Chapter Text
Orm Sethratanapong's Apartment
Morning light spilled lazily through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Orm's apartment, bathing the kitchen in a soft yellow that usually made the place feel warm.
Today, it only made everything feel a little too exposed.
Orm stood barefoot by the marble island, her hair still slightly messy from sleep, wrapped in an oversized shirt that slipped off one shoulder. The coffee machine hummed softly behind her, filling the apartment with the familiar scent of espresso. It was a perfect morning.
Until it wasn't.
Her phone was in one hand.
Coffee in the other.
Suzie had already sent four messages.
Wardrobe fitting for the upcoming press tour has been moved to Thursday.
Dew wants final press schedule approval.
Studio teaser drops next month [snippet].
Orm stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, her expression softening into something faintly absent.
Six months.
Only six months until the film's release.
Her biggest role yet.
The kind of project people in the industry call career-defining, with far too much seriousness and far too little understanding of what it costs to get there.
She had spent years working toward this.
A major studio production. A female-led film. Months of her life swallowed by shooting schedules and retakes. A year where her world had quietly shrunk until it barely existed outside sets and trailers.
No social life.
Missed birthdays.
Missed calls, she never quite returned.
Even her closest friends had started speaking to her like she was a visitor in her own life.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her sharply out of that thought.
Then buzzed again.
Then again.
Orm frowned.
Too many notifications for eight in the morning.
The screen lit up.
Alec calling. Head of her PR firm.
Her expression shifted instantly.
That was strange.
Alec never called unless something was burning.
She answered.
"Morning, Alec. To what do I owe this early interruption?"
Silence.
Then Alec's voice came through—low, controlled, and unusually sharp.
"Do not open social media."
Orm blinked.
Her heart rate picked up before she could stop it.
The coffee mug paused halfway to her mouth.
"...Well, that's not terrifying at all."
A beat of silence.
"Ying was arrested this morning."
The words didn't land immediately.
They hovered instead.
Like her mind refused to accept their shape.
"What?"
"Financial Crimes Division. Alleged embezzlement. Multiple counts. It's all over the news."
Orm slowly lowered the mug onto the marble counter.
A small, sharp clink echoed through the kitchen.
For a moment, she just stared at the surface, as if the answer might appear there instead.
"Wait... that doesn't make sense. Ying was—" she hesitated, searching for something that felt accurate, "mysterious, yes, but she was a respected professional in her field. And Alec... she's the daughter of an MP."
Alec exhaled, slow and tired.
"Well, it seems the only mystery about her was how she managed to leverage that influence and embezzle funds. But this gets worse."
Of course it does, Orm thought.
"There are already articles linking your name to hers."
The words landed harder this time.
Her stomach dropped.
A cold, immediate weight settled in her chest.
"What do you mean, linking my name?"
"The media's pushing the relationship angle. Old gala photos. The whole ex-girlfriend narrative."
That stupid gala.
That charity dinner where everything had looked polished enough to believe in.
The premiere where Ying had insisted they arrive together because photographers were "good for optics."
Six months.
That was all it had been.
Six very public months that had somehow become something people still remembered like it meant more than it did.
Nothing epic.
Nothing life-altering.
Just something that had looked louder in photos than it had ever felt in reality.
Orm shut her eyes for a brief moment.
Then she remembered why she was making the headlines after a year since the breakup.
It wasn't just the old photos.
Flashback
A month ago, Ying had reached out.
At first, Orm had ignored the message.
Then the second one.
Then the late-night "I just wanted to check in" that arrived at a time carefully chosen to feel personal.
Ying had always been like that—measured, polished, never too emotional, never too messy.
At one point, Orm had mistaken that for maturity.
Now it just felt exhausting.
Filming had wrapped by then, and for the first time in months, Orm had evenings that actually belonged to her.
No predawn call times.
No overnight shoots.
No emergency script rewrites.
Just silence.
And maybe, if she were honest, a little curiosity.
Not hope.
Never hope.
Just curiosity.
So she had agreed to dinner.
They met at a quiet upscale restaurant in Bangkok, one of those places celebrities chose when they wanted privacy and inevitably got the opposite.
Ying had looked the same.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Beautiful in that polished way cameras adored.
For a brief moment, Orm had wondered whether time apart had changed anything.
Whether distance had made the memory softer.
It hadn't.
Dinner had been pleasant.
That was the problem.
Pleasant.
Safe.
Predictable.
Every word from Ying sounded perfectly chosen.
Every smile precise.
Every pause is almost rehearsed.
There was no spark.
No pull.
No warmth that made Orm want to stay longer than the meal required.
Halfway through dessert, Ying had leaned forward.
"I thought maybe now that your film is wrapped, things could be different."
Orm remembered looking at her then.
Really looking.
Trying, almost against her better judgment, to see if something had shifted.
Nothing had.
She had smiled gently.
"Ying, my schedule was part of why we ended things, yes. But it wasn't the real reason."
A slight shift in Ying's expression.
"You're wonderful," Orm had said softly. "But I don't feel it."
"I never really did."
The silence after that had been cool.
Still.
Not heartbreak.
More like wounded pride.
Ying wasn't used to hearing no.
"I don't want to try again," Orm had said.
And that had been the end of it.
Or at least, it should have been.
They had left separately.
Or so they thought.
By the next morning, gossip outlets were already running grainy photographs of the two of them outside the restaurant.
ORM AND YING: SECOND CHANCE?
EXES SPOTTED AT PRIVATE DINNER
Two weeks later, another smaller story had broken.
Rumours that Orm and Ying were quietly rekindling their relationship.
The story had circulated for barely two days before dying down.
No second dinner.
No other appearances.
No statements.
Nothing.
The story had disappeared.
End of Flashback
The rumours should have died with that dinner.
And for a while, they had.
No follow-up sightings.
No late-night exits from the same car.
No anonymous "sources close to the actress."
Nothing for the gossip columns to feed on.
Until now.
Now it was back.
And this time, it had teeth.
But now, with Ying's name splashed across every breaking news banner in the city, those old photographs and recent rumours had been dragged back into the light.
And with them came the memory of how it had all started.
Back when none of this had seemed dangerous.
Back when Ying had simply felt like the right kind of distraction.
She still remembered the first time she met Ying.
Chiang Mai.
Flashback
Rain had been falling in soft sheets outside the hotel bar, the kind that turned the city lights into blurred gold and silver through the glass.
Orm had just wrapped a sixteen-hour shoot day and looked exactly like it—hair half pinned up from set, makeup mostly removed, exhaustion sitting openly in her shoulders.
The bar was nearly empty.
Just a low jazz track in the background, the clink of ice against crystal, and one woman seated two stools away from her.
Perfectly composed.
Of course.
Even at nearly midnight.
Ying sat in a charcoal blouse with the sleeves neatly folded, a tablet and several printed documents placed beside her drink as she had somehow managed to turn a hotel bar into an extension of her office.
Orm had noticed her almost immediately.
Not because Ying was loud.
Quite the opposite.
She carried the kind of stillness that made people look twice.
The bartender set Orm's drink down.
"Wine?" a voice beside her asked.
Orm turned.
Ying's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"For someone who looks like she's been awake for two days, I expected something more substantial."
Orm let out a tired laugh.
"That obvious?"
Ying lifted her glass slightly.
"Only to someone equally guilty."
Orm glanced at the stack of papers beside her.
"So you're either incredibly dedicated or deeply incapable of switching off."
Ying's smile sharpened, amused.
"Corporate acquisitions."
A small pause.
"And you're either an actress or someone escaping a murder scene."
Orm looked down at the faint smudge of fake blood still staining the cuff of her sleeve and laughed again.
"Actress. Though honestly, after today, the murder scene might have been easier."
That had been the first thing she liked about Ying.
She was quick.
Measured.
Never fumbling for words.
Ying extended a hand.
"Ying Ananda."
"Orm."
Ying's expression shifted in recognition.
"The actress."
Orm gave her a look.
"Please don't say you've seen my work."
Ying tilted her head.
"I haven't."
The bluntness caught Orm off guard.
Then Ying added, perfectly calm—
"But I did see your face everywhere in Bangkok."
Orm laughed into her drink.
"Well, that's somehow worse."
For the first time that night, Ying's smile widened—small, restrained, but real.
They spoke for nearly an hour.
About work.
About Bangkok.
About the absurdity of being public figures.
Ying talked about mergers and board politics with the same precision Orm used when discussing scenes and scripts.
Different worlds.
Same exhaustion.
When Orm finally stood to leave, Ying glanced at the clock.
"Another early call time?"
"Five a.m."
Ying gave her a look that was almost approving.
"That sounds illegal."
Orm smiled.
"So is working on acquisitions at nearly midnight."
Ying held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
"Then perhaps we're both not as innocent as we pretend to be."
End of Flashback
At the time, it had felt effortless.
Easy.
Like meeting someone who understood the rhythm of an overworked life.
Only later did Orm realize that ease wasn't the same thing as chemistry.
And then, a few weeks later, after wrapping up the Chiang Mai schedule, the world saw them having dinner in Bangkok.
And suddenly, they were something worth naming. The Politician's Daughter, a respected CFO, escorting the Actress to her car after a late-night dinner.
Orm hadn't dated anyone seriously since entering the industry. Not with her schedule. Not with the pressure. Not with the constant awareness of being watched.
Ying had seemed... safe in comparison.
Pretty. Intelligent. Controlled by public standards that mattered.
A "good match," as people liked to say.
Until it wasn't, Orm never felt the spark between them, and her upcoming project was too important for her to be distracted by something she did not see in her future. Among all of Ying's attributes, Orm also found her boring.
They had ended it quietly a year ago.
No scandal.
No fallout.
Orm was mostly photographed on the set of the much-awaited movie, while Ying appeared mostly solo in public events or with family. They had never made statements when they were together; for them, it made sense to let the breakup be treated in the same way.
"I broke up with her last year," Orm said quietly.
"I know," Alec replied immediately.
"I had nothing to do with her company."
"I know."
A pause.
Then, in that same maddeningly composed PR tone, Alec added:
"Unfortunately, the internet is rarely interested in facts before breakfast."
Despite herself, Orm let out a short breath that almost became a laugh.
That was such an Alec thing to say.
Her thumb moved before she could stop herself.
She opened the news.
The headline appeared instantly.
ACTRESS ORM SETHRATANAPONG LINKED TO EX'S EMBEZZLEMENT SCANDAL
Linked.
What a despicable word.
Vague enough to imply everything. Of course, the media will choose a thrilling headline before verifying any fact.
The headline was specific enough to destroy everything.
Her phone was filled with notifications again.
P' Suzie.
Prigkhing.
Two unknown numbers. Must be news outlets, she thought.
Dew.
But then,
Her father.
That one tightened something deep in her chest.
Alec spoke again.
"Legal has already confirmed the alleged misconduct dated months after your breakup. Your financial records are airtight. You are, yourself, sort of a heiress; you are not to be implicated. Simply put, the timeline and the optics do not match."
Orm exhaled slowly.
Legally. Clean.
"But publicly?" she asked. Her voice was barely out.
Silence answered first.
That was enough.
She turned on the television. Channel 7 was already running a story about the darling of Channel 3 and her CFO ex-girlfriend.
The apartment filled with the anchor's voice.
"...former partner of Ying Ananda, actress Orm Sethratanapong..."
Mute.
Immediately.
Her chest tightened anyway, as if sound alone had been enough.
This was how stories became real.
Not through truth.
Through repetition.
She was not to be dragged with Ying; she was not involved. Quickly, she regained her spirits.
"Alec, we need to put out a damn statement before this spirals into ways we could never contain."
"Already drafting," Alec said. "Clear timeline. No involvement. No financial ties."
Good.
Facts.
Facts were all she had.
Then came the knock.
Short. Controlled. Familiar.
Her heart sank before she even moved. She already knew who it was.
"I'll call you back," she said.
"Don't answer anyone else first."
"I know. I need to take care of something right now. I will call you after."
The line disconnected.
For a moment, the apartment felt too quiet.
Only the muted flicker of the television light moved across the wall.
Orm took a deep breath, crossed the room, and opened the door.
Oct Sethratanapong stood there, already dressed, expression carefully composed.
But she knew him well enough to see it.
Worry.
Controlled, but present.
"Dad. Come in."
He stepped inside.
"You've seen the news."
Not a question.
"Yes."
He studied her for a moment; not the phone, not the TV, but her face.
"I came as soon as I heard. Your mother wanted to come too; however, I needed to see you first."
Something in her chest tightened at that.
Because Oct never rushed.
If he was here now, alone, then this wasn't just noise.
This was real.
"Dad," she said quietly, "what's going on?"
He walked to the dining table and placed a leather folder down.
The sound of it made her stomach drop instantly.
Paperwork never meant comfort.
It meant structure.
It meant damage control.
He opened it and slid it toward her.
Financial reports. Board notices. Investment records.
And at the top, Ying's company.
Orm stared.
Then slowly looked up to her father.
"No."
Oct held her gaze.
"I invested in the company."
The room went still.
For a moment, even her breath felt delayed.
"How much?"
A pause.
Then carefully—
"Not enough to destabilize us financially. But enough to raise concerns among other investors."
She froze.
This wasn't just media anymore.
This was a structure collapsing from multiple sides.
"Why would you do that?"
Oct didn't flinch.
"It wasn't totally because of Ying."
His voice stayed steady.
"The company had strong projections. Solid backing. It was a reasonable investment."
Orm let out a short, humorless breath.
"You say that now."
A flicker of regret crossed his face.
"I made the decision over a year ago."
Before the breakup.
Before the arrest.
Before any of this.
Her mind was already moving too fast.
The studio. The press tour. Sponsors. Dew. The film.
One scandal was survivable.
But this—
She sat down.
This was entanglement.
Real entanglement. Her family business is involved. The investors, the market, and their reputation.
"What happens now?" she asked.
Oct sat down opposite her, suddenly looking older than he had an hour ago.
Silence settled between them.
Heavy.
Then—
"I'm meeting Yuth this morning."
Orm looked up.
Yuth Kwong.
His oldest friend. But also, the chairman of one of the biggest conglomerates in this country.
Their standing Tuesday coffee ritual.
The one constant between two old classmates who met in college and took over the family enterprise from their fathers.
"For what?"
Oct leaned back slightly.
"I need to talk to someone I trust."
That landed differently.
Because it wasn't a strategy yet.
It was uncertainty.
And that was worse.
Orm looked down at the papers again.
The names.
The numbers.
The headlines that were already multiplying in her mind.
An hour ago, she had been thinking about costume fittings.
Now everything felt like it was shifting under its own weight.
Oct reached across the table and rested his hand over hers.
"We'll fix this. You did nothing wrong, my child."
Orm looked at him.
She wanted to believe him.
She really did.
But as her phone began buzzing again on the counter, and the muted television flashed her name beneath another breaking banner, all she could think was—
nothing about this felt fixable anymore.
And somewhere across the city, over what should have been an ordinary Tuesday coffee, two old friends were about to begin a conversation that would change everything.
-
Meanwhile, at Kwong Conglomerate HQ
By eight in the morning, Lingling Sirilak Kwong had already been at the office for forty minutes.
The top floor of Kwong Conglomerate headquarters was exactly as it always was at that hour: quiet, immaculate, and buzzing with a kind of restrained efficiency that reflected its CEO flawlessly.
Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the city below, the skyline still bathed in pale morning light. Inside, everything was sharp lines and muted tones: dark wood, brushed steel, neatly stacked reports organized with the utmost precision.
Ling sat at the head of her desk in her private office, reading through a quarterly projection report.
Her suit jacket hung neatly over the back of her chair, sleeves of her crisp blue shirt rolled once at the wrist. A cup of black coffee sat untouched near her laptop, already cooling.
Numbers first.
Always numbers first.
The morning was proceeding exactly as planned.
Until Kate knocked.
Two short taps.
Measured.
Ling looked up.
"Come in."
Kate stepped inside, tablet in hand, expression professionally neutral, though Ling knew her well enough to notice the slight hesitation.
"Ms. Kwong," Kate began, "I just received a call from Mr. Alec Kwong's secretary."
Ling glanced briefly at the clock on the wall.
8:03 a.m.
Their scheduled strategy meeting at headquarters was in less than an hour.
"He'll be late?" Ling asked, eyes already returning to the report in front of her.
Kate hesitated.
"He won't be attending."
That made Ling pause.
Alec rarely missed meetings.
Especially not ones he himself had requested.
"Reason?"
Kate checked the screen of her tablet.
"His secretary said he's handling a scandal involving one of his clients and won't be able to leave the PR office this morning."
Ling leaned back slightly in her chair.
That, at least, sounded like Alec.
If something was on fire, he preferred to be standing in the middle of the flames.
"Which client?"
Kate looked down again.
"Ms Kornnaphat Sethratanapong."
Ling's gaze lifted.
For a moment, the name meant nothing in the context of scandal.
Kornnaphat.
Orm.
Then recognition settled in.
Oct's daughter.
Family-adjacent.
Someone she had known of rather than known personally.
Actress.
Quiet.
Careful.
Always impeccably managed in the public eye.
Not the kind of person whose name appeared beside the word scandal.
Ling frowned slightly.
"Orm?"
Kate nodded.
"That was the name given."
Ling's mind moved quickly.
She knew Orm mostly through family circles—Tuesday coffees between their fathers, the occasional formal dinner, New Year gatherings where everyone was expected to smile politely and discuss business or careers.
Orm had always seemed composed.
A little distant.
Private.
Protective of her image in a way that felt deliberate rather than artificial.
The pieces took a moment to settle.
Then one clicked into place.
Ying.
Ling's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
She remembered the tabloids from a few weeks ago.
A grainy photograph outside a restaurant.
A headline speculating about a reconciliation.
ACTRESS ORM AND POLITICAL HEIRESS YING: SECOND CHANCE?
She hadn't paid much attention at the time.
Celebrity gossip rarely survives longer than a news cycle.
But now,
She looked up at Kate.
"This is about Ying Ananda, isn't it?"
Kate gave a small nod.
"Yes, Ms. Kwong. News outlets are reporting her arrest this morning. Financial crimes."
Ling was silent for a moment.
So that was it. She heard about the arrest, but did not read much into it. Another CFO in the midst of a fraud case.
However, she forgot the variable named Orm. Her mother had mentioned that she broke up with Ying last year when they met for Christmas. Orm had been absent because of her schedule.
The connection was obvious now.
Old relationship.
Recent rumours.
Enough for the press to create a storm.
Her fingers tapped once against the edge of the report.
Alec would handle it.
If there was one thing her brother excelled at, it was controlling chaos and packaging it into something survivable.
"Well," Ling said calmly, "Alec is quite good at his job. This should be handled."
Kate gave a short nod.
"Would you like me to reschedule the meeting?"
"Yes. Push it to tomorrow afternoon."
"Of course."
Kate turned to leave.
"And Kate?"
She paused at the door.
"Yes, Ms. Kwong?"
"Send over the updated board papers before ten."
"Done."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Ling's gaze loitered for a brief moment on the city beyond the glass.
Orm is in a scandal.
Strange.
Still, it was none of her concern.
Not yet.
She had better things to take care of.
Revenue projections.
Expansion approvals.
Board signatures.
The standard language of authority.
Outside her office, the city was already moving.
Inside, Ling returned to work as though nothing had shifted at all.
Because as far as she knew, nothing had.
Yet.