Chapter Text
Prologue
(Bangkok, Thailand – Pattranite’s Office)
The office doors exploded inward with a force that rattled the glass frames. Love didn’t look up from her documents. "If this is about the Berlin deal again, I already said—"
"Missed you too, my princess."
That voice—that fucking voice—sent a shockwave through Love’s body. Her pen froze mid-signature, ink bleeding into the document like poison. A scent hit her next—mint and sharp herbal balm, cutting through the sterile air like a knife. She hadn’t smelled that in six years. Not since...
Slowly, so slowly, she lifted her head. There, leaning against the doorframe like she owned it—like she hadn’t vanished for six goddamn years—stood Milk.
She looked different. Healthier, but with shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Her black hair was longer, that stupid silver panther pendant still hanging around her neck. And her smile—that infuriating, playful smirk—was exactly the fucking same.
Love’s vision tunneled.
"Get. Out."
Milk pushed off the doorframe, hands in her pockets. "C’mon, after six years? That’s all I—"
The chair screeched as Love launched to her feet. "I said GET OUT!"
Milk took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "Love…"
The slap echoed like a gunshot.
Milk’s head snapped to the side, the red imprint of Love’s hand blooming across her cheek. The room went dead silent. Love was breathing hard, her palm stinging. The faint scent of strawberries and baby powder clung stubbornly to her, sweet and devastating. Milk had never forgotten it.
"Don’t..." Love’s voice cracked just once. "Don’t you dare say my name."
Milk turned back, slowly. She didn’t touch her cheek. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at Love with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Look at you princess, you hit like a CEO now," she murmured. "Less elbow, more wrist. I’m impressed." Milk smirked.
Something in Love snapped. She lunged. Her hands slammed into Milk’s shoulders, shoving her back into the wall with a thud. "FUCK YOU!"
Another shove, harder. "FUCK YOUR JOKES! FUCK YOUR FUCKING COWARDICE!"
Milk let herself be thrown. Didn’t fight back. Just took it, her back hitting the bookshelf, sending files crashing to the ground.
Love’s fists clenched, trembling. "SAY SOMETHING! Tell me you had no choice! Give me your FUCKING EXCUSES!"
Milk’s mask slipped—just for a second. Just long enough for Love to see the cracks.
"I… I don’t have any," she said quietly.
Love’s breath hitched.
Then Milk smiled again, that stupid, infuriating smirk. "But hey, at least I didn’t marry that German Heiress, right?"
Love saw red.
Her fist connected with Milk’s jaw—hard. "I HOPE YOU ROT IN GERMANY!"
Milk staggered, tasting blood. She laughed. "Is that all you got, princess?"
Another punch. "SHUT UP!" A kick to Milk’s ribs. "I HATE YOU!"
Milk took every hit. Every bruise. Every broken word. She’d never been beaten like this, not even by her father. And yet, she’d never felt more alive.
Then—
Love’s knees buckled. She stumbled forward. Her hands slammed into Milk’s shoulders, shoving her back, but Milk caught her wrists and they both went tumbling onto the leather couch in a tangle of limbs. Milk’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh as Love straddled her, fists gripping the collar of her shirt. For one suspended moment, their faces were inches apart. Close enough for Love to see the flecks of gold in Milk’s eyes, to feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath her fingertips. The familiarity of it ached.
For thirty seconds, the world stopped. Milk’s arms tightened around Love, her voice breaking. "Pattranite, I’m…"
Then the rage surged back. Love pushed her back, hard. "DON’T TOUCH ME!"
Milk didn’t resist. Just let herself be pummeled, her body sinking deeper into the cushions with each blow, her gaze never leaving Love’s face. She didn’t care if this killed her. If this was the end. She’d die happy, just like this. When Love’s fist connected with her jaw, she laughed through the blood on her lips.
"OW, you’re stronger than I thought."
Love’s next punch faltered. Her hands trembled against Milk’s chest.
After a few minutes, the door burst open.
Milk’s smirk faded. "Love..."
"SHUT UP!" Love shoved off her, scrambling to her feet. "I HATE YOU!"
Milk stayed sprawled on the couch, watching as Love backed away, her breath ragged. The ghost of their closeness still lingered in the air between them, warm and suffocating.
Meanwhile, Love’s secretary stood frozen in the doorway, horrified. "Um, S-s-sorry to interrupt,' she stammered, 'but the boardroom—they're waiting for both of you."
Love straightened her blazer, her voice ice. "We’ll finish this later."
Milk wiped blood from her lip, grinning. "Can’t wait, princess."
Love walked away as if nothing had happened. The echo of Love’s stiletto heels faded down the hallway, leaving Milk alone with the wreckage of their reunion: shattered glass, scattered files, and the metallic taste of blood on her tongue. Six years of running, six years of silence, and all it took was six minutes to undo every wall she’d built.