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The Bangkok sky that night seemed to be pouring out its darkest rage. The rain was no longer a drizzle, but a curtain of water slamming brutally against the asphalt, accompanied by flashes of lightning that tore through the thick night. Behind the windshield of a black Mercedes Benz S Class gliding smoothly through the puddles, Emi Thasorn sat in soundproof silence.
Inside the cabin of the multimillion baht car, the scent of expensive leather upholstery mingled with the aroma of bergamot and musk emanating from Emi's body. In her early thirties, Emi was the embodiment of cold ambition. She wore a custom fit obsidian black women's suit that hugged her curves perfectly, not a single thread out of place. Her shoulder length straight hair was cut with extreme precision, neatly framing a face that was extraordinarily beautiful yet devoid of expression.
She had just completed the acquisition of a rival law firm that had taken twelve non stop hours. Her head throbbed slightly. She only wanted to arrive at her silent penthouse, take off this suit, and pour a glass of neat Scotch.
However, fate had a poor sense of humor tonight.
As the Mercedes rounded a dim intersection on the outskirts of town, a shadow darted through a flickering red light. It was an old automatic scooter being driven recklessly.
Emi slammed on the brakes. The tires shrieked; the ABS worked to its maximum against the slippery asphalt. Time seemed to slow down.
Crash!
The collision was inevitable, even though Emi had braked fully. The front bumper of her luxury car clipped the back of the scooter. The bike spun off to the side of the road, scraping against the asphalt and sparking in the rain before finally stopping as it hit the curb. Various spray paint cans, dirty brushes, and several rolls of cheap canvas were scattered across the street, their contents spilling and mixing with the rainwater.
Emi took a long breath. Her expression did not change at all. No panic. Only cold irritation radiated from her sharp eyes. With slow, controlled movements, she pressed the hazard light button, took a black umbrella from the passenger seat, and stepped out.
The cold night air immediately bit at her face. The heels of her stilettos clicked constantly against the wet asphalt as she stepped toward the chaos.
Near the curb, a figure was forcing themselves to sit up while cursing harshly.
"Damn it... my junk bike..." a raspy voice grumbled.
Emi held the umbrella over herself, looking straight down. Her car's headlights illuminated the figure. A young woman, perhaps around twenty four. Her hair was straight but had natural wavy, long, soaking wet, and messily plastered to her face. Her clothes were the definition of street rebellion: an oversized t-shirt stained with various colors of acrylic paint, a worn denim jacket with torn sleeves, and cargo pants splattered with paint.
She was a street artist. A school dropout living from one mural wall to the next.
The girl looked up, brushing her wet hair back roughly. Her face possessed a provocative beauty wild, untended, with eyes that burned with defiance. At the knee of her torn cargo pants, fresh blood flowed in a small stream, mixing with the rain. Her left elbow was bruised from the asphalt. However, when the girl saw the black Mercedes and then looked at Emi, an adult woman in an expensive suit holding an umbrella, standing tall and looking down like a goddess disdaining a mortal, the spark in her eyes changed.
The girl's initial fear evaporated, replaced by the cunning calculation of a street kid used to surviving.
"Are you illiterate or colorblind, huh?!" the girl snapped, her voice piercing through the rain. She forced herself to stand, though she winced slightly as she put weight on her right leg. "A red light means stop, Auntie!"
Emi didn't blink. "I was in the green lane. You ran the red light from the opposite direction." Emi's voice was flat, calm, yet possessed an authority that made the surrounding air feel heavier. "And I am not your aunt."
The girl Bonnie Pattraphus snorted rudely. She spat on the asphalt, right near the tip of Emi's stiletto, an incredibly insolent gesture. Bonnie stepped forward, dragging her limping leg slightly. She was much shorter than Emi, forcing her to look up, but her chin was raised defiantly.
"So you think because you drive a luxury car and wear those 'smart' clothes, the police will believe you?" Bonnie smirked cynically. She pointed to her bleeding knee, then to her dented paint cans. "I'm an artist, Auntie. This street is my workplace. You hit me, you destroyed my things, and my leg... damn, it hurts so bad. I think it's broken."
Bonnie was clearly lying. Emi could see from the way the girl distributed her weight that it was just a common bruise and scrape. However, Bonnie was playing a game. A poor street kid living alone saw a golden opportunity in front of her.
"Your name," Emi cut through the drama with one sharp word.
"Bonnie," she replied haughtily. "And you have to pay up. A lot. I don't have insurance; I don't have a regular hospital. If you try to run or pay me with pocket change, I'll scream right here. I'll call the media. 'Arrogant CEO Hits Poor Artist in the Middle of a Storm'. How's that for a headline? Cool, right?"
Bonnie thought she was trapping a wealthy woman afraid of a scandal. She thought she held control over the situation with her threats. Bonnie intended to extort Emi, perhaps forcing this woman to give her free housing and food money for a few weeks under the guise of recovery.
However, Emi Thasorn was no ordinary wealthy woman. She was a literal apex predator in the business world.
Emi's gaze dropped to Bonnie's naughty, smirking lips, then back to the girl's eyes. Instead of panicking, Emi slowly tilted her umbrella, letting a little rain wet her own suit shoulder, just so the umbrella now covered Bonnie from the rain. A gesture that looked protective but felt like a cage.
"Are you threatening me, Bonnie?" Emi lowered her voice to a deadly whisper that drowned out the sound of the storm.
Emi's perfume masculine, expensive, and very dominant, hit Bonnie's nose, making the street artist instinctively hold her breath. They were now only inches apart. Bonnie could see her own reflection in Emi's eyes, which were as cold as ice.
"I-I'm just demanding my rights," Bonnie tried to maintain her insolent tone, though for some reason her courage suddenly shriveled at Emi's calmness. To prove she wasn't afraid, Bonnie moved her face closer, nearly touching her nose to Emi's jaw. "I'm an orphan. I'm a dropout. I have nothing to lose. If you mess with me, I'll ruin your perfect looking life."
Emi looked at this bratty girl who smelled of wet paint and asphalt. Emi could see the desperation hidden behind that tough act attitude. Bonnie had no decent place to stay tonight. Bonnie was freezing. And instead of feeling threatened, something very dark and possessive woke up inside Emi.
Why pay compensation and release this wild child back to the streets if she could lock her up?
"Very well," Emi said softly. The corner of her lips lifted slightly, forming an asymmetrical smile that made Bonnie shiver.
Emi raised her free left hand, her long, cold fingers deliberately touching Bonnie's wet cheek, tucking a stray strand of the girl's wavy hair behind her ear. The touch made Bonnie's body stiffen. It wasn't a touch of affection; it was the touch of a collector who had just found a damaged but interesting antique.
"You want me to take responsibility? I will take full responsibility," Emi said, staring right into Bonnie's eyes. "Starting tonight, you don't need to worry about cheap paint or sleeping on the streets. You're coming with me."
Bonnie frowned, trying to process. "With you? Where? To the police station?"
"To my home," Emi pressed her index finger slowly against Bonnie's half-open lips, silencing any protest that might come out. "You said your leg and hands are valuable for painting, didn't you? I will ensure you get the best care. But remember one thing, Bonnie..."
Emi leaned in, her lips right at Bonnie's ear. Emi's warm breath puffed there, a sharp contrast to the freezing night air. "If you step into my car tonight, you surrender all control over your life to me. You won't be able to use your cheap threats anymore. Do we have a deal?"
A huge red flag waved in Bonnie's head. Her street instincts screamed that this suited woman was very dangerous, far more lethal than any street thug she had ever faced. But the wound on her knee stung, her stomach had been empty since morning, and the thought of sleeping in a soft bed with free food was too tempting for a twenty four year old living aimlessly to pass up.
I'll just use her for a few weeks, drain her wealth, and then run, Bonnie thought with street-smart cunning.
Bonnie brushed Emi's hand from her lips roughly, then grinned wide. "Deal. Just so you know, I have expensive taste, Auntie."
Emi took a step back, returning to her perfectly upright and impenetrable posture. "Get in the car. Leave your bike. My assistant will take care of that piece of junk tomorrow."
With a limping step that was intentionally dramatized, Bonnie walked toward the S Class passenger door. She deliberately dirtied the thick car floor mat with her muddy shoes. As Bonnie sat down and felt the warm air from the heater embrace her shivering body, she smiled triumphantly at Emi, who had just sat in the driver's seat.
"By the way, what's your name, Auntie?" Bonnie asked, leaning her head back casually against the leather headrest, intentionally letting her wet hair drip water onto the expensive white upholstery. She wanted to see Emi get angry. She was provoking.
Emi glanced briefly from the corner of her eye. She saw the water stains and dirt Bonnie had made in her car, but Emi's face remained flat. Emi shifted into gear and stepped on the gas. The Mercedes engine roared softly, cutting through the rain.
"Emi Thasorn," she replied shortly.
"Okay, Emi. Just consider yourself unlucky tonight for meeting me," Bonnie chuckled, eyes closed as she soaked in the warmth of the car, feeling as if she had just won the lottery.
Emi kept her eyes straight on the wet highway. Her right hand gripped the steering wheel tightly while her brain began to form a plan. Bonnie thought she was a clever parasite that had successfully attached itself to a wealthy host. The girl didn't realize she had just walked into a spiderweb.
"We'll see about that, Bonnie," Emi murmured softly, so softly it was drowned out by the classical music beginning to flow from the car speakers. "We'll see who will meet their misfortune."
Thirty minutes later, the car entered the private basement of the most exclusive apartment building in the heart of Bangkok.
Bonnie, who had been half asleep, immediately woke up. Her eyes widened at the row of luxury cars parked there. When Emi took her into a private elevator that opened directly into the penthouse, Bonnie's jaw nearly dropped.
The room was extraordinarily spacious, dominated by black marble, floor to ceiling glass displaying the Bangkok city view from above the clouds, and modern minimalist furniture whose price could probably buy Bonnie's life dozens of times over. The room was incredibly clean, incredibly neat, and felt incredibly cold. Just like its owner.
"You... live alone in a place this big?" Bonnie clicked her tongue in awe, but quickly changed her tone to one of disdain. She stepped in, leaving dirty footprints on the polished marble floor. "It's so lonely. No wonder you look like an old maid who lacks affection."
Emi's step, as she was removing her outer jacket, stopped. She placed her obsidian jacket on the back of the sofa with a very slow movement. The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned chilling.
Emi turned around. She walked toward Bonnie with measured steps. Without her outer jacket, Emi now wore only a tight black silk shirt tucked into high waisted dress pants, accentuating her mature and proportional curves.
Bonnie reflexively swallowed hard as Emi approached, but she forced herself to stand tall.
"What? Offended?" Bonnie challenged, lifting her chin. "I'm an artist. I say things as they are."
Emi stopped right in front of Bonnie. Without any warning, Emi's hand shot forward. Not to slap, but to grab the back of Bonnie's neck with a strong grip.
Bonnie gasped. Her eyes widened in shock. Emi's grip wasn't painful to the point of strangling, but it was strong enough to lock her movement completely. Emi's thumb pressed against the point under Bonnie's jaw, forcing the girl to look up at her face.
"Listen to me carefully, little child," Emi's voice didn't rise a single octave, but the threat in it felt very real, flowing like a deadly venom. "You are in my territory now. You may eat my food, you may sleep in my bed, and you may use my money to treat your knee that isn't even cracked."
Bonnie's breath hitched. Her heart pounded very fast. She tried to pull Emi's hand away, but the woman's grip was like iron. Hot air radiated between them. The intense physical tension suddenly exploded, pumping Bonnie's adrenaline to the max.
Emi lowered her face, bringing her lips only a millimeter from Bonnie's. Emi's gaze traveled over Bonnie's trembling lips, then up to her eyes.
"But don't think for a second that you are in control," Emi whispered, each word emphasized heavily. "Use your street language if you must, but if you cross the line of my patience, I will make you beg to be returned to the streets where you belong. Understand?"
Bonnie's breath was shallow. She hated being intimidated. Her street ego rebelled. At this close range, with Emi's lips nearly touching her, Bonnie did the craziest thing her pressure cooker brain could think of.
Instead of nodding obediently, Bonnie moved her face forward and deliberately brushed her lips against Emi's in a provocative and rough friction.
Emi flinched slightly; her grip on Bonnie's neck tightened.
Bonnie smirked, her eyes looking at Emi with a naughty glint. "Try making me beg, Emi. Let's see who goes crazy first in this house."
Emi looked at Bonnie's lips that had just touched her. Instead of getting angry, Emi released her grip slowly. There was a very dark and hungry flame in the mature woman's eyes. A challenge had been drawn.
"The bathroom is on the right," Emi said coldly, as if Bonnie's provocation just now didn't affect her at all. "Clean yourself up. My assistant will bring change of clothes. And don't you dare soil my sheets with your cheap paint."
Emi turned and walked toward her study, leaving Bonnie standing frozen with her chest heaving rapidly.
Bonnie touched her own lips. Her heart was beating uncontrollably. She realized she wasn't tricking a fragile rich lady. She had just started a war with a demon in a suit, and for some reason, this game felt very, very intoxicating.
A month had passed since that stormy night. Inside Emi Thasorn's penthouse on the fiftieth floor, a cold war laden with tension, ego, and toxic passion continued every day.
For Bonnie Pattraphus, her life had changed drastically from sleeping on dusty storefronts to waking up on a king size bed covered in silk sheets. The scrape on her knee had long healed, leaving the skin smooth again. However, instead of leaving the apartment as per her initial threat, Bonnie chose to stay. She transformed into a beautiful, wild, and very demanding parasite.
She intentionally polluted the perfection of Emi's monochromatic apartment. Cheap canvases were scattered in the living room. The smell of spray paint and thinner sometimes overpowered the scent of Emi's sandalwood reed diffuser. Bonnie acted like a street queen colonizing a castle. She would wear Emi's expensive oversized shirts, using them as painting aprons covered in acrylic stains then walk around without trousers, showing off her long legs just to provoke the lady of the house.
Bonnie thought she was in control. She thought, I managed to conquer this arrogant CEO. I can do anything and she'll comply.
However, Bonnie didn't realize that Emi's silence wasn't a form of submission. Emi Thasorn was playing. Emi watched Bonnie's every move, letting the girl feel on top of the world, only to enjoy the sensation of breaking her wings later.
The tension between them grew increasingly thick, condensing like the air before a storm breaks. Argument after argument often led to something far darker and more intimate.
As happened one Thursday night.
A light rain wet the floor to ceiling windows of Emi's study. Inside, the cold faced woman sat behind her tempered glass desk, focused on reading a stack of contract documents worth millions of dollars. Thin framed reading glasses sat on her nose, making her appearance look even more intelligent, mature, and untouched. Her shoulder length straight hair was tucked behind her ears. Her white shirt was rolled up to her elbows.
Suddenly, the study door opened without a knock.
Bonnie stepped in. She had just finished bathing. Her long wavy hair, was still half wet, hanging haphazardly. She wore one of Emi's black silk shirts, the top three buttons intentionally left open, exposing her sharp collarbones. Her feet were bare, stepping soundlessly on the thick carpet.
"Aren't you bored that your life is just full of paper, Emi?" Bonnie's voice broke the silence. Her tone always sounded lazy, dismissive, and provocative.
Emi didn't even lift her face. Her eyes remained focused on the rows of letters on the paper. "I am working, Bonnie. Get out."
That cold answer always managed to spark Bonnie's ego. Bonnie hated being ignored. She hated feeling invisible to the woman who was supporting her. With deliberate steps, Bonnie circled the desk and, instead of sitting in an empty chair, she hopped up and sat right on Emi's desk. Her legs dangled, intentionally shifting several important documents with her thighs.
"Work, work, work," Bonnie mocked. Her left hand reached out, pulling the reading glasses from Emi's face with a rough motion and tossing them to the end of the desk. "I'm here, Auntie. Look at me. Not your trashy papers."
This time, Emi looked up. Her dark eyes stared straight at Bonnie. There was no anger there, but rather a deadly warning.
"Get off my desk, Bonnie," Emi's voice deepened, heavy, vibrating at a frequency that made the hair on Bonnie's neck stand up.
"I don't want to," Bonnie challenged. She leaned forward, both hands resting on the arms of Emi's chair. The scent of fresh bath soap mixed with the characteristic street smell from Bonnie's body invaded Emi's headspace. "What are you going to do? Want to kick me out? Try it. You know you can't sleep without hearing my noisy voice outside, right?"
It was an incredibly bold sentence. Bonnie was trying to play with fire with a demon. She stared at Emi's lips, repeating the same provocation from the first night they met. Bonnie moved her face forward, intending to kiss Emi's jaw just to annoy her.
However, before Bonnie's lips touched her skin, Emi's hand moved with lightning speed.
Emi grabbed Bonnie's waist with both hands and pulled the girl forward. Bonnie gasped loudly as her body was pulled from the desk until she fell astride, sitting across Emi's lap. The silk shirt Bonnie was wearing tucked up slightly, exposing her thighs that were in direct contact with Emi's dress pants.
"You..!" Bonnie protested, her eyes widening in shock at the sudden attack.
But her protest was silenced. Emi's right hand went up, grabbing Bonnie's neck very firmly, while her left hand wrapped possessively around the girl's waist, locking her movement. And without warning, Emi pulled Bonnie's face and kissed her roughly.
This was not a romantic kiss. This was a punishment. This was a form of brutal dominance.
Emi's lips devoured Bonnie's greedily, demanding, and full of anger. Their teeth clashed. Emi bit Bonnie's lower lip until the girl groaned, opening a gap that Emi immediately used to dominate the kiss completely. Emi's hand at Bonnie's neck gripped the girl's wavy hair, forcing her to look up, forcing her to accept every bit of dominance given.
Bonnie hit Emi's chest at first, trying to rebel. However, Emi's strength was unmatched. The scent of bergamot, the cold of the room, and the heat of the kiss slowly shattered Bonnie's sanity. Bonnie's hits weakened, turning into a desperate grip on Emi's white shirt. Bonnie's heart pounded so hard she felt her chest would explode. Her legs astride Emi's thighs tightened unconsciously.
Emi broke the kiss with a rough pull, leaving Bonnie's lips swollen, red, and wet. Both their breaths were shallow, hitting each other's faces in a room that had suddenly turned very hot.
Emi looked into Bonnie's eyes, which were now glazed and unfocused. The mature woman smirked coldly, a cruel smile of victory.
"You think you're in control of this game, little child?" Emi whispered right in front of Bonnie's lips, her voice husky yet deadly. Emi's thumb roughly wiped the saliva from the corner of Bonnie's lip. "You only sit on my desk because I allow it. You wear my clothes because I like it. Don't ever think you have control over me."
Emi lifted Bonnie's body from her lap easily, placing the girl whose legs had suddenly gone weak back on the floor. Emi stood up, straightened her slightly rumpled shirt, picked up her glasses, and looked Bonnie up and down.
"I have an important meeting. Don't make a mess while I'm gone," Emi said absolutely, then stepped out of the study, leaving Bonnie standing frozen with a heaving chest and a flushed face.
At that point, Bonnie's ego was severely wounded.
The passion she had just felt mixed with a sense of humiliation because she had been conquered so easily. Bonnie clenched her fists. She looked at Emi's neat desk, seeing the stack of documents she had just sat on. Anger, rebellion, and a desire to prove that she wasn't just Emi's toy exploded in her head.
You think you can belittle me and just leave? Bonnie thought. Her dark eyes scanned the study, looking for a way to destroy Emi Thasorn's arrogance.
A few hours later, the clock showed midnight when the private lift dinged open.
Emi stepped into her penthouse. She was tired. Her meeting had been very grueling. She massaged her temples, intending to go straight into the study to pick up the company merger documents she had to bring to court tomorrow morning. Those documents were the result of her work over the last six months, the only thing that would save her law firm from an internal crisis.
However, as she approached the hallway leading to her study, Emi stopped.
The air no longer smelled of sandalwood. There was a very pungent chemical smell, the smell of spray paint, thinner, and wet acrylic.
Emi's heart rate began to irregular. A bad feeling crawled into her chest. She quickened her pace, pushing her study door wide open.
The sight inside the room made Emi's blood freeze.
Her sacred monochromatic study had been destroyed. The glass wall behind her desk was sprayed with neon red and black paint, forming a giant abstract graffiti that covered the Bangkok city night view. The expensive Turkish carpet was splattered with paint.
However, what truly stopped Emi's breath was her desk.
Bonnie Pattraphus sat cross legged on the glass desk, her hands smeared with red paint. Below her, the vital merger documents, original documents with wet signatures, had been scribbled over. Bonnie was using the million dollar papers as a base for her color palette. Some pages were even torn and taped to the wall as part of the crazy "work of art" she had just made.
Bonnie turned when she heard the door open. She smiled wide, a very poisonous innocent smile.
"Hi, Emi," Bonnie greeted, wiping sweat from her forehead with her shirt sleeve. "You said this room was too boring earlier, right? I gave it a little color. How is it? Cool, right? Consider this my form of protest because you left me after kissing me earlier."
Bonnie chuckled, thinking this was part of their push and pull dynamic. She thought Emi would just snort, call the maid, and kiss her roughly again.
But there was no sound from Emi.
The room suddenly fell silent in the wrong way. Very wrong.
Bonnie stopped her laughter. She looked at Emi standing frozen in the doorway. Emi's posture was stiff. The woman's face was no longer cold or flat. It had darkened. Her jaw was clenched so tight the veins in her neck bulged. Emi's usually calm eyes now flashed with a very pure anger, an anger that burned yet was as cold as Antarctic ice.
Emi stepped forward slowly. Every click of her heels on the floor felt like a countdown to doomsday.
Seeing that expression, Bonnie's street courage suddenly collapsed completely. Her survival instinct screamed for her to run, but her body was frozen on the desk.
"E-Emi...?" Bonnie's voice trembled; for the first time since she had known this woman, she felt truly terrified. "W-why? Are you... are you mad? It's just paper.."
"Stand up."
One word. Spoken without a scream, yet it cut through the air like a butcher knife.
Bonnie swallowed hard. She slowly climbed down from the desk, her paint-covered hands shaking. "I... I can clean it-"
Slap!
A hard slap landed on Bonnie's left cheek. The sound echoed sharply in the large room. The force of the slap was so great that Bonnie's body stumbled sideways, her head hitting the edge of the bookshelf. Her ears rang heavily. The salty taste of blood immediately filled her mouth from her torn lip.
Bonnie held her stinging cheek, looking at Emi with wide, disbelieving eyes. Tears of shock began to pool. Emi had never laid a hand on her before.
Emi stood towering over her, her chest heaving rapidly. Her mask of calmness had shattered into pieces.
"You call yourself an artist?" Emi's voice hissed low, each syllable dripping venom. She pointed to the ruined documents on the desk with a trembling hand. "You think this is art?! This is my life! Six months, day and night I worked for this contract, and you destroyed it for your disgusting street ego?!"
"I-I didn't know it was important! Y-you're rich! You can just print it again!" Bonnie screamed defensively, though she knew she had made a fatal mistake.
"Those are the original documents with the board of directors' wet signatures, you idiot!" Emi barked, her voice finally exploding, vibrating the glass in the room. Emi grabbed both of Bonnie's shoulders, her nails digging hard into the girl's skin. She shook Bonnie's body roughly. "You are stupid, uneducated, and completely useless!"
Emi pushed Bonnie until the girl fell sitting on the paint sticky carpet. Emi looked down, her eyes radiating a disgust that broke Bonnie's heart worse than the slap earlier.
"I picked you up from the street because I thought you were something interesting. Something that could be tamed," Emi said, her voice now cold again, but full of deadly verbal poison. "But it turns out I was wrong. You are nothing more than street trash."
"Emi... I'm sorry... I swear I didn't know-" Bonnie sobbed, hugging her own knees. She tried to reach for the bottom of Emi's pants, but Emi brushed her off roughly as if Bonnie were a contagious disease.
"An artist?" Emi laughed discordantly, a laugh that pierced Bonnie's heart. Emi took one of Bonnie's canvases leaning against the wall, a canvas containing an abstract painting Bonnie had always been proud of.
With her bare hands, Emi tore the canvas in two.
"No!" Bonnie screamed hysterically.
Emi threw the torn pieces right in Bonnie's face. "You're not an artist, Bonnie Pattraphus. You're just a little child seeking attention by coloring walls because not a single person in the world cares about you. Your work is trash. Your existence is a parasite."
Those words hit Bonnie right at her most fragile point. Her ego, pride, and identity as a tough street kid were destroyed without a trace. Behind her insolent attitude for the past month, Bonnie had secretly begun to feel safe with Emi. She had begun to feel that maybe, Emi cared about her behind the woman's cold exterior.
But tonight, Emi stripped her bare, making Bonnie realize she was never valuable in the eyes of this high-class woman.
"And you know what the worst part is?" Emi crouched, level with Bonnie's tear stained and bloody face. Emi grabbed the girl's chin, forcing Bonnie to look into her eyes which were empty of mercy. "The worst part is, you don't even have a place to go home to other than under my feet. You live because of my mercy."
Emi released Bonnie's chin with a disgusted jerk, then stood up.
"Get out," Emi ordered absolutely.
Bonnie froze. Her breath hitched. Outside, thunder roared, signaling a massive storm hitting Bangkok. "E-Emi... please don't... it's a storm outside. I... where am I supposed to go?"
"I don't care where you go, I don't care which gutter you die in!" Emi barked, pointing toward the exit. "Get out of my house this instant! Take all your junk and never show your disgusting face to me again!"
"Emi, I beg you..." Bonnie crawled forward, holding Emi's shoe, her pride already shattered. She wailed. "I'm sorry... I'll do anything... I'll replace it-"
Emi pulled her foot back, then with a rough and angry motion, she grabbed Bonnie's arm. She dragged the tiny girl out of the study, through the spacious living room. Bonnie struggled, crying, her feet dragging on the marble floor, but Emi's strength was driven by blinding wrath.
Emi threw the penthouse door wide open. The quiet and cold apartment hallway yawned before them.
With one rough push, Emi threw Bonnie's body out the door. Bonnie sprawled on the hallway carpet. Her black silk shirt was dirty with paint and blood.
"Emi! Please open the door! I'm scared, Emi!" Bonnie screamed, crawling and banging on Emi's feet standing in the doorway.
Emi looked down for the last time. There was not a shred of regret in her eyes. "Just die on the street, Bonnie. The trash can is your natural habitat."
BAM!
The thick mahogany door was slammed shut very hard. The electronic lock made a sharp click.
In that quiet, soundproof hallway, Bonnie Pattraphus was left all alone. She banged on the wooden door with both hands, shouting, begging, and crying until her voice was raspy. But there was no answer. Only the silence of the hallway and the shadow of her shattered self.
With trembling hands and a broken heart, Bonnie finally stood up. She walked barefoot, wearing only a thin shirt, toward the lift. She went down to the lobby, piercing through the disgusted looks of the security guards, and stepped out of the luxury building.
The freezing night air and the stormy rain immediately snatched at her thin body. Bonnie walked aimlessly on the wet sidewalk, sobbing under the downpour. She realized one most painful thing: she had lost the only home she ever had, because of her own stupidity.
But Bonnie didn't know that her steps that night in the storm were steps toward a tragedy that would change her life and Emi Thasorn's life forever.
The storm lashed the Bangkok asphalt ferociously. Lightning struck, lighting up the flooded streets with a blinding white flash. In the midst of the raging weather, Bonnie Pattraphus walked aimlessly.
She was barefoot. Her bare soles stepped on sharp gravel and broken glass on the sidewalk, leaving thin trails of blood that were quickly washed away by the rain. Emi's oversized black silk shirt clung tightly to her shivering thin body, providing no warmth at all. Her long wavy hair was soaking wet, plastered to her pale face which was covered in blue bruises from Emi's hard slap.
However, the cold and physical pain were nothing compared to the gaping hole in her chest.
Emi's words kept spinning in her head like a broken tape played at maximum volume. Street trash. Parasite. Useless. No one cares about you.
Each word was a rusty knife tearing apart the remains of Bonnie's pride. All this time, she had built walls of arrogance, acting insolent and rebellious to protect her fragile heart. She thought behind Emi's ice cold exterior, the woman kept her because of a strange care. She thought she had a home.
In reality, she was just a toy immediately thrown in the trash when she damaged the master's property.
Bonnie's tears mixed with the rain. Her vision was blurry. She didn't know where she was walking. The neon lights from billboards and traffic lights in the distance looked like smudged watercolor sketches. Her exhausted brain and broken soul made her lose her vigilance.
She arrived at a wide six lane highway intersection. The pedestrian light turned red, telling her to stop. But Bonnie didn't see it. In her eyes, the world was just a dark void. No more canvas. No more home. No more Emi.
With a staggering step and a hollow gaze, Bonnie stepped down from the curb, crossing the slippery asphalt.
At the same time, from the right, a cargo truck sped through the curtain of rain, trying to catch the yellow light that had just turned red. Its giant tires hissed against the puddles, creating a curtain of water mist.
The driver only realized there was a figure in dark clothes walking in the middle of the road when they were only a dozen meters apart.
The deafening air horn split the night.
HOOOOONNK!
The driver slammed on the brakes as hard as possible. The dozen ton truck skidded; its giant tires shrieked as they scraped the asphalt, losing grip due to aquaplaning. The truck's body swerved wildly out of control.
Bonnie turned slowly. The very bright truck headlights blinded her eyes. She stood frozen in the middle of the road. In the split second before the impact occurred, there was no fear in her heart. No desire to avoid it. She just closed her eyes, welcoming that deadly light, hoping the pain in her heart would be destroyed along with her body.
CRAAAASH!!!
The sound of metal hitting flesh and bone echoed horribly in the storm.
Bonnie's fragile body was thrown into the air like a ragdoll with its strings cut, flung several meters away, then slammed into the windshield of a sedan that was stopped, before finally rolling and hitting the wet asphalt with a sickening thud.
The world suddenly went pitch black. No more rain. No more pain. Only an eternal silence.
Thirty minutes earlier, in the luxury penthouse that now felt like a graveyard.
Emi Thasorn stood frozen in the middle of her ruined study. Her breath was still shallow; her chest heaved behind her rumpled white shirt. Her eyes stared at the main door she had just slammed.
Her anger, which had burned like hellfire, was slowly starting to fade, leaving a residue of choking silence. She looked down at her own hands, the hands that had just slapped Bonnie's face with full force, the hands that had dragged the tiny girl and thrown her into the cold hallway. There was a slight smudge of red paint from Bonnie's shirt on her palm. It looked like blood.
Emi turned slowly, looking at the mess in her study. The ruined merger documents. The walls full of paint. And the torn pieces of Bonnie's canvas scattered on the floor.
Emi picked up one of the torn canvases. Suddenly, she realized something. The abstract image she had called "trash" earlier, when looked at closely, wasn't just random scribbles. It was a silhouette painting of a woman sitting with her back to the window... her own silhouette. Bonnie had painted her.
Emi's heart skipped a beat. She dropped the canvas. A feeling of extreme nausea suddenly hit her stomach.
What have I just done? Emi thought.
She had destroyed her company documents, yes. That could be fixed. The board's signatures could be requested again, though she'd have to swallow her pride tomorrow morning. But the words she had hurled at Bonnie... the insults... the look of pure terror and destruction in Bonnie's eyes as she begged at the door...
Emi ran out of her study toward the main door. Her hands shook as she turned the key and pulled the door wide open.
"Bonnie!" she called out, her voice echoing in the empty hallway.
There was no one. The hallway was silent.
Panic, an emotion that sang froid CEO had never felt in decades, began to crawl up her throat. Emi ran toward the lift, pressing the button repeatedly. She went down to the lobby. The security guard, shocked to see her disheveled appearance, immediately stood up.
"Has Miss Pattraphus... has the girl who lives with me just come down?!" Emi barked, her eyes wild.
"T-that's right, Khun Emi. About twenty minutes ago. She walked out crying. She wasn't even wearing sandals..." the guard stammered.
Emi didn't listen further. She ran through the lobby glass doors, directly facing the raging storm. She looked at the dark highway. There was no sign of Bonnie.
Just then, the phone in Emi's pocket vibrated violently.
Emi reached into her pocket with a hand that suddenly felt numb. Her phone screen showed a number from the Bangkok Central Police. With bated breath, Emi answered the call.
"Hello?" Emi's voice was barely audible.
"Is this the relative or guardian of the emergency contact? We found an old phone in the pocket of an accident victim that led to a final call to your law firm's number," a policeman's baritone voice sounded on the other end, accompanied by the noise of ambulance sirens.
"The victim is a young woman. Long wavy hair. Currently in critical condition due to a double impact with a truck and a car. She is wearing a black silk shirt with no ID..."
Emi's world collapsed that very second.
Her phone slid from her hand, hitting the sidewalk and its screen cracking. Emi's knees went weak; she almost collapsed if she hadn't immediately grabbed a concrete pillar of the apartment. Air felt like it was being forcibly pulled from her lungs.
No. No. No. This cannot be happening.
With what strength remained and a blinding panic, Emi ran to the basement, got into her Mercedes, and sped through the Bangkok streets like a madwoman. She ran dozens of red lights, ignored other vehicles' horns, her hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
All the way, the image of Bonnie's face crying at her feet haunted her mind. 'Just die on the street, Bonnie. The trash can is your natural habitat.' Her own curse echoed in her ears, torturing her alive.
Bangkok International Hospital felt like a hell made of white walls and the smell of antiseptic.
Emi ran through the Emergency Department hallway. She was soaking wet, her suit ruined, her always perfect hair now messy and plastered to her pale face. There was no longer Emi Thasorn the untouched CEO. There was only a woman whose soul was being slowly torn apart.
She found the surgeon who had just come out of the operating room, his green gown splattered with blood. Bonnie's blood.
"Where is she? Where is Bonnie?!" Emi grabbed the doctor's arm roughly, her eyes red. "I'll bear all the costs! Do anything, call the best specialists in the world, save her!"
The doctor gently released Emi's grip. His face was grim.
"Khun Emi, please calm down. Miss Pattraphus has just passed her first crisis point. We've stopped the bleeding in her brain, but..." The doctor sighed heavily. "The blunt trauma to her head was very severe. She is now in an induced coma to minimize brain swelling. We don't know when, or if, she will wake up."
Emi took a step back, shaking her head. "No... she's a strong street kid. She'll wake up. What about her body?"
The doctor's gaze turned to one of painful sympathy. "In addition to broken ribs and a shattered leg, when she was thrown, her right side hit the car's windshield at incredible speed. Her right collarbone was crushed, and glass shards penetrated so deep they severed the brachial plexus, the main nerve network controlling her right arm."
Emi's heart stopped. She remembered how Bonnie drew, how that right hand was full of paint just a few hours ago.
"What do you mean?" Emi whispered with a trembling voice.
"We reconnected what we could, Khun Emi. But the damage is absolute. The main nerves are dead. Even if Miss Pattraphus wakes from her coma... her right arm will be permanently paralyzed. She has lost motor function from her shoulder to her fingertips for life. I am very sorry."
That reality hit Emi harder than any physical blow. Emi's legs were no longer able to support her weight. The feared CEO of all Bangkok collapsed. She fell to her knees on the cold hospital hallway floor. Her left hand covered her mouth, trying to hold back a scream that tore at her throat, but a loud and desperate sob still escaped.
Burning tears of regret spilled out in a torrent. She had snatched away the most precious thing for Bonnie, her ability to paint, her ability to survive, her identity. Because of ego. Because of a moment's anger.
Emi hugged herself on the floor, mourning the bratty girl who had unknowingly become the center of her lonely world.
Three weeks later.
The VVIP ICU room was only filled with the constant sound of the heart rate monitor going
beep... beep... beep..
On the hospital bed, Bonnie lay still. Various tubes were attached to her body. Her head was heavily bandaged. Her body looked very thin and fragile. Beside her bed, Emi sat in a chair, clutching Bonnie's left hand with both of hers, pressing it to her own forehead.
Emi was almost unrecognizable. Her eye bags were dark and deep. Her shirt was rumpled. She had lost a drastic amount of weight. For three weeks, she hadn't set foot in the office. She let her assistant handle everything, refusing all meetings, ignoring the outside world. She never left Bonnie's side for a second, begging any god who would listen to return this girl to her.
Slowly, very slowly, the rhythm of the monitor machine changed.
Bonnie's eyelids flickered. Her long eyelashes moved, before finally those dark eyes opened. Her vision was blurry, adjusting to the bright neon lights.
Emi jumped in shock. She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw Bonnie's eyes open. Tears immediately pooled in Emi's eyes. She stood up hurriedly, nearly knocking over the chair she was sitting in.
"Bonnie? Bonnie, hey? Can you hear me?" Emi called with a trembling voice, caressing Bonnie's pale cheek. "Doctor! Call the doctor!" Emi shouted toward the door, then looked back at Bonnie. "I'm here. I'm here, Bonnie. You're safe."
Bonnie stared at the ceiling for a moment. The effect of the anesthesia still made her brain foggy. She turned slowly toward Emi. She saw the face of the woman who had kicked her out, the woman who had broken her heart. However, there was no anger in Bonnie's eyes. No insolent or defiant look like usual.
Bonnie's eyes were empty. Dead. As if there was no soul behind them.
Bonnie tried to move. A dull pain spread through her whole body. She tried to lift her right hand to touch the bandage on her head that felt itchy.
She commanded her brain to lift her hand.
But nothing happened.
Bonnie frowned. She tried again, sending all her focus to her right arm lying straight beside her body. The arm didn't move a single millimeter. Her fingers felt like blocks of ice that didn't belong to her. No sensation of touch. No muscle twitch. Total numbness.
Pure panic began to crawl into Bonnie's eyes. Her breath suddenly became very fast and short. The girl's chest heaved in panic. She looked at Emi with eyes wide with terror, then at her own right shoulder.
Emi immediately understood what was happening. Her heart broke into pieces seeing the girl's panic.
"Bonnie, please, don't force yourself. Listen to me-" Emi tried to hold Bonnie's left shoulder so she wouldn't move too much, her tears starting to wet her face.
But Bonnie wasn't listening. With what strength remained in her healthy left hand, Bonnie pulled back the hospital blanket covering her body. She saw her right arm wrapped in a support brace. The arm looked shrunken, lifeless, like a dead tree branch.
Reality hit Bonnie's brain. The accident. The tearing pain. The darkness. And now... her hand was gone.
Bonnie's mouth opened wide. She tried to scream, tried to shout as loud as possible to this unfair world, to the god who continued to torture her, to the woman in front of her who had snatched everything. She wanted to curse, to swear, to destroy this room.
But because the incubation tube that had only been removed a few days ago had damaged her vocal cords, no sound came out. Only empty air hissed from her throat.
It was the most deafening silent scream Emi had ever witnessed.
Bonnie gripped her own right thigh with her trembling left hand, tears flowing profusely from her eyes like a burst dam. She pounded her paralyzed right arm with her left hand repeatedly, trying to wake it up, as if those muscles were only sleeping.
"No! Bonnie, stop! You're hurting yourself!" Emi cried hysterically. She held Bonnie's left hand by force, then gathered the fragile body into her embrace very tightly.
Bonnie struggled in Emi's embrace. She fought, hitting Emi's back with her one left hand, crying silently with a pain that pierced her ribs. This was death for an artist. Her identity was obliterated. She was no longer Bonnie the rebel; she was now just a disabled vessel that was useless.
Emi hugged her even tighter, burying her face in Bonnie's neck, letting the girl hit her, scratch her back.
"Hit me... kill me, Bonnie, I deserve it. Forgive me... please forgive me..." Emi sobbed, her voice broken, filled with suffering equal to Bonnie's.
Slowly, Bonnie's strength gave out. Her hits weakened. Her body stopped struggling in Emi's embrace. Her crying turned into a hollow stare that pierced the wall in front of her. No more fire of resistance in her eyes. No more desire to live. The wild bird had truly died inside the cage, even though her heart still beat.
Emi hugged that empty shell, realizing that rebuilding the soul she had destroyed would take her a lifetime, and she was willing to pay it with every drop of blood she had.
Six months felt like a century inside the penthouse that had once been an arena of war between ego and passion. Now, the spacious room was merely a tomb for a dead soul.
Everything had changed. The elegant scent of sandalwood had been replaced by the smell of mild antiseptic and soothing essential oils. No more paint splashes on the walls. No more deafening loud music. And most painful for Emi, no more mocking laughter or provocative snaps from Bonnie Pattraphus.
The apartment was quiet. Silent.
In the living room, which had now been converted into a private rehab room with the best medical equipment, Bonnie sat in her wheelchair. The twenty four year old girl who once was so wild and radiated the fire of rebellion now looked like nothing more than a cracked porcelain doll.
Her long wavy hair was neatly combed, not by her own hand. She wore soft, expensive cotton pajamas. Her body was still very thin. And her right arm... that arm tucked lifelessly inside a sling around her neck. Its muscles were shrunken due to inevitable atrophy, a constant physical reminder of a dream that had been killed.
Bonnie was staring out the floor to ceiling window, watching the rain start to wet the glass. However, her eyes didn't see the beauty of Bangkok city. That look was empty, distant, as if her soul had long left her body and was lost somewhere in the darkness.
The private lift dinged open.
Emi Thasorn stepped in. She no longer wore an intimidating, stiff obsidian suit. She just wore loose dress pants and a linen shirt with sleeves haphazardly rolled up. Her beautiful face was no longer adorned with perfect makeup or an arrogant expression. Lines of exhaustion were clear under her eyes.
During these six months, Emi had handed over the baton of leadership of her law firm to her deputy. She only worked a few hours a day from home, canceled all social meetings, and isolated herself. All the rest of her life, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week was dedicated only to one thing: atoning for her sins against Bonnie.
Emi brought a tray with a hot porcelain bowl and a glass of water. She walked up to Bonnie. Her heels no longer sounded haughty, replaced by the silent steps of house slippers.
"Bonnie," Emi called with an extraordinarily soft voice, a voice she once would never have used for anyone.
No response. Bonnie didn't even blink while staring at the rain.
Emi pulled up a small chair and sat right in front of Bonnie. She placed the tray on the side table. Carefully, Emi touched Bonnie's knee. "Time for lunch, kiddo. I made the pumpkin cream soup you like."
Still no response.
This was the heartbreaking routine Emi went through every day. Bonnie refused to talk. The girl never cursed again, never complained. When the pain from her physical therapy was unbearable, Bonnie would only close her eyes and let her tears fall in silence. This silence was far more painful for Emi than thousands of insults or slaps.
Emi took the bowl. The hands that once signed million dollar contracts without hesitation now patiently scooped the soup and blew on it slowly so it wasn't too hot.
"Open your mouth a bit," Emi coaxed, bringing the spoon toward Bonnie's tightly closed lips.
Bonnie turned her face toward the window, refusing.
Emi's chest felt tight. This refusal, though it had happened hundreds of times, always managed to tear her heart. She knew Bonnie didn't hate her with an exploding anger; Bonnie just hated her own existence, and Emi was a constant reminder of what she had lost.
"Just a little, please," Emi's voice began to tremble. "Your body needs nutrition. You've lost a lot of weight this month."
Bonnie finally turned. She looked at Emi. The dark eyes that once burned with provocation were now as cold as ice. There was no anger, no hatred, only a terrifying void.
With her healthy left hand, Bonnie suddenly brushed the spoon in Emi's hand away.
The movement wasn't strong, but enough to make the spoon fly and its contents splash. The still quite hot cream soup hit Emi's linen shirt, dirtying her chest and arm.
Emi flinched slightly. However, the thirty something woman didn't get angry. She didn't even clean the hot stain on her shirt. She just placed the bowl back on the tray with trembling hands.
"Why didn't you just let me die on the street back then?"
That was the first sentence Bonnie had uttered in the last three weeks. Her voice was raspy from lack of use, flat, without intonation.
Emi froze. Those words were sharper than a surgical knife.
"Don't ever say that," Emi whispered, her eyes starting to redden. She knelt on the floor, positioning herself lower than Bonnie, something that was once the greatest taboo for the CEO's ego. Emi reached for Bonnie's left hand with both of hers, clutching it tight, as if trying to transfer her own remaining life into that fragile body. "You are very precious. Your life is more valuable than anything I own."
"Precious?" Bonnie's lips trembled, forming a pitiful crooked smile. She pulled her left hand from Emi's grip with disgust. Her left hand then pointed to her dead right arm in the sling. "Look at this. Does this look precious to you? You called me a parasite when I was still whole. Now... I can't eat by myself. I can't dress myself. I can't even paint a straight line."
Tears began to flow down Bonnie's cheeks, forming rivers on her pale face. "You're not atoning for your sins by taking care of me, Emi. You're just torturing a living corpse so you feel like you're not a monster."
Emi felt her heart crushed. The fact that Bonnie's guess was spot on destroyed all her defenses. She indeed was a monster. A monster who destroyed a bird's wings just because the bird tried to peck at her.
Emi couldn't hold it anymore. The wall of calmness and arrogance she had built for decades collapsed completely at the foot of Bonnie's wheelchair.
Emi bowed her head, hiding her face on Bonnie's blanket covered lap. Her crying broke. Not an elegant silent crying, but a loud, desperate sob full of soul-burning regret. The mature woman's body shook violently. She crumpled Bonnie's blanket as if her life depended on the fabric.
"I know... I know I'm a monster," Emi sobbed hysterically, her voice muffled by the blanket. "I know my words killed you that night. If I could cut off my own right hand and trade it for yours, I would do it this very second. I swear on my life, Bonnie. I would do it."
Bonnie fell silent. She looked down at the powerful woman now kneeling, crying and wailing like a child in her lap. This wasn't Emi's manipulation tactic like at the start of their acquaintance. Emi's regret was real, raw, and bleeding.
Emi looked up, her beautiful face a mess of tears and despair. "You can hate me. You can torture me with your silence until I die. Hit me every day. Insult me every moment. But please..." Emi reached for Bonnie's left hand again, kissing the back of that hand repeatedly and desperately. "Please, give me one chance to prove that I can be your hand. Let me love you in the middle of the destruction I made."
The word "love" escaped just like that. It was the most vulnerable confession Emi had ever made in her life. A love born from ego, destroyed by anger, and now growing on an ingrained sense of guilt.
Bonnie looked into Emi's reddened eyes. There, Bonnie saw her own reflection not as a disabled parasite, but as the main reason this woman was still breathing. Bonnie's frozen heart felt a fine crack. Emi had torn down everything she had for Bonnie. Emi had given up her throne just to kneel under her wheelchair.
Bonnie didn't answer that love confession. She couldn't yet. Her wound was too deep. Her hatred for her fate was too great. However, for the first time since the accident, Bonnie's left hand didn't brush Emi off.
With a very slow and trembling movement, Bonnie's left hand fingers moved. She didn't return Emi's grip, but she didn't pull her hand away. She let Emi continue to kiss the back of her hand, let the woman's tears wet her skin.
"The soup," Bonnie murmured softly, turning her face back toward the window. "The soup is starting to get cold."
Emi stopped her sobbing. She looked at Bonnie in disbelief, then at the bowl of soup still giving off thin steam on the tray.
A small spark of light, so small it was barely visible, pierced the darkness in Emi's heart. It wasn't a forgiveness. It was merely a permission for Emi to continue living and serving her. But for Emi, it was more than enough.
Emi immediately wiped her face roughly, trying to swallow the remains of her tears. She rose from the floor hurriedly, reaching for the bowl with hands that still shook.
"Yes. Yes, the soup," Emi said with a thin smile forced through her remaining tears. "I'll feed you now."
That afternoon, accompanied by the sound of rain hitting the window glass, Bonnie opened her mouth slowly, receiving scoop after scoop from the woman who had destroyed her yet become her only reason to stay in this world.
This was a bloody form of devotion. A relationship born from toxicity, now slowly trying to heal itself atop the shards of glass they made themselves.
A year and a half had passed since the stormy night that snatched everything away.
On the fiftieth floor, the penthouse no longer felt like a cold monochromatic museum, let alone a glass walled prison. The place had begun to breathe again, but with a completely different rhythm. Its walls were now decorated with warm colors. The white Turkish carpet that once couldn't be stained had been replaced by a thick, earth toned rug.
Morning sunlight pierced through the half-open curtain gap, highlighting the messy king size bed.
Emi Thasorn opened her eyes. The first thing she felt was a light weight on her chest. She looked down and smiled thinly a sincere smile that once didn't exist in her life's dictionary.
Bonnie Pattraphus was sound asleep in her embrace. The girl's face was buried in the crook of Emi's neck, her steady breath brushing against the former CEO's sensitive skin. Bonnie's long hair, was spread messily, covering part of her face. Emi lifted her right hand, extraordinarily gently brushing the hair away, gazing at the peaceful face of the woman who had now become the entire axis of her world.
Emi's gaze then dropped toward Bonnie's right arm. The arm lay limp on the mattress, powerless, with a surgical scar running from shoulder to elbow. That scar would never go away. Those dead nerves would never live again. However, instead of feeling disgust or mourning like before, Emi actually leaned down and kissed the scar with full care. A morning ritual she did to beg for forgiveness as well as thank Bonnie for still breathing by her side.
The warm touch of Emi's lips made Bonnie moan softly. Her eyelids opened slowly, revealing a pair of dark eyes that were once wild but now radiated a fragile calmness.
"Morning," Bonnie murmured with a raspy voice from sleep. She tried to shift her body a little closer, using her left hand to hug Emi's waist.
"Morning, kiddo," Emi whispered, kissing Bonnie's forehead for a long time. "Did you sleep well?"
Bonnie only nodded slowly. She looked at her right arm for a moment, a shadow of sadness passing through her eyes, but the shadow no longer drowned her as it had in the first six months post accident. She had learned to accept, even though the pain from that loss still often throbbed on quiet nights.
"I'll prepare breakfast. You want to shower now?" Emi asked, rising slowly from the bed.
Emi was now far different from the arrogant woman in the black suit. She only wore a loose white t-shirt and silk pajama pants. Her ambition to conquer the business world was buried deep. Now, she only worked from home as a consultant, giving up her CEO position to be with Bonnie twenty four hours a day.
"Give me a bath then," Bonnie requested, her tone sounding spoiled. Her "naughty" and insolent attitude had long gone, but the remains of her playfulness had slowly begun to return, replaced by a dependency now based on a sense of security, not despair.
Emi chuckled softly, a crisp and beautiful laugh. "Very well."
The bathing routine was done with full intimacy and care. Emi bathed Bonnie like caring for an invaluable work of art. She washed Bonnie's hair, soaped her back, and put clothes on her, inserting the paralyzed right arm into the shirt sleeve with very practiced movements. No awkwardness, no complaints. For Emi, serving Bonnie was an honor.
After breakfast had passed with Emi patiently cutting the sausage and bread on Bonnie's plate so the girl could eat using a fork in her left hand Emi suddenly stood up.
There was a nervous yet enthusiastic glint in Emi's eyes.
"Bonnie, there's something I want to show you," Emi said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a silk handkerchief. "But I have to cover your eyes."
Bonnie frowned, looking at Emi with a playful suspicion. "Are you up to something? Watch out if you're planning to throw me off the balcony."
"Goodness, you," Emi smiled fondly. She stepped behind Bonnie, who still sometimes used her wheelchair if her left knee was sore, though today she was sitting in a normal dining chair. Emi tied the handkerchief over Bonnie's eyes. "Trust me."
"Yeah, yeah, I trust you," Bonnie murmured. There was a pause for a moment before she added with a very soft voice, "I always trust you now."
Hearing that, Emi's heart warmed. Words as simple as that were the most expensive payment for all the blood tears she had shed over the last year and a half. Emi led Bonnie to her feet. She wrapped her arm around the girl's waist protectively, leading her down the penthouse's long hallway.
They stopped in front of a white double door that Emi had always kept locked.
"Where are we?" Bonnie asked, her healthy hand feeling the air. "Is this the empty room at the end?"
"Open your eyes," Emi whispered in Bonnie's ear as she released the handkerchief.
Bonnie blinked her eyes, adjusting to the light coming from the large window in the room. When her vision focused, her breath immediately hitched. Her body froze.
The empty room had been totally transformed. The walls were painted a warm cream. In the middle of the room stood a sturdy mahogany easel. Beside it was a long table filled with hundreds of tubes of acrylic paint, oils, various sized brushes, and palettes all arranged with a special design so they were easy to open and use with one hand.
The floor of the room was intentionally covered with thick vinyl that was easy to clean. In the corner of the room was a plush sofa with a blanket lying on it.
This was an art studio. An art studio far more luxurious and perfect than anything Bonnie had ever dreamed of when she was still a street wanderer.
"Emi..." Bonnie's voice shook violently. Tears immediately pooled in her eyes. She stepped back, shaking her head in panic. The trauma attacked her again. "No... I can't. Why did you make this? You know I can't paint anymore! My right hand is dead, Emi!"
Bonnie pointed to her right shoulder hysterically, her tears spilling. The heartache from her inability suddenly exploded. She turned, intending to run from the room that felt like a cruel mockery of her disability.
However, Emi quickly caught Bonnie's body and hugged her from behind. Emi leaned Bonnie's back against her chest, wrapping both arms to calm the trembling girl.
"Shh... calm down, kid. Listen to me," Emi whispered, burying her face in Bonnie's hair. "I'm not asking you to paint with your left hand. I know you have difficulty adapting with your left motor skills."
"Then what for?!" Bonnie sobbed, clutching Emi's arms wrapped around her stomach. "To remind me that I'm just a disabled artist?!"
"To paint with me," Emi answered softly yet with full conviction.
Emi turned Bonnie's body gently until they were facing each other. Emi cupped Bonnie's face, wiping the tears on the girl's cheeks with her thumbs. Emi's eyes radiated an extraordinary determination.
"Once, I destroyed everything with my own hands," Emi said, her voice slightly raspy holding back emotion. "Tonight, I want these hands to be yours."
Emi led Bonnie slowly toward the empty canvas that was still as white as snow. Emi pulled up a high stool and sat Bonnie there. Then, Emi stood right behind Bonnie, pressing so close there was no space between their bodies. Emi's warm breath was on Bonnie's neck.
Emi lifted her own right hand, a well-groomed and strong hand, then picked up a medium-sized brush.
"Hold my hand with your left hand, Bonnie," Emi whispered.
With trembling hands and a sob still caught in her throat, Bonnie raised her healthy left hand. She touched Emi's right wrist. Emi's skin felt warm and solid.
"You are the eyes, you are the soul," Emi instructed gently. "I am just your tool. I am your brush. Direct my hand, Bonnie. Apply pressure when you want thick color, pull slowly when you want a thin line. I will follow your every movement."
Bonnie swallowed. She looked at the blank canvas. Her heart was beating very fast. She hadn't touched paint since that ill-fated night. Hesitantly, Bonnie directed Emi's hand toward the palette. She applied a little pressure, telling Emi to dip the brush into a deep midnight blue paint.
Emi obeyed completely. The mature woman's hand moved light as a feather, only reacting to the pull and push from Bonnie's left hand.
Slowly, they brought the brush onto the canvas.
The first stroke was formed. A dark blue color curved on the white canvas. Bonnie's eyes widened. The stroke wasn't stiff. The stroke was exactly as she imagined in her head.
"Again," Emi whispered encouragingly, giving full physical control to Bonnie.
Bonnie sobbed, but this time it wasn't a sob of despair, but an exploding relief. She gripped Emi's hand tighter. She directed that hand to red, to gold, mixing them, then dancing on the canvas.
They painted together. Emi's body supported Bonnie's from behind. Every breath they exhaled was in the same rhythm. The intimacy of that moment transcended any physical touch; it was a union of two souls. Bonnie channeled all her emotions, her pain, her loss, and her love that grew from the ruins of destruction, through the hand of the woman she loved most.
Emi silently let her tears fall, wetting Bonnie's shirt shoulder. She felt Bonnie's passion and strength flowing through her hand. For the first time in Emi's always-controlled life, she felt very free because she surrendered all control to someone else.
Hours passed in a magical silence. Only the sound of brush strokes and their breathing remained.
When Bonnie finally released Emi's wrist, it was late afternoon. On the canvas, an extraordinarily beautiful and emotional abstract painting was depicted. A combination of a dark storm and a burst of golden light emerging from behind it. It was a representation of their story.
Bonnie covered her face with her left hand and cried out loud. A burden as heavy as thousands of tons that had been crushing her chest seemed to lift, evaporating into the air. She could paint again. Her dream wasn't dead; her dream had only evolved, lent strength by the woman behind her.
Emi placed the brush down, then turned Bonnie's chair. Emi knelt in front of her, looking at the girl with swollen eyes.
"You... you're crazy, Emi," Bonnie sobbed, cupping Emi's face with her left hand which was smeared with a little paint. She rubbed Emi's cheek, not caring if the paint stained the former CEO's clean white skin. "You're really crazy. Why are you doing all this for me? I'm disabled, Emi... I'm useless..."
"Stop saying that!" Emi held Bonnie's hand on her cheek, kissing that palm with full devotion. "You are the most perfect thing that ever graced my miserable life. I'm the one who was disabled, Bonnie. My heart was disabled before I met you. You gave me color. You gave me a reason to be human."
Bonnie looked into Emi's dark eyes. There was no longer the arrogant woman in the expensive suit who slapped her that night. What was in front of her was someone willing to destroy herself to build Bonnie back up.
"Emi..." Bonnie took a deep breath, swallowing the remains of her sobs. She looked down at Emi. "I remember... when you kicked me out that night. I hated you so much. I swore I wanted to see you ruined."
Emi bowed her head, the guilt again tearing at her heart. "I know. I deserve for you to hate me forever."
"But," Bonnie held Emi's chin, forcing the woman to look up into her eyes. Bonnie's voice now sounded mature, seasoned by suffering, yet sincere. "I also saw you ruined. I saw you crying at my feet. I saw you leave your company just to feed me. Emi... no one in the world cares for me as deep as that. Even my own parents left me."
Emi's tears spilled faster. She shook her head slowly. "I owe you my life, Bonnie."
"You don't owe anything anymore," Bonnie whispered. Her thumb gently rubbed Emi's trembling lips. "I forgive you, Emi. I've forgiven you for a long time. Since you kissed my surgical scar for the first time, I've forgiven you."
Those words were magic that broke the curse in Emi's heart. The forgiveness she once felt she would never get was spoken so sincerely by the victim of her own cruelty.
Emi rose from her kneeling position. With a movement full of passion yet incredibly gentle, Emi took Bonnie's neck and joined their lips.
The kiss was not like the forced kiss full of anger in the study a year ago. The kiss this time felt warm, intoxicating, and filled with deep gratitude. Bonnie returned the kiss, pulling Emi's shirt with her left hand, opening her mouth, letting Emi in and exploring every corner of her. They melded together, exchanging tears and breath, locking an unspoken promise that they would heal each other's remaining wounds.
Dusk enveloped Bangkok, sweeping shades of reddish orange across the sky.
On the spacious penthouse balcony, a cool evening breeze blew. Emi stood with her back against the glass railing, wearing a casual shirt. She held a glass of red wine, gazing peacefully toward the horizon.
Bonnie stepped out, no longer using a wheelchair. She walked a little staggeringly, a compensation from her leg nerves that had also suffered trauma, but she could walk by herself. She wore an oversized shirt, hiding her right arm sitting still inside the shirt pocket.
Bonnie approached Emi, then slipped her tiny body into the embrace of the taller woman. Emi smiled, immediately wrapping one arm around Bonnie's waist while her other hand placed the wine glass on the balcony table. Emi kissed the top of Bonnie's head.
"What's the painting going to be called?" Emi asked softly.
"Mmm..." Bonnie leaned her head on Emi's chest, listening to the woman's steady, calming heartbeat. "How about... Red Lines & Broken Glass? Because our relationship was as chaotic as the red light I ran and your car glass I destroyed."
Emi laughed softly. "That's a beautiful title. But the glass isn't broken anymore. We've put it back together."
Bonnie looked up, staring at Emi with the remains of her naughty look she was starting to show again a sign that her soul had healed.
"Really now?" Bonnie teased.
With her left hand, Bonnie reached up. She ruffled Emi's neatly straight hair. With a mischievous motion, Bonnie messed up Emi's hair until it was disheveled, just like her appearance at the beginning of their meeting.
Emi closed her eyes, letting those naughty hands ruin her perfect appearance. Once, she would have been furious if even one strand of her hair was out of place. But now? Emi opened her eyes, looking at Bonnie with a look of infinite love, not caring about her now messy hair.
"You're much prettier when you're messy like this," Bonnie chuckled, tiptoeing a little and quick kissing Emi's lips.
"And you are much stronger than anyone I've ever known," Emi replied, tightening her embrace, locking Bonnie in a warmth she would never let go of again.
On the balcony overlooking the majesty of Bangkok city, they stood. Two women brought together by tragedy, destroyed by ego, and saved by devotion. Bonnie's right arm might be forever paralyzed, but in Emi's embrace, Bonnie knew she would always be able to paint the rest of her life with the happiest colors.