, and caught their breath, only to dive back into each other’s arms.

As dawn neared, their intensity softened. They collapsed onto the bed, limbs entwined, hearts still racing.

Freen held Becky close, her fingers brushing gently along her back.

Becky nestled against Freen’s chest, her breath steadying to the rhythm of Freen’s heartbeat.

“I love you,” Becky whispered.

“Forever,” Freen replied, kissing her forehead.

Wrapped in each other’s warmth, they drifted into peace, the faint hum of dawn seeping through the curtains, a promise of renewal.

********

Poom stormed down the hallway, his quick strides echoing his irritation as he made a beeline for Freen’s unit. His jaw was tight, and his thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration. 

What is wrong with this girl? he fumed silently. Not answering your phone, Freen? It’s practically noon! He muttered under his breath, half-expecting steam to shoot out of his ears. 

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the keycard he’d sworn he’d never use again. The last time he’d let himself into Freen’s place, it was like stepping into a tornado of drama—women everywhere, chaos galore. He shivered at the memory. 

Please, universe, not again, he pleaded internally.

With a deep breath, he swiped the card and pushed the door open. His eyes widened at the sight before him. Clothes were strewn across the floor like confetti after a wild party. Right by the door, a black lace bra dangled precariously on the velvet rug, practically mocking him.

 Right by the door, a black lace bra dangled precariously on a chair, practically mocking him. 

Poom’s heart sank. Oh, Freen, what have you done now? he thought, worry creeping in. He tiptoed forward, following the trail of discarded garments like a detective on a scandalous case, his pulse quickening as he neared Freen’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and Poom, bracing himself, leaned in for a cautious peek.

What he saw made his jaw drop. There, sprawled across the bed, was Becky, her face nestled sideways against the pillow, looking serene. And atop her, pressed close, was Freen—both of them gloriously, unapologetically naked. Poom’s shock melted into a sly grin. 

Well, well, well… they finally caved, he thought, a mix of relief and amusement washing over him. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of them.

Not wanting to linger like a creep, Poom cleared his throat with an exaggerated ehem, ehem . 

The sound stirred Becky, who blinked awake, her eyes widening in horror as she spotted him. In a flash, she yanked the sheets up to cover herself and Freen, her cheeks flushing crimson. 

Poom bit back a laugh, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Good morning, darling—or should I say noon?” he teased, his voice dripping with playful mischief.

Becky, still flustered, gave Freen a gentle nudge. “Freen, wake up,” she whispered, her tone soft but urgent. Freen groaned, nuzzling closer. “Baby, let’s sleep more…” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Becky’s eyes darted to Poom, then back to Freen. “Poom’s here ,” she said, louder this time.

“ He’s what?! ” Freen shot upright, momentarily forgetting her lack of clothing. Poom threw up his hands, feigning horror. “Oh, for the love of my gay heart, darling, keep those treasures under wraps!” he cried dramatically, shielding his eyes with a cringe. 

Freen, realizing her mistake, dove back under the sheets, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him. “Shut up! Why are you even here?” she snapped, her face a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

Poom caught the pillow, smirking. “Well, dear , you’ve been ghosting your phone, and we’ve got that meeting with the Lateral Group at 2 p.m. for those revisions. Ring any bells?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Freen’s eyes widened. “Oh, crap, I totally forgot!” She turned to Becky, her expression softening instantly. 

“Baby, I’ll head out first ok? Stay here, sleep more. The fridge is stocked, and you know your way around, right?” Her voice was tender, laced with affection. 

Becky nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Freen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Becky’s lips, lingering just a moment.

Poom watched the sweet exchange, his heart warming despite his teasing facade. “Alright, lovebirds, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “I’ll be waiting by the car, Freen. Catch you later, Becky!” He shot Becky a playful wink before sauntering out, closing the door behind him.

Freen pulled back from Becky’s lips, her eyes reluctant to leave her lover's face. “I really just want to stay here with you,” she murmured, her voice low and wistful against Becky’s lips. 

Becky gave her a quick peck, her smile both loving and firm. “Go on, shower, freshen up. We’ll talk later,” she urged softly.

With a playful groan, Freen dragged herself out of bed, leaving Becky nestled in the sheets. 

Poom’s teasing grin stayed firmly in place as he headed to the car, already plotting how he’d rib Freen about this later. 

********

Freen yanked open the door to Poom’s car and slid into the passenger seat, her cheeks still flushed from the morning’s chaos. She was a whirlwind of hurried energy, her hair slightly mussed, betraying the fact that she’d barely had time to pull herself together. 

Poom, already lounging in the driver’s seat, watched her with a grin that could only be described as gleefully mischievous. His eyes sparkled with the kind of delight that comes from catching your best friend in the middle of a delicious scandal.

“Well, well, darling,” Poom drawled, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel. 

“You might want to cover that before we roll into the meeting.” He pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Freen’s neck, where a telltale love mark bloomed just below her collarbone, impossible to miss.

Freen’s hand flew to the spot, her fingers brushing the skin as a shy, almost guilty smile tugged at her lips. “Oh…” she murmured, her voice a mix of embarrassment and barely contained giddiness. She tugged at her scarf, hastily wrapping it around her neck, but the flush creeping up her cheeks gave her away.

Poom’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with pure mischief. “Oh, honey, I see we’re doing a solid ten on the scandal scale today,” he teased, barely holding back a laugh. “I have so many interesting questions, darling.” He gestured vaguely at her neck, his tone playful but relentless.

Freen shot him a mock glare, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her amusement. “Shut up, Poom,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a smile broke through. “Just… give me the details on the Lateral Group again, okay? Focus.”

Poom chuckled, shaking his head as he started the car. “Oh, fine, I’ll behave—for now,” he said, throwing her a wink. “Lateral Group, darling. Meeting’s at 2 p.m., you know the drill.” He paused, smirking. “But seriously, Freen, we’re circling back to that love bite later. You’re not getting off that easy.”

Freen groaned, sinking lower in her seat, but the grin she was fighting only grew wider. “You’re the worst,” she muttered, though the warmth in her voice said otherwise. Poom just laughed, already mentally cataloging every detail he’d tease her about later. 

Oh, this is too good, he thought, pulling out onto the road, ready to drag every juicy detail out of her before the day was done.

Chapter Text

The meeting with Lateral Group had gone smoothly, a quiet victory Freen savored as she leaned back in her chair. Poom, her sharp-witted colleague, fielded the clients’ questions with effortless charm, sparing Freen from the spotlight she dreaded today. 

The conference room’s sterile hum blurred into the background, the soft clink of coffee cups fading as her fingers traced the edge of her notepad. The faint scent of Becky’s perfume lingered on her scarf, tugging her mind to last night. 

The memory of Becky’s breath hitching, her fingers trailing sparks across Freen’s skin, sent a shiver through her. She wasn’t ready for Poom’s teasing glances or the clients’ curious eyes, still adrift in the weightless afterglow of their intimacy.

A soft buzz from her phone snapped her back to the present. Her heart leapt at Becky’s name, and she opened the message, stifling a gasp at the image: Becky, her top slipped down to bare her left shoulder and breast, a mischievous pout on her lips that promised sin. 

The caption drew a low, warm chuckle from Freen’s throat.

Becky: What are these? Your idea of a hickey design or just claiming me?

The words dripped with mock indignation, a sultry tease that set Freen’s skin alight with desire. She bit her lip, picturing Becky’s smirk, and tugged the scarf from her neck, revealing the faint marks Becky had left. 

Angling her phone, she snapped a selfie of her neck, the soft light catching the delicate bruises, and typed a reply.

Freen: I don’t think this qualifies as a necklace either, love. You’ve claimed me pretty well.

Her pulse thrummed as she hit send, a teasing thrill curling through her chest. She leaned back, the conference room’s hum now a distant murmur, her thoughts tethered to Becky. A moment later, her fingers hovered over the keyboard, and she added a second message, her voice softer this time.

Freen: Baby, I miss you. Your arms around me, your kisses… your body so close I feel your heartbeat. Can’t wait to be home.

Her phone buzzed almost instantly, and Freen’s lips curved into a smile at Becky’s reply, warmth blooming in her chest.

Becky: Hey… I miss you. A lot, actually. Just… get home soon, okay? I’ve been thinking about you.

A second message followed, lighter, with that playful edge Freen adored.

Becky: I’m cooking dinner. Don’t worry—I’ll try to behave. But last night? You definitely owe me one.

Even through the screen, Becky’s warmth wrapped around her like a familiar embrace. Freen could picture her now—apron tied loosely, hair a little tousled, that fond smile curling at the corners of her lips as she stirred something on the stove. 

The image softened the day’s weight, the clients’ voices and Poom’s steady cadence fading into insignificance. All Freen wanted was to be there, in the quiet glow of their shared moments, where Becky’s laughter and touch made the world feel whole.

********

Becky’s lips curved into a soft smile as she read Freen’s message, her heart fluttering with a rush of warmth. A gentle bite of her lip betrayed the swirl of emotions bubbling inside her.

Memories of last night danced in her mind—each heated kiss, every whispered “I love you,” and the tender moans that had filled the air. They wrapped around her like a cozy blanket, making her heart glow.

With a quiet sigh, she stretched and caught her reflection in the mirror, bare and unguarded. A shy grin tugged at her lips as she rose, slipping into the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water cascaded over her, washing away the sleep but not the lingering sweetness of the night before.

Wrapping herself in one of Freen’s oversized shirts, the soft fabric brushing her skin like a hug, she felt a little piece of Freen with her. Humming softly, Becky tidied the room, smoothing the rumpled sheets with care. She stepped into the hallway, only to freeze at the sight of clothes strewn across the floor like a playful tornado had swept through.

Chuckling to herself, she bent down, gathering the scattered garments with a shake of her head. She was halfway to the kitchen, arms full, when her gaze snagged on a familiar door.

Her breath caught. Bun-Bun’s room.

She paused. Freen had never let it fade—not once. While Becky had once tucked the ache away in quiet boxes, Freen had kept the room gently preserved. It wasn’t a shrine—it was a love letter . To their son. To the memory of the little boy they never got to hold.

Becky stepped closer, her heartbeat soft and heavy. Her fingers grazed the door frame before she turned the knob.

The room opened like a whisper. The shark wallpaper still danced along the walls, bold and bright—Becky had chosen that. The crib stood quietly in the corner, a tiny mobile swaying gently above it. On the shelves, plush toys sat like quiet witnesses, their colors still vibrant. Freen had made sure of that.

Becky stepped inside and knelt by the crib, her hands resting on the edge as if feeling for the weight that was never there. A folded baby blanket rested inside—the blue one with the embroidered star. They had named him Bun-Bun before they even knew if they’d meet him. Her baby boy.

“I wish you could’ve seen this,” she whispered. “Your mama and I… we never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

Her voice trembled, but it held. The sadness wasn’t sharp today. It had softened into something she could breathe through. Bun-Bun hadn’t lived. But he had been loved . 

Becky brushed a thumb over the wood rail and smiled, her heart full and aching in the same breath.

“Thank you, baby,” she said softly. “You’re helping me find my way back.”

And in that stillness—surrounded by colors they’d chosen and dreams that never had time to bloom—Becky felt her son’s presence not in loss, but in strength.

********

The kitchen glowed with the warm, golden light of evening, the air thick with the savory scent of roasted herbs and simmering sauce. 

Becky hummed softly to herself, her fingers deftly stirring a pot on the stove, her loose curls bouncing as she moved. She was nearly finished with dinner when the doorbell chimed, its soft ring cutting through the quiet. 

Who could that be at this hour? she wondered, a curious frown creasing her brow. 

Wiping her hands, she untied her apron, letting it slide off her shoulders, and padded barefoot to the door, Freen’s oversized shirt brushing teasingly against her thighs.

As she opened it open, there stood Freen, framed perfectly in the doorway, her silhouette a mix of confidence and charm. A sly smile played on her lips, and her dark eyes sparkled with something mischievous. 

In one hand, she held a bouquet of Ever-Red roses, their crimson petals vibrant against her crisp blazer. 

“For Miss Becky Armstrong,” she drawled, her voice a playful tease, low and velvety, as she extended the flowers with a flourish.

Becky’s heart gave a little leap, but she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms with a mock-serious expression. 

“Hmmm,” she mused, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m her, but I was strictly told not to accept flowers from strangers.” Her eyes danced with amusement, daring Freen to play along.

Freen’s grin widened, undeterred. She took a step closer, the space between them shrinking, the air suddenly charged. “Oh, but these aren’t from just any random stranger.” She paused for effect, her gaze locking onto Becky’s, her voice softening to a near whisper. 

“They’re from… her girlfriend …” Another beat, her confidence giving way to a hint of shy hopefulness. “If she’ll have me.”

Becky’s cheeks bloomed with warmth, a flush spreading across her skin as Freen’s words sank in. Her teasing facade cracked, replaced by a radiant smile that lit up her eyes. 

“Oh, come here, you,” she murmured, her voice thick with affection. She reached out, fingers curling into the lapel of Freen’s blazer, and pulled her close. 

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, then deepening with a quiet intensity. Freen’s free hand found Becky’s waist, her touch light but possessive, as they stumbled laughing into the apartment, the door swinging shut behind them.

They parted, breathless, and Freen set the roses on the counter, her eyes never leaving Becky. “Hmmm… something smells divine ,” she murmured, her voice warm, though her gaze roamed over Becky with a different kind of appreciation.

“That’s dinner,” Becky replied with a playful roll of her eyes, but her smile betrayed her delight. She turned to head back to the kitchen, but Freen’s eyes darkened as they traced the way her shirt— Freen’s shirt—clung to Becky’s curves, the fabric swaying with every step.

“Hmm,” Freen purred, closing the distance between them in an instant. “And you… you look good enough to eat wearing my shirt.” Her arms slid around Becky’s waist, pulling her close, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Becky’s neck. 

A soft giggle escaped Becky as she squirmed, half-heartedly trying to escape Freen’s embrace.

“Stop…” she laughed, her voice light but laced with a hitch as Freen’s kisses trailed lower. But Freen only tightened her hold, catching Becky in a warm, unyielding embrace. Their lips met again, the kiss slower now, deeper, a quiet promise in every touch. 

Freen’s hands began to wander, fingers grazing the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath to find the smooth warmth of Becky’s skin.

A soft gasp escaped Freen as her fingers discovered nothing but bare skin beneath the fabric. Her touch grew bolder, caressing the curve of Becky’s smooth backside, giving it a gentle squeeze, eliciting a sharp inhale from Becky. “Hmmm…” Freen’s voice was low, husky with desire, her lips brushing Becky’s ear.

“I think dinner is served.”

Her kisses trailed along Becky’s neck, each one igniting a spark, as her hands explored sensitive curves, teasing and reverent. Becky’s breath hitched, her body leaning into Freen’s touch, the world narrowing to the heat between them, the dinner on the stove momentarily forgotten.

********

Becky’s moans spilled into the air, a breathless litany of “Oh god… Freen… ohhh…” as her body writhed beneath Freen’s deft touch. Each sensation was a spark, kindling a wildfire of pleasure that left her trembling, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. 

Freen’s fingers, slick and sure, quickened their rhythm, thrusting in and out with a tantalizing precision that made Becky’s heart pound in her chest. Freen’s tongue, warm and insatiable, swirled over her clit, lapping and sucking with a fervor that sent electric shivers racing down Becky’s spine.

What had started as playful teasing in the kitchen—brushing fingertips, heated glances, and whispered promises—had erupted into a raw, pulsing need on the chaise lounge. The plush fabric cradled their bodies, its softness a stark contrast to the searing heat blooming between them. 

Becky’s hips bucked uncontrollably, her thighs quivering as the pressure built, a molten coil tightening low in her belly. Her fingers knotted in Freen’s hair, pulling her closer, desperate to anchor herself as the pleasure threatened to unravel her completely. Every nerve in her body sang, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she felt the orgasm swelling, so close, just out of reach.

Freen, her blouse undone and slipping off her shoulders, revealed the delicate lace of her bra, her skin glowing with a flush of desire. Her dark eyes flicked up, locking with Becky’s, a smoldering gaze that held a silent vow of release. 

Sensing Becky’s nearing peak, Freen deepened her thrusts, curling her fingers just so, hitting that perfect spot inside. With one final, deliberate lick—her tongue flicking firmly against Becky’s clit—Freen sent her spiraling over the edge. 

Becky’s body arched, a cry tearing from her throat as the orgasm crashed through her, waves of blinding pleasure pulsing in time with her racing heart. Her world narrowed to the sensation of Freen’s touch, each shuddering aftershock drawing her deeper into bliss.

As Becky’s tremors eased, Freen softened her movements, her touch growing tender. Gently, she withdrew her fingers and placed a delicate kiss on Becky’s mound, her lips warm and reverent against the sensitive skin, eliciting a soft gasp from Becky’s lips.

Freen rose, her eyes glinting with adoration, and leaned in to capture Becky’s mouth in a passionate kiss. Their lips melded, the taste of Becky’s own desire mingling on Freen’s tongue, a heady intimacy that made Becky’s heart flutter anew. 

The kiss deepened, slow and fervent, their breaths intertwining as they savored the shared heat of the moment.

Freen pulled back slightly, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “Shall we eat dinner now, love?” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. 

“Seems we’ve already had dessert first.” 

Becky’s cheeks flushed, a soft laugh escaping her as she swatted Freen’s arm, the moment lightening with their shared warmth.

They sank into a tender embrace, limbs entwined on the chaise lounge, bodies pressed close as their hearts beat in sync. The world faded to nothing but the warmth of their connection, their breaths slowing as they held each other in the quiet afterglow.

********

The dinner table glowed with a soft warmth, candlelight dancing across their faces as laughter spilled between them, light and effortless. Their cheeks were rosy, kissed by the wine and the shared memories they teased out of each other—especially that one mortifying moment when Poom had barged in, catching them tangled in each other at the absolute worst time. 

They giggled like mischievous kids, the memory sparking blushes and playful nudges.

Between bites of fragrant curry, their fingers brushed—warm, fleeting, but deliberate, each touch lingering like a secret promise. Becky, with a mischievous glint in her eye, lifted a spoonful of curry to Freen’s lips. “Try this,” she murmured, her voice soft as a caress.

Freen savored the bite, her eyes twinkling. “Mmm, you’re spoiling me, Bec,” she teased, licking her lips with exaggerated delight. “This tastes like love.”

Becky’s grin was radiant, her heart skipping as she leaned across the table, her lips finding Freen’s in a kiss that was sweet and unhurried. “That’s because it is,” she whispered against Freen’s mouth, her breath warm and teasing.

Every compliment Freen slipped into the conversation—about Becky’s cooking, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled—earned her another kiss, each one softer, deeper than the last. The room hummed with their easy affection, the air thick with soft laughter and the quiet intimacy of two people completely at ease with each other.

When the plates were empty, Freen stood with a sudden burst of energy, gathering them with a mock-stern look. “I’m on dish duty. No arguments, chef. You cooked, I clean.”

Becky laughed, leaning back in her chair, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Fine, but only because I’ve got plans for you later.”

Freen’s eyebrow arched as she carried the plates to the sink, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, now I’m really motivated to scrub these fast.”

While Freen tackled the dishes, Becky slipped away to the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. She plucked a rose-scented bath bomb from the shelf, dropping it into the tub with a satisfying fizz. 

Warm water rose, filling the air with fragrant steam that clouded the mirror. With a contented sigh, she shed her shirt and sank into the silky water, letting the warmth wrap around her like a hug.

Moments later, Freen appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of Becky in the rose-scented glow. “Now that ,” she said, her voice low and reverent, “looks like heaven.”

Becky’s smile was an invitation, warm and teasing. “Then come join me.”

Freen didn’t rush, her movements slow and deliberate as she undressed, her eyes never straying from Becky’s. She slid into the tub behind her, the water rippling as her arms wrapped gently around Becky’s waist. Freen’s cheek found Becky’s shoulder, resting there like it was the most natural place in the world.

“I missed this,” Freen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Becky chuckled, tilting her head back to meet Freen’s gaze. “We’ve barely been apart since last night.”

Freen’s lips brushed against Becky’s skin, soft and warm. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you the second you’re out of my arms.”

Becky’s heart fluttered, a soft ache blooming in her chest. She reached back, her fingers weaving gently through Freen’s damp hair. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

“And you,” Freen whispered, her voice thick with feeling, “always know exactly what I need. You’re my home, Bec.”

Becky turned just enough to meet Freen’s eyes, her own shimmering with unspoken promises. “Then let’s stay right here, just a little longer.”

The world melted away, leaving only the gentle lap of water, the soft scent of roses, and the quiet rhythm of their breathing. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the hush of the evening folding around them like a cocoon.

After a while, Freen shifted slightly, her voice soft but tinged with a nervous edge. “Uhm… about earlier… when I said you’re my girlfriend…” She paused, her fingers tracing delicate patterns along Becky’s arm, grounding herself. “I meant it.”

Becky’s breath caught, but she stayed quiet, letting Freen find her words.

“I know you want to take things slow, to be sure,” Freen continued, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in it. “And I want that too. I just… I need you to know I’m all in. I’m serious about you, about us.”

Becky turned in Freen’s arms, her eyes warm and soft, a gentle smile curving her lips. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips meeting Freen’s in a kiss that was slow, tender, and full of everything she didn’t need to say—trust, care, love. When they parted, the silence felt like a warm blanket, wrapping them in the comfort of simply being together.

After a long, contented pause, Becky let out a playful sigh. “Okay, I should probably head home soon. My staff’s going to think I’ve been kidnapped or something—I’m practically living here.”

Freen’s face scrunched in mock horror. “Nooo, not yet. Stay one more night? We’ll head out together in the morning, I promise.” Before Becky could protest, Freen leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her jaw, her lips warm and coaxing.

Becky’s resolve melted, her smile blooming as she sank back against Freen’s shoulder. “You’re impossible to say no to,” she murmured, her voice laced with affection.

And there, in the fading steam and the quiet of the night, they lingered, two hearts tucked safely in each other’s orbit, the world outside forgotten.

********

A week later

The sound of rubber soles on polished floors echoed faintly through the quiet corridors of the physiotherapy clinic. Becky stood by the window of her office, watching the afternoon sun throw slanted shadows across the treatment beds. 

Everything had returned to its usual rhythm—patients, paperwork, the familiar scent of liniment and eucalyptus in the air.
But inside her, something had shifted.

She thought about that night more than she probably should. The way Freen had held her—steady, deliberate, like she was memorizing her. There hadn’t been a script, no grand declarations—until there was. Until Freen looked at her with that quiet intensity and said, simply, “I love you.” And Becky, with her heart pounding and voice just barely steady, had whispered it back.

It hadn’t felt rehearsed or rushed. It was instinct—words drawn from somewhere deep, slipping out between kisses and hushed laughter. They’d confessed with their bodies, yes, but they’d also said the words. And somehow, that made everything different. Everything more.

It wasn’t just about chemistry. Becky had felt something settle into place—a quiet certainty blooming where doubt used to live. In those tender hours, she realized what she hadn’t dared admit before: she was in love with Freen.

She leaned against the desk now, thumb grazing a ridge on its edge, thoughts straying to the little glances they’d exchanged since. Nothing had changed on the surface—Freen still teased her in that low, knowing way; still brought her coffee when she forgot to eat. But underneath… there was a new awareness. A waiting.

Becky exhaled slowly, the question forming in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

Does she want this too? All of it—us, properly, openly?

The question lingered, tugging at a deeper desire she hadn’t fully named until now. Becky traced the thought like the curve of a well-worn path. It scared her—how much she wanted to call Freen her girlfriend. How much that word meant now.

And yet… it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She was still lost in the memory of last night—tangled sheets, soft whispers—when her phone buzzed on the desk, snapping her back to the present. Becky glanced at the screen and couldn’t help but chuckle.

There it was—Freen’s contact photo, a sultry selfie she’d taken one lazy morning in bed, her dark eyes smoldering with that teasing look that always made Becky’s heart skip. Freen had snuck her phone, snapped the shot, and set it as her contact image, so every call brought that memory rushing back. 

Biting her lip to suppress a grin, Becky answered in a soft, almost shy voice, “Hi…”

“Baby, I miss you already,” Freen’s voice poured through, rich and a little whiny, like a child pleading for a treat. “Can’t you just… stay at the apartment with me? So when I drag myself home, exhausted from work, I get to see your gorgeous face and everything’s perfect again?”

Becky leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen, her tone gentle but firm, as if soothing a five-year-old. “You know I can’t, Freen. I’m running this clinic, plus handling admin for the others. I’m basically married to my desk right now.”

Freen let out a dramatic groan, undeterred. “But, baby… I’d make it worth your while. I’ll clean the place, pamper you, and—here’s the kicker—I’ll be your personal… sex slave. ” Her voice dropped to a playful, suggestive purr.

Becky burst out laughing, nearly knocking over her coffee mug. “You’re insane! How about a compromise? Dinner tonight? My treat.”

Freen sighed, the sound heavy with mock despair. “Can’t. I’m drowning in work. This merger with Wachira’s opened a million doors, but they all need my attention. Honestly, though? The only attention I want is yours.” Her voice softened, laced with that sincerity that always made Becky’s chest tighten.

“Freen…” Becky said, her tone a mix of affection and exasperation, trying to stay practical but feeling her resolve waver.

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” Freen relented, though her smirk was practically audible. “Did you get the flowers I sent?”

Becky glanced at the vibrant bouquet of Ever red roses on her desk, their sweet scent filling the room. “Yes, they’re stunning. Just like you.” The words slipped out before she could catch them, and she bit her lip, cheeks warming at her own boldness.

Freen’s chuckle was low and delighted, clearly savoring the moment. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Armstrong. Did you just call me beautiful?” She was grinning now—Becky could feel it. Freen was usually the one dishing out flirty compliments, so when Becky threw one back, it always caught her off guard.

“Freen, stop it,” Becky said, trying to sound stern, but the smile in her voice betrayed her.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Freen pressed, her tone teasing but with a hint of genuine curiosity, like she was fishing for more.

Becky leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. “Yes. Not just beautiful… sexy. And you taste good, too .” She paused, letting the words hang, knowing exactly what they’d do to Freen.

A sharp intake of breath came through the line, followed by Freen’s voice, husky and laced with heat. “Becky, keep talking like that, and I’ll ditch this office, drive straight to your clinic, and devour you right there on your desk.”

Becky giggled, her heart racing at the thought. “Oh, I’d love to see you try, Ms. Big Shot.”

Freen exhaled dramatically, like she was struggling to keep herself in check. “Alright, baby, you win this round. But next time I see you, I’m nipping every inch of you as punishment for this insolent behavior.” Her tone was playful, but the promise in it sent a shiver down Becky’s spine.

Becky’s laughter bubbled up again, light and free. “Deal. But seriously, take care, okay? Don’t overwork yourself, and don’t skip dinner. I’ve got spies watching you.”

Freen’s smile was warm, even through the phone. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll behave. I love you, Becky.”

Becky’s heart fluttered, the words wrapping around her like a soft blanket. “I love you, too,” she whispered, her voice full of quiet certainty.

As the call ended, Becky set her phone down, her gaze lingering on Freen’s contact photo. She glanced out the window, the clinic’s quiet hum a stark contrast to the warmth flooding her chest.

She shook her head, smiling to herself, already counting the hours until they’d be tangled up in each other again.

********

What Becky expected to be a brief pause in their time together stretched into weeks, each day heavier than the last. Freen’s schedule was relentless—packed with meetings, trips, and endless obligations that left little space for even a quick call. 

Messaging became Becky’s lifeline, fleeting sparks of connection in the quiet expanse of her days. She clung to each one, rereading Freen’s words like they could bridge the distance between them.

Becky: Can we grab dinner next Saturday? I miss you.

She typed carefully, each word measured, her heart aching with how much she meant it. She missed Freen—not just her presence, but the way she made everything feel brighter, easier. But Becky held back, afraid of sounding too much, too needy. So she sent the message and waited, as she always did.

Freen: Baby, I miss you too… so much. But I can’t—I’m flying to Singapore for a conference. I’ll be there a week. I’m so sorry.

Becky closed her eyes, letting out a slow, steadying breath. Of course, Freen was busy—her life was always full, always moving. Becky admired that, cheered her on quietly, but sometimes she just wanted to ask for more. To say, Stay with me. But a small voice always stopped her: You’re not her girlfriend. You don’t get to ask that.

Becky: Oh, okay. Catch you when you’re back then.

She added a smiley, hoping it sounded breezy, carefree. As if her heart wasn’t sinking just a little.

Freen: You know, sometimes I wish you’d just say it—like, demand it, the way my girlfriend would. I’m kidding, baby. I’ll make it up to you when I’m back, I promise. I love you.

Becky froze, her breath catching at those words. Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.

Becky: Then I demand you see me right n—

She stopped, staring at the half-written message, then erased it letter by letter. She wasn’t ready—not yet. But the truth was growing louder, impossible to ignore. She wanted to be that person—the one who could ask without fear, who could claim Freen’s time and trust it would matter.

Becky: I love you too. Stay safe, okay?

She hit send, a soft smile tugging at her lips, laced with quiet longing. Maybe soon , she thought. Maybe next time. She was closer to saying it, to stepping into the role she’d been circling for so long. And that felt like enough—for now.

********

2 weeks later

Freen stepped off the plane at Bangkok International Airport, her body weary from the long flight but her heart light with anticipation. As she powered on her phone, a notification pinged, and she opened it with a curious tilt of her head. A smile spread across her face as she read the message:

You have an appointment with BA Physiotherapy. A car service has been provided to take you to the designated treatment center. Attached are the guidelines for your treatment session.

Hmmm… What is she up to? Freen thought, her smile unwavering. Becky was always full of surprises, and this cryptic message had her intrigued. She adjusted the strap of her bag and made her way through the bustling terminal, her eyes scanning the crowd. At the exit, she spotted a man in a crisp black suit holding a placard with her name: Sarocha Chankimha.

Approaching him, she raised an eyebrow. “Miss Chankimha?” the driver asked politely.

Freen nodded, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “So, where is she?”

The driver blinked, confused. “Who, ma’am? I was just assigned to take you to the location.”

Freen’s smirk widened. What game is she playing? This is getting interesting. She followed the driver to a sleek black car, sliding into the back seat as he held the door open. As they pulled away from the airport, Freen’s brow furrowed.