Chapter Text
Orm Sethratanapong was born into a world of privilege, a singular treasure to her parents who wielded power and influence in the industries. Her father, a self-made titan in the automotive sector, had built his company from the ground up, turning it into a household name. Her mother, equally formidable, was a member of the board of directors for a leading fashion agency, commanding respect in an industry where style dictated society's elite. Together, they provided Orm with a life of unparalleled luxury and endless opportunities, ensuring that their daughter would want for nothing.
From the moment Orm took her first steps, the world seemed to bend to her will. Whatever caught her attention—be it a toy, a designer outfit, or even an exotic pet—was hers without question. By the time she entered her teens, Orm had cultivated an aura of untouchable elegance and authority. She wasn’t just well-known; she was a force to be reckoned with, leading the influential social circles of Thailand like a queen presiding over her court.
Orm’s influence was magnetic. People gravitated toward her, hoping to bask in the glow of her status or gain access to her connections. She was selective in her affections, choosing her friends with the precision of a jeweler inspecting diamonds. Those she favored were elevated, their own social standing bolstered by her approval. Conversely, those who displeased her found themselves swiftly replaced, their presence in her life erased as easily as a name from a guest list.
The signature of “It Woman” followed her wherever she went. To befriend Orm was to gain a golden ticket to the upper elite of society. Her power extended across various social circles, from the fashion elite to business magnates, ensuring her place at the top was invincible.
Orm’s ambitions, however, were not born of necessity but of whim. One day, she decided she wanted to be a model, and with her mother’s connections and unwavering support, she achieved it effortlessly. Her striking beauty, charisma, and the undeniable influence of her family propelled her to the pinnacle of the industry. She became the top rising model of Asia, her face gracing the covers of prestigious magazines and her name drawing crowds to any event she attended. Agencies and brands competed for her attention, offering lucrative deals and grandiose projects, all of which she accepted or declined at her leisure.
All of that began to change the day Lingling Kwong entered her life. Lingling’s arrival was unanticipated, like a sudden storm disrupting a serene day. She didn’t follow the unspoken rules of Orm’s social circles. She wasn’t swayed by Orm’s status or intimidated by her influence. Instead, Lingling was resolutely herself, a grounded presence that seemed to defy everything Orm had come to expect from those around her.
Their paths crossed in a manner that felt almost fated, though Orm had never believed in such things.
*********
The bass of the music vibrated through the club, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the very heartbeat of the place. Orm Sethratanapong lounged on the velvet couch, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, a glass of champagne cradled in her hand. Around her, her circle of friends chatted and laughed, their voices blending into the symphony of partying. But Orm's attention was elsewhere. Her sharp eyes scanned the dance floor below, where a kaleidoscope of bodies moved in sync with the beat, a living, breathing tapestry of indulgence.
To any outsider, it was a typical night out for Orm and her elite circle. Yet, beneath her composed exterior, fury simmered. This wasn’t just another evening of casual fun. This club, their sanctuary from paparazzi and prying eyes, was in trouble. Orm, along with her friends Suzie and Sonya, had invested heavily in this establishment. It was meant to be an oasis for celebrities—a place where they could unwind without the relentless scrutiny of the media. But now, scandal threatened to unravel everything.
Reports had surfaced in the media, linking the club to drug dealing. Worse, some celebrities had been caught with drugs in their systems after leaving the premises. Orm’s reputation was at stake. Drugs, were a line she would never cross, nor would her family tolerate such associations. The whispers in the media threatened not just her personal brand but the credibility of her family name. She needed to act swiftly to find the source of the problem before it spiraled further out of control.
As Orm swirled her drink, Suzie leaned in, her perfume a delicate mix of vanilla and jasmine. “What’s on your mind, Orm?” she asked, her voice low but laced with curiosity.
Orm smirked, her practiced charm slipping into place. “Just wondering who I’ll take home tonight,” she replied, her gaze flicking to the group gathered near the bar.
Suzie laughed, a rich sound that blended seamlessly with the ambiance. Orm grinned and took a sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the crowd. Several men and women were stealing glances her way, their interest evident. Orm relished the attention, savoring the power of choosing who would be lucky enough to occupy her time tonight. But as she rose, ready to make her selection, her bodyguard approached, his expression serious enough to pull her back to reality.
“We found the drug dealer,” he whispered, leaning close to ensure no one else overheard.
Orm groaned inwardly, her mood immediately souring. “You just had to ruin my moment, didn’t you?” she muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “Go find Sonya or Suzie to deal with it.”
The bodyguard hesitated, his nervousness betraying the gravity of the situation. “They said to approach you,” he replied, his voice barely audible over the music.
Orm’s jaw tightened as her gaze shifted to her group. Sonya was perched on another woman’s lap, laughing drunkenly, while Suzie had seemingly vanished into the crowd. She exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Fine,” she huffed, setting her drink on the table. “Show me.”
Following the bodyguard, Orm navigated through the thrumming sea of dancers, her irritation mounting with each step. They made their way to a secluded corridor at the back of the club, far from the pulsating energy of the main floor. The air grew heavier, quieter, as they approached a private room. Orm’s heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor, each sound a punctuation to her growing frustration.
The bodyguard stopped in front of a door, nodding toward it. Orm squared her shoulders, her expression hardening into a mask of authority. As soon as Orm stepped into the room, the air seemed to thicken. Two of her guards held a figure pinned against the wall, their grip firm and unrelenting. The suspect's face was obscured by a hoodie, mask, and cap, rendering them unrecognizable. Orm took a slow breath, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assessed the scene.
"Show me his face," she commanded, her tone even but cold.
One of the guards immediately yanked off the hood, mask, and cap in a swift motion. Orm's lips parted slightly in surprise when the person revealed wasn’t a man, as she’d expected, but a woman. A decent-looking woman at that, her face framed by slightly disheveled dark hair, her expression a mixture of shame and resignation. The woman kept her head low, avoiding Orm's penetrating gaze, as though bracing herself for the worst.
"Well, this is a surprise," Orm murmured, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she casually perched herself on the edge of the table. She crossed one leg over the other, folding her arms as her eyes swept over the woman. Despite her restrained demeanor, the weight of her presence was palpable.
The woman didn’t struggle, nor did she try to justify herself. She just stood there, silent and still.
"Do you know who I am?" Orm asked, her voice smooth but laced with authority.
"No, no, I don’t," the woman replied, her voice quiet but steady.
For a brief moment, Orm’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise before she chuckled softly. "You don’t know me?" she repeated, almost incredulous. "You must be new to this world or dumb. I’m on billboards across Asia." Her voice carried a blend of amusement and ego.
She waved her hand, signaling the guards to release the woman. They complied, stepping back but remaining close, their posture tense. Orm leaned forward, taking the woman’s chin firmly between her fingers and tilting her face upward until their eyes met.
"What’s your name?" Orm asked, her gaze sharp and probing.
"Lingling Kwong," the woman answered, her tone even but tinged with nervousness.
"And why, Lingling Kwong, are you selling drugs in my club?" Orm’s grip on Lingling’s chin tightened slightly, her voice taking on a dangerous edge.
"I don’t own the drugs," Lingling replied quickly, her voice steady despite the pressure. "I’m just delivering them."
Orm released her with a scoff, leaning back slightly. "Just delivering, huh? And that’s supposed to make it better?"
Lingling straightened her posture, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "I just wanted the money. It was an easy deal. Come in, drop the drugs, and leave."
Orm’s laugh was dry and humorless. "Easy? You think selling drugs in my club is easy?" She turned to her guards. "We should call the police."
The guards nodded in unison, but Lingling’s composure broke. She stepped forward, desperation seeping into her voice. "No, wait... please! I didn’t mean any harm; it’s my first time. I couldn’t find another job, and I needed the money."
Orm’s lips curled into a smile, not one of warmth but of cold amusement. She thrived on moments like this, where people begged and bared their desperation before her. "How much were you paid for this little stunt?" she asked, her tone laced with mockery.
"A hundred bucks," Lingling admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Orm’s laugh this time was louder, more derisive. "A hundred bucks? That’s not even worth a year in prison. What a stupid mistake."
She turned on her heel, ready to leave, but Lingling’s voice stopped her. "I can give you the name of the drug addict."
Orm paused, glancing over her shoulder with an amused expression. "You think I care? The authorities will get it out of you soon enough."
Lingling’s voice grew more frantic. "Then what can I do? What can I do to ask for forgiveness? Please, don’t hand me over."
Orm stopped completely, the wheels in her mind turning. She loved seeing people at their most desperate, willing to do anything to save themselves. Slowly, she pivoted, walking back toward Lingling. "Forgiveness?" she mused, pretending to consider the idea. "Alright. Let’s hear it. Who were you delivering this to?"
"His name is Win," Lingling said without hesitation.
Orm’s brow arched in surprise. "Win? As in the actor?" A sly smile crossed her face. "Well, that does fit his profile."
Her amusement deepened as she reached into her clutch, pulling out a crisp $100 bill. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it at Lingling’s face. The bill fluttered to the ground, and Lingling bent to pick it up without hesitation.
"Consider this your severance," Orm said coolly. "You are never to set foot in this club again. If I hear about another drug deal connected to you, your face—caught on all our cameras—goes straight to the authorities."
Lingling clutched the bill tightly and nodded, backing toward the exit.
As she reached the door, Orm called after her, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, and Lingling? If drug dealing doesn’t work out, maybe consider prostitution. You’ve got the face and body for it."
Lingling froze for a split second before slipping out of the room. Orm watched her go, her amusement lingering as she turned back to her guards. "Clean up this mess," she ordered. "Remove Win and all his circle from the guest list."
*********
Orm was never particularly skilled at remembering faces. It wasn’t something she needed to bother with. People remembered her. They approached her with eager smiles, ready to impress, hoping for a moment of her attention. That was the natural order of things in her world.
Yet, in the middle of her photoshoot, something—or rather, someone—caught her eye. A figure stood across the street, handing out flyers to disinterested passersby. The way the person’s hands moved, the dark disheveled hair—it all seemed oddly familiar. Then the name echoed in her mind: Lingling Kwong.
A smirk curled at the corners of Orm’s lips. Lingling Kwong. She watched as Lingling, dressed in a plain white polo shirt, attempted to distribute flyers for a newly opened ice cream shop. The vibrant logo on the flyers clashed with Lingling’s downcast demeanor, making her look out of place amid the bustling street.
Orm couldn’t help but notice how people brushed past Lingling, some ignoring her entirely while others offered curt shakes of their heads. The heat was oppressive, and sweat glistened on Lingling’s brow as she pushed forward, trying to get someone—anyone—to take a flyer. Orm chuckled softly to herself. The struggle was almost pitiable, but she quickly turned her attention back to the camera.
She didn’t have time to concern herself with the poor. She was here to work—or, more accurately, to allow the world to admire her perfection.
The photoshoot stretched on for hours, the unforgiving sun beating down relentlessly. But Orm was, as always, cocooned in luxury. Assistants hovered around her like moths drawn to light, shielding her with wide umbrellas to block the harsh UV rays. Bottles of sparkling water, chilled to perfection, were handed to her at regular intervals. Handheld fans buzzed softly, ensuring not a single bead of sweat marred her flawless makeup.
A crowd had gathered, as they often did, drawn by her presence. Fans whispered excitedly, snapping pictures and jostling for a closer view of the enigmatic star. Orm thrived on the attention, basking in their adoration. She gave them just enough—a smile here, a wave there—to keep them hooked.
But her moment was disrupted.
A familiar voice pierced through the hum of the crowd. “Buy one, get one free! Offer valid for today only!”
Orm’s brow furrowed, her gaze snapping to the source of the interruption. There, weaving through her admirers, was Lingling Kwong. She held a stack of flyers in her hands, her voice louder now, more assertive as she tried to hand them to anyone who would listen.
For a moment, Orm just stared. Lingling’s presence was inappropriate, like a misplaced brushstroke on a masterpiece. The contrast between the glamorous chaos surrounding Orm and Lingling’s quiet struggle was almost comical.
Orm tilted her head, intrigued. Her lips twitched into a small smile as she thought, What a peculiar twist of fate.
But she didn’t approach—not yet. Instead, she leaned back into her carefully constructed world, pretending to ignore Lingling while keeping her in her peripheral vision. The woman’s persistence was oddly captivating, a stubborn resilience that refused to be drowned out by the indifference of the crowd.
It didn’t take long before another commotion caught Orm’s attention. The sharp tone of raised voices cut through the city’s usual hum, and Orm instinctively turned her gaze toward the source. Across the street, she spotted Lingling being manhandled by a man who dragged her to the front of the ice cream shop. The man, whom Orm assumed was the store owner, was red-faced and shouting, gesturing wildly at the untouched flyers clutched in Lingling’s hands.
Orm watched the scene unfold with a smirk tugging at her lips. Lingling’s shoulders were hunched, her face lowered in what seemed like an effort to shrink away from the verbal assault. The contrast was almost amusing. Poor girl, Orm thought, a flicker of amusement in her chest. Of course, no one’s paying attention to her. She’s no Orm Sethratanapong, who command attention; Lingling just hands out flyers no one wants.
As she leaned back into her chair, an idea began to form—a deliciously theatrical idea. Orm could already see the headlines. She would become the hero of this little drama, capturing not only the hearts of her fans but also the camera lenses of the paparazzi hovering nearby.
Grabbing a chilled bottle of water and a pristine, cool towel from her assistant, Orm rose gracefully from her seat. The buzz of the crowd around her heightened as her fans and onlookers realized she was making a move. Phones snapped to attention, and flashes began to erupt as she strode across the street with the confidence of a queen. The crowd parted for her as if compelled by some unseen force, their murmurs of admiration fueling her every step.
By the time she reached the ice cream shop, the manager had paused mid-rant, his anger giving way to stunned disbelief as Orm’s radiant presence silenced him.
“Here,” Orm said, her voice dripping with honeyed kindness, “have some water. You’ve been working so hard.”
Her tone was laced with false sweetness as she extended the bottle to Lingling. Without waiting for a response, she unfurled the towel and gently dabbed it against Lingling’s flushed, sweat-streaked face. Cameras clicked furiously. Orm could practically hear the adoring headlines being written.
Lingling’s wide eyes lifted to meet hers, suspicion flickering in their depths. But before Lingling could protest, Orm smiled again, dazzling and confident. “You’ve been tirelessly handing out flyers,” she continued, making sure her voice carried enough for the nearby crowd to hear. “I’d love to try some ice cream myself.”
The manager, now beaming with opportunistic glee, jumped at the chance to serve her. “Of course, ma’am! Let me get you our best flavor!” he said, scurrying into the store.
Lingling remained still, her body tense, though her gaze had shifted into something contemplative. Orm kept up her act, dabbing at Lingling’s face with exaggerated gentleness until a small, hesitant hand came up to stop her. Lingling’s fingers lightly brushed Orm’s wrist.
“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?” Orm gasped, feigning surprise with wide eyes.
“It’s fine,” Lingling mumbled, her voice barely audible over the crowd. She glanced uneasily at the sea of onlookers, their phones still raised, recording every moment.
Moments later, the manager returned, holding a perfectly scooped cone of ice cream. Orm accepted it with a practiced, gracious smile, thanking him with just the right amount of charm. She brought the cone to her lips and took a deliberate, slow lick.
The cameras flashed brighter, capturing her expression as she closed her eyes and let out a soft, dramatic moan. “This is absolutely delicious,” she said, her voice lilting with exaggerated delight.
The effect was immediate. The crowd erupted in excitement, their murmurs turning to shouts of, “I want to try some too!” A line began to form outside the shop as people demanded for a taste of whatever Orm was having.
The manager practically glowed with satisfaction, his earlier frustration with Lingling completely forgotten. Orm leaned closer to Lingling one last time, slipping a crisp $100 bill into the pocket of her worn shirt.
“Keep the change,” Orm said with a wink before turning on her heel and striding away, her heels clicking decisively against the pavement. The crowd parted for her once again, trailing her with admiring gazes as she disappeared from view.
The moment she was out of sight, Orm glanced at the ice cream cone in her hand with disdain. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into a nearby garbage bin without so much as a second thought.
Mission accomplished. Orm smirked to herself, the sweet taste of public adoration lingering far longer than the ice cream ever could have.
*********
Orm never believed in fate. To her, life was a series of choices and opportunities, meticulously orchestrated by ambition and timing. Coincidences were rare, and serendipity was for fools who needed something to blame or praise for their own mediocrity. Yet, when she bumped into Lingling Kwong for the third time in a week, even Orm had to admit the universe had a peculiar sense of humor.
It was past midnight, and the city glimmered under the hazy glow of streetlights. Orm had just left an extravagant party in the heart of downtown. Her cheeks were flushed, courtesy of the champagne, and her heels clicked sharply against the asphalt as she sauntered toward her sleek black car. She was tipsy, a little bored, and undeniably horny. The party had been a letdown—a room full of people eager to impress her, but none capable of captivating her.
Her driver, ever efficient, apologized as he pulled into a nearby gas station to refuel. Orm leaned back in the plush leather seat, contemplating her options. She could bring someone home to quell the ache of loneliness, but none of the faces from the party appealed to her. They’d leave her feeling colder than she already felt. She sighed, resigning herself to a solitary night. She could please herself.
As she stared out the tinted window, her attention snagged on a familiar figure standing under the glow of the gas station’s fluorescent lights. There was Lingling Kwong, clutching a large car wash sign like it was both a shield and a burden. Her hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, and her clothes, though clean, bore the unmistakable wear of someone who couldn’t afford replacements.
Orm’s lips curled into a disbelieving smirk. “What are the odds?” she muttered to herself.
Stepping out of the car, she adjusted her dress and strode across the lot, her heels echoing with each step. Lingling, absorbed in her task, didn’t notice her until Orm was only a few feet away.
“Well, if it isn’t the queen of odd jobs,” Orm drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “Drug dealer, ice cream peddler, and now...car wash promoter?”
Lingling froze at the familiar voice, then sighed heavily as she turned her head slightly. “What do you want?” she asked, her tone weary but not surprised.
Orm ignored the question. “How many jobs are you working now?”
“Just this one,” Lingling replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the ground. “Got fired from the others.”
Orm feigned surprise, placing a manicured hand on her chest. “Fired? But I brought you so much business at the ice cream shop. You should’ve been employee of the month!”
Lingling scoffed but didn’t look at her. “The manager didn’t agree. Apparently, I wasn’t ‘proactive’ enough.”
Orm tilted her head, the smirk on her face widening. She took a slow step closer. “Why won’t you look at me when I’m talking to you?”
“I’m working,” Lingling said through gritted teeth. “I can’t afford to get fired again.”
At that, Lingling finally turned to face her. For a brief moment, Orm was caught off guard. The flickering light of the gas station illuminated Lingling’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the defiant glint in her tired eyes. She wasn’t just pretty—she was striking in a way that lingered, a contrast to the polished perfection Orm was used to.
Orm’s gaze drifted, unbidden, tracing the lines of Lingling’s jaw, the curve of her neck, and the way her worn t-shirt clung to her lean frame. Thoughts she wasn’t expecting crept into her mind, and she quickly shoved them aside.
Her reverie was interrupted by a voice behind her. “Ma’am, is she bothering you?”
Orm turned to see an older man, stout and balding, wearing a grease-stained shirt. He must’ve been Lingling’s boss.
Before Lingling could answer, Orm cut in, her voice light but pointed. “Yes, actually. She was pestering me about a car wash promotion.”
Lingling’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.
The man’s face turned crimson as he turned to Orm. “Miss. Sethratanapong, I deeply apologize! Please allow me to make it up to you. How about a free car wash and a coffee while you wait?”
Orm sighed, feigning reluctance as she examined her manicured nails. “I suppose I can forgive her. I’m a very forgiving person.”
“Thank you, Ms. Sethratanapong. You’re so gracious.” He turned to Lingling, his tone harsh. “As for you, you’re fired. Pack up and leave.”
Lingling stood there for a moment, her face a mask of controlled anger and disbelief. She set the car wash sign down carefully, then walked away, her shoulders hunched but her steps steady.
Orm watched her retreat, a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt twisting in her chest. She hadn’t intended for Lingling to lose her job, but the scene had played out too perfectly to resist.
The man beside her pulled out a notepad and pen. “Would you mind signing this for my granddaughter? She’s a huge fan.”
Orm obliged, scribbling her name with a flourish. But as she handed the pad back, her gaze drifted once more to Lingling, now disappearing into the night.
The soft hum of the car engine filled the silence as Orm leaned her head back against the leather headrest. The night hadn’t gone as she’d hoped, leaving her in a state of restless frustration. The dim city lights flickered outside the tinted windows, blurring into streaks as the car sped through the empty streets.
Her driver was steady and efficient, as always, guiding the car smoothly toward its destination. But just as they were passing a dimly lit stretch of road, a figure caught her eye. It was fleeting at first—a silhouette illuminated by the harsh glow of a streetlamp—but enough to stir something in her.
“Slow down,” Orm instructed sharply, leaning forward.
The driver hesitated briefly before complying, easing the car to match the pace of the pedestrian. Orm rolled down the window, her smirk returning as the cool night air brushed against her face. She knew exactly who it was.
“Working late again, Ms. Kwong?” Orm called out, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and condescension.
Lingling didn’t stop walking but turned her head slightly, her expression shadowed but unmistakably irritated. “What do you want?”
Orm ignored the question, her gaze tracing the weary slump of Lingling’s shoulders. “How much was he paying you?”
Lingling scoffed, her pace faltering slightly. “Why? So you can throw another hundred-dollar bill at me and feel like a saint?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, cutting through the night like a blade.
Orm chuckled, genuinely amused. The woman had a sharp tongue—something Orm found oddly amusing. “I see you’ve got some bite. I like that,” Orm said, tilting her head. “But no, I have something a little more... interesting in mind. A proper offer.”
Lingling stopped walking, her worn sneakers scraping against the pavement as she turned to face the car. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but there was also curiosity there. “What kind of offer?”
Orm leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the edge of the window. “Five hundred dollars,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue as if the amount were a trivial afterthought. “How does that sound?”
Lingling raised an eyebrow, her expression guarded. “For what, exactly?”
The corners of Orm’s mouth curled upward, her smirk widening into something that resembled a Cheshire cat. She could see the calculation in Lingling’s eyes, the flicker of hesitation as she weighed the offer. For Orm, five hundred dollars was nothing more than pocket change—a sum that she wouldn’t even notice missing. But to Lingling, it clearly wasn’t.
“Spend the night with me,” Orm said, her voice smooth and deliberate.
The statement hung in the air, thick with implication. Lingling’s eyes widened momentarily, and Orm caught the faintest flicker of shock on her face before it was replaced by a tight-lipped expression of disbelief.
“What?” Lingling’s voice was sharp, tinged with indignation. “I’m not a prostitute.”
Orm laughed lightly, as if the accusation was nothing more than an amusing misunderstanding. “Fine—how about a thousand dollars?”
Lingling’s confusion deepened, her brows knitting together. Orm recognized the look. It was the same one she’d seen countless times before, the one that revealed a person’s inner conflict between pride and desperation. A thousand dollars was a significant amount, especially for someone struggling as visibly as Lingling.
The silence between them stretched, each second punctuated by the faint hum of the car engine. Orm could almost see the gears turning in Lingling’s head, the weight of her circumstances pressing against her better judgment.
Finally, a low, barely audible, “Okay,” broke the tension.
Orm’s grin widened, satisfaction glinting in her eyes. She leaned back in her seat, the picture of casual triumph. “Good,” she said simply, her tone commanding but nonchalant. “Get in the car.”
Lingling hesitated, her hand hovering near the door handle. For a brief moment, Orm thought she might change her mind, but then the door opened, and Lingling slid into the seat beside her.