Chapter Text
The meeting room of NineStar Studios was too quiet for comfort. Bathed in sterile whites and cool greys, the spacious space seemed to echo every breath. Natural light spilled in through wide glass panels, bouncing off the pristine walls. At the center stood a long rectangular table—immaculate, sharp-edged, and unforgiving.
Four people sat around it. On one side: Faye Malisorn, her posture taut with tension, and beside her, Yoko Apasra, silent, her hands clasped in her lap. Across from them sat the new CEO, Wanwand, and veteran executive Siriphan Wongsawan. Between them, neatly arranged on the table, were the new season contracts—updated partnership terms, revised performance clauses.
Faye’s eyes burned with restrained anger. One hand tapped slowly on the table, the other clenched tightly on her thigh. But her gaze kept flicking sideways—to Yoko. The younger woman sat too still, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes shimmered, barely holding back tears.
“I’m not agreeing to this pairing,” Faye said at last, her voice cutting clean through the stillness. “Yoko won’t be assigned to anyone else.”
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Siriphan leaned forward, her tone frosted over. “Faye, this decision isn’t yours alone. Yoko is under contract. Everything’s spelled out—right here.” She tapped the papers in front of her.
Faye’s lips curled in frustration. “You want to talk about contracts?”
She grabbed the documents in front of her and, with a swift motion, shoved them across the table. The pages slid effortlessly and came to a stop against Wanwand’s clasped hands.
“Here’s your contract.”
Yoko flinched. A single tear slid down her cheek. She reached out instinctively, brushing Faye’s wrist—but still said nothing.
Wanwand looked down at the papers, then back up, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You realize this isn’t professional, right? If this continues, it won’t be us severing ties—it’ll be you.”
“Then so be it,” Faye hissed, her voice low and trembling. “But let’s make something clear. The tears on her face? That’s on you. And I’ll make sure you pay for every single one of them.”
Yoko lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled. A soft, broken sob escaped her lips—and that was enough.
Faye turned to her. Gently, she reached out, her fingers brushing away the tear on Yoko’s cheek. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“No one is allowed to hurt you,” she whispered.
Siriphan’s voice sliced through the moment. “If you walk, the penalty will be severe. The buyout alone—”
“I don’t care,” Faye snapped, her voice laced with venom. She turned slowly, eyes narrowing, and stared Siriphan down with a contempt so sharp it was nearly tangible.
Wanwand chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Well then. I guess that settles it.”
He picked up the contract, held it for a moment, and—maintaining eye contact—ripped it straight down the middle. The torn halves fluttered onto the table like discarded promises.
The sound was too much.
Yoko rose to her feet, barely stifling the sobs now spilling freely. She turned and walked out of the room, one hand covering her mouth.
Faye didn’t move for a long moment. She stared at the torn contract, her throat tightening.
“I’ll make you pay for this,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Then she stood, slowly, like someone carrying a storm on her back, and followed Yoko out the door.
She didn’t make it far.
Just outside, her composure cracked. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, raw and loud. She barely saw Yoko sitting against the wall a few meters ahead, knees pulled to her chest, crying just as openly.
Faye rushed to her.
Without hesitation, she cupped Yoko’s face in both hands, her thumbs gently catching every falling tear. Then she pulled her into a fierce, protective embrace—arms wrapping tightly around her, hand resting on the back of Yoko’s head, pressing her into the safety of her neck.
“I’ll fix this,” she murmured. “Just stay with me. Be strong. I promise you—no one else will ever get close to you, Yoko. Not while I’m here.”
And in that sterile, cold corridor, nothing else mattered.