Chapter 1 #2
It was hard to reconcile this crumpled figure on the ground with the man who, moments ago, had cursed my entire bloodline—spinning elaborate, vicious fantasies about how we should die.
I couldn’t summon even a shred of compassion for him as he curled into himself, arms shielding his head.
I’d forgotten my oath.
As a doctor, I was supposed to heal—to preserve life. Not stand there silently hoping someone would keep hurting him.
I’d felt like this once before.
When my attacker was hurt, truly hurt, I hadn’t felt joy. But I hadn’t felt sorrow either. I’d watched without emotion as the man was kicked and trampled, stripped of the arrogance he’d worn so easily.
He wasn’t so clever now. When it came to saving his own life, his creativity had run dry.
Then something bumped against my thigh—small and soft.
A little girl wrapped her arms around my waist, clinging to me as if I were the only solid thing left in the world. She repeated the same words the man on the ground had been saying, her tiny fists beating weakly against my back as she wiped her tears onto my already wrinkled black dress.
“Stop hitting,” she cried.
Siti reacted before I could. “What do you want, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
“Stop hitting,” the girl sobbed in English. “Stop hitting Daddy.”
“Where did she come from?” Siti called out—scanning the crowd but no one answered.
The back door of the yellow car stood open. She must have slipped out unnoticed while all of us were distracted by the spectacle unfolding on the pavement.
My chest constricted. “Can you stop?” I asked softly, shame prickling my skin. Part of me knew this chaos existed because of me.
The girl blamed me too. Her arms tightened around my waist, her little fists pounding against my back in uneven rhythm—as if each hit were meant to avenge her father.
My thoughts tangled. Loud noises always did this to me. I had my mother to thank for that.
She used to come home furious, calling my name like it was a curse, tearing into me over something trivial—an unmade bed, a misplaced book. If I spoke back, punishment followed.
Lincoln and Liam had never been fazed by my mother’s temper. By their teenage years, they joked that her hits barely scratched an itch. I had never found it funny.
“Stop hitting,” I blurted out. The words felt foreign, pulled from me by the girl’s sobs looping in my head. “Stop hitting him. Now.”
I tried to move toward Laura, but the child clung tighter, her small body anchoring me in place. Every attempt to pry her loose failed.
“No.” Laura’s answer was flat and final.
“No?” I stared at her.
“No.” She repeated it, louder this time.
“Why not?”
She stepped toward me instead, closing the distance I couldn’t cross. “I know this is hard for you,” Laura said, her expression softening just enough to be convincing. “Today is hard for everyone. But that man disrupted us. He threatened you. Your family. Everyone here heard him.”
“He didn’t mean it,” I said, the words tumbling out as I defended a man who had wished unspeakable things upon us.
“You don’t know that.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, her dark red lipstick giving weight to every syllable. “Can you guarantee he won’t come back tomorrow and kill us?”
A chill ran down my spine. Goosebumps rose along my arms. “Oh, come on.”
“What if he comes back and hurts your family,” Laura continued calmly, “I’m your family too, and that means he wants to hurt me. I won’t allow that. None of us will.”
“Please,” I said quietly. “Can we just let it go?”
“June.” She hesitated. “Ah-sou. This is our way. It has always been my family’s way.” Her gaze sharpened. “An eye for an eye. We can’t stand here and let someone curse us—especially not today. Not with all these people watching. This is when examples are made. This is when lines are drawn.”
Her voice lowered. Dangerous now. “Do you even know what he said? What he wished on you? Death. Rape. Gang rape. For you and your family. What kind of scum says that?” She held my stare, unblinking.
A sudden gust tore through the narrow street, sharp and violent, as if the sky itself had finally lost its patience.
The tall stands of white wreaths lining the entrance shuddered, ribbons snapping wildly before several toppled over, crashing onto the pavement in a tangle of flowers and bamboo frames.
Someone cried out. Another swore under their breath. People stepped back instinctively, clutching handbags, tugging children closer, their eyes darting upward as if expecting something worse to follow.
In this city, no one dismissed signs like that—not on a day like today—bad luck. A warning.
I stood frozen as petals scattered across the ground, white against black shoes, funeral silence breaking into uneasy murmurs. The little girl tightened her grip around my waist, her sobs turning sharper, more frantic.
The honking hadn’t stopped, but it had moved farther down the road. Outside the funeral home, everyone who could see what was happening fell silent. Heads lowered. Bodies stilled.
They waited with the practiced patience of people who understood that some matters were resolved only when the right people decided they were done.
“But that’s not an eye for an eye,” I said, my voice cutting through the stillness. “Nothing happened to me. To us. We’re safe, aren’t we?”
Laura scoffed softly. “That’s the problem with Hong Kong,” she replied. “People curse like words don’t matter. Like they don’t leave scars.”
She shrugged, as if my objection barely registered. Then her gaze dropped to my dress. “Can you not see that little brat is ruining my sister’s clothes?” she snapped.
Before I could react, two figures stepped in—one man, one woman, both dressed in black, their faces hidden behind dark glasses. They peeled the little girl off me with practiced efficiency.
She screamed as they pulled her away. “Stop hitting!”
Stop hitting. Stop. Please—stop. The words lodged in my chest like broken glass.
I knew that plea. I knew it in my bones.
It was the same one I’d whispered years ago. The same one that had never worked. No matter how hard I begged, no matter how small I made myself, the blows had always come anyway.
Heat surged through me—violent and sudden—rushing from my core to the base of my skull. My face burned so fiercely I thought I might combust.
“Enough.” I stepped in front of Laura, throwing up my arms in a sharp stop gesture, so close I nearly caught her on the nose.
The movement startled her. “Sorry?” she said coolly.
“Stop hitting him,” I said. “Now.”
Her lips curled. “What if I won’t?”
“It’s not up to you.” Each word steadied me.
“Excuse me?”
“If you respect me as your sister-in-law,” I continued, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it firm, “you’ll do as I say.”
“June—”
“You mean Ah-sou?” The title left my mouth slowly, deliberately. Then I added, quieter but sharper, “I don’t want to pull rank. But remember who you are. And remember who I am to you. It will always be Ah-sou. Your brother’s only wife.”
Silence slammed down between us.
Laura’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” she ground out. “But you’re breaking tradition. Our people need rules. Without them, we’re no better than street thugs.”
“She can break whatever she damn well wants.” The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried anyway—steady, familiar, final. Every head turned.
“Dannie.”