Chapter Text
“P’Ling, come on! We’ll be quick, I promise!” Bonnie whined, clinging to Lingling’s arm like her life depended on it.
Lingling shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“Bonbon, I told you already—no. I need to finish this,” she said, nodding toward the men tied up in ropes.
“I can help you! I’ll kill them myself if you want—just come with me, please!” Bonnie chirped, as if she were offering to grab groceries instead of committing murder.
The captives shuddered, eyes widening. Who even said those things that casually?
“Goodness, Bonnie,” Lingling sighed. “I told you—I’m busy. I’ll go with you next time.”
Bonnie huffed, crossing her arms and pushing out her lower lip in a dramatic pout, the picture of a spoiled child who couldn’t comprehend the word no.
“Fine! I’ll ask P’Namtan then.”
Lingling rolled her eyes. “Did you forget about her stupid dating show? She’s locked in there.”
Bonnie groaned, just as a speck of blood from one of the captives splashed onto her white jeans. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she didn’t care.
“P’Milk then!” The younger suggested, shrugging. A little rejection, and Bonnie would throw a full-blown tantrum—exactly the kind of distraction that would terrify these poor men.
“She’s in Paris for a business venture, so…” Lingling muttered.
Bonnie threw her hands up dramatically. “You guys don’t love me anymore!”
She slapped the nearest man on the shoulder and kicked her way past the rest on her way toward the exit, leaving a trail of chaos behind her.
“Your sister is such a drama queen,” Ying muttered, shaking her head.
“Geez,” Bonnie said, storming into her room to get changed. She knew she acted like a spoiled child sometimes, but really—it was their fault. They had raised her to be this way.
Once alone, Bonnie’s mood shifted slightly as she approached her workstation. Her laptop hummed quietly, multiple screens already open with lines of code, camera feeds, and schematics of the warehouse. Even in her tantrum, she couldn’t help but admire her own handiwork. Every camera, every door sensor, every motion detector was under her control. She had set them up herself—just in case.
“Perfect,” she muttered, eyes scanning her setup. She adjusted a few feeds, fingers flying over the keyboard with the kind of precision that made her feel alive. Bonnie thrived on control. Chaos outside? Fine. But in her digital domain, she was untouchable.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her P’Ling lit up the screen.
Don’t forget the task I told you to do.
Bonnie rolled her eyes so hard it hurt, her pout deepening. Without thinking, she sent a lazy thumbs-up emoji—peak sulking energy, loud and dramatic.
But the moment the message delivered, her expression shifted.
The childish frustration melted away. Her spine straightened; her eyes sharpened with a clarity that didn’t belong to the girl who’d been whining just minutes ago.
Bonnie—Lotus’ pampered princess, and also its quiet storm—typed another message beneath the emoji: Already handled. I’ll update you in an hour.
Control.
She thrived on it.
Order, predictability—systems she could understand, optimize, perfect.
But people…people were messy. Unreadable. Irrational.
Her gaze drifted to the monitors flickering across the wall, each one capturing a different angle of the men tied up in ropes. A faint twinge of unease crawled down her spine. They weren’t lines of code she could debug. They weren’t numbers in a neatly managed system.
They thrashed. Flinched. Breathed.
Unpredictable variables.
Bonnie’s fingers hovered over the emergency override, her expression unreadable.
Just in case.
Because spoiled or not, dramatic or not—she never left anything to chance.
Bonnie fired off another text to Lingling, informing her that the task was done and that she was heading out. She made sure her sulkiness bled into every word, because if she had to suffer, her sisters could at least know about it.
Satisfied, she tossed her phone aside, grabbed the keys to one of her favorite cars, and slipped behind the wheel.
If her sisters were too busy interrogating tied-up idiots to spend time with her, then fine. She’d comfort herself the only way she knew how.
She drove toward her favorite place—her sanctuary since childhood, the one constant in her unpredictable world.
The ice cream parlor.
“Oh, Nini? You’re here again?” a small voice piped up as tiny fingers tugged on Bonnie’s pant leg.
Bonnie immediately crouched down, eyes brightening as she met the child’s gaze.
“Well, you’re here again too, no?” she teased gently, fixing the crooked hair clip before booping the girl’s nose.
Kiran giggled. “Got me!”
“So, want another scoop? Or has the sugar taken over your entire body already?” Bonnie asked, glancing toward the nanny for permission.
Bonnie didn’t even need words—just her devastating puppy-dog eyes. The nanny sighed and nodded, resigned.
“Who wouldn’t want more ice cream?!” Kiran cheered.
Bonnie laughed, scooping her up with ease as they headed for the counter.
Kiran was four—too sharp for her age and too adorable for her own good. Bonnie had met her here months ago, back when Kiran was crying over a dropped cone and Bonnie (who hated crying children more than she hated system errors) bought her a new one. They bonded instantly… mainly because Kiran’s hyperfixations matched hers.
“Chocolate?” Bonnie asked as they joined the line.
“You got it, Nini!” Kiran replied with a tiny salute, making Bonnie snort out a laugh.
For a fleeting moment, she imagined this. A small hand in hers. A favorite spot shared every week. A life uncomplicated by blood, betrayal, and syndicate politics.
She used to dream about having a family—before she understood what kind of world she lived in.
She loves her sisters. Loves the Lotus. Loves her work.
But she could never drag a child into that life. Not when danger followed her like a shadow.
“Two scoops of chocolate, and three scoops of the non-dairy vanilla,” Bonnie ordered. She pulled out her card, tapping it on the reader with an absent hum.
They claimed their usual table, a cozy corner booth. Kiran swung her legs happily as she devoured her ice cream. Bonnie watched with a fond smile tugging at her lips.
“Hey, Nini?” Kiran asked between bites. “How come you’ve never met my momma?”
Bonnie blinked. “I don’t know. How come?”
“She’s busy! My momma is the coolest! She saves lives every day—she’s a real hero!” Kiran declared proudly, eyes sparkling.
Bonnie’s heart sank just a little. She forced a smile, soft but tinged with something hollow.
How would Kiran look at her if she knew the truth?
That her sweet ice-cream-friend lived a life opposite of her mother’s?
One woman saved lives.
The other took them.
And sitting across from the innocent child she adored, Bonnie felt the weight of that contrast more than ever.