Until We Stop Pretending (A LingOrm AU)

Chapter 1 - The Woman I Cant Stand

There were three things Orm Kornnaphat hated about Monday mornings.

The first was traffic.

The second was coffee that tasted like someone had whispered the word coffee over hot water and called it a beverage.

The third was being late.

Unfortunately, on this particular Monday morning, she had managed to experience all three before eight-thirty, which felt less like an unfortunate coincidence and more like the universe had personally decided that she needed to suffer.

She hurried through the revolving glass doors of Veyra Creative with her laptop bag pressed against her side, one hand gripping a paper cup of coffee that had already betrayed her twice, while her shoes clicked impatiently against the polished marble floor.

The lobby was already alive with the familiar chaos of a Monday morning.

Employees moved toward the elevators with phones pressed to their ears, assistants carried folders against their chests, someone was arguing quietly with the receptionist about a meeting room, and the large digital screen behind the front desk cycled through images from Veyra's latest campaigns.

Orm slowed for half a second beneath the enormous brass letters spelling VEYRA CREATIVE, staring at the company name as though it might somehow reassure her that she belonged there.

It didn't.

After six days of working inside the building, she still felt like someone might walk up to her at any moment, tap her shoulder, and tell her there had been a mistake.

She reminded herself that there hadn't been one.

She had earned this position after three interviews, two presentations, a portfolio review that had lasted almost two hours, and one final interview that she would rather forget for the rest of her life.

That final interview had been conducted by one person.

Lingling Kwong.

Executive Director.

Creative strategist.

The woman whose name appeared beneath some of Veyra's most successful campaigns.

The woman whose reputation preceded her by several kilometers.

Lingling had a reputation for being brilliant, demanding, and almost impossible to impress.

Senior executives had apparently walked out of her office looking as though they had just survived an interrogation, while junior employees spoke about her with the cautious respect people usually reserved for difficult professors and unpredictable weather.

None of that would have mattered if Ling had simply been intimidating.

Unfortunately, she was also composed, elegant, and annoyingly difficult to read.

That made her worse.

Orm's first meeting with her had not gone particularly well.

She had walked into the interview room expecting a panel of three people and had instead found Ling sitting alone at the end of a long table, dressed in a black suit and reading through her portfolio with such concentration that Orm had spent the first thirty seconds wondering whether she had

actually been noticed.

When Ling finally looked up, her first question had been, "Why do you think this campaign works?"

Not, What do you like about it?

Not, Tell me about your creative process.

Why did it work?

Orm had answered.

Then Ling had asked another question.

And another.

And another.

By the time Orm walked out of the building, she had questioned every creative decision she had ever made and wondered whether she should immediately change careers. Two days later, Veyra offered her the position.

Orm still wasn't sure whether that had been a victory or a warning.

She glanced at her phone.

8:47 a.m.

Her stomach dropped.

"Oh, I'm dead."

Her presentation was scheduled for nine. Bow, her team leader, had specifically told everyone to be inside Conference Room Three by 8:45, and Bow had been very clear about one thing.

"Don't be late."

Orm had nodded confidently at the time.

Apparently, the universe had other plans.

She hurried toward the elevators, pressing the button repeatedly even though she knew perfectly well that doing so wouldn't make the elevator arrive any faster. When the doors finally opened, she slipped inside and leaned against the wall with a breathless sigh.

For approximately three seconds, she had peace.

Then a calm voice came from outside.

"Hold the door, please."

Orm looked up.

Her stomach dropped.

Lingling Kwong stepped toward the elevator.

Of course.

Of all the mornings, all the elevators, and all the possible people she could have encountered before an important presentation, it had to be Ling.

Orm immediately pressed the open-door button.

Ling stepped inside with the same effortless composure she seemed to carry everywhere. She wore a charcoal-gray suit over an ivory blouse, her dark hair falling neatly over one shoulder, and carried only a slim tablet beneath one arm.

She didn't look rushed.

She never looked rushed.

That was one of the things Orm found irritating about her.

The world could have been collapsing around Ling and she would probably pause to straighten a cuff before acknowledging the disaster.

"Good morning," Ling said.

"Morning."

Orm stared very deliberately at the elevator numbers.

The doors closed.

Silence settled between them.

Orm became painfully aware of everything—the coffee dripping over her fingers, the laptop bag digging into her shoulder, the loose strand of hair that had probably escaped from her ponytail,

and the fact that Ling was standing close enough for Orm to see her reflection in the polished elevator doors.

She told herself not to look.

Naturally, she looked.

Ling was already watching her through the reflection.

Their eyes met.

Orm immediately turned back toward the elevator panel.

"You look worried," Ling said.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm just late."

"You're eight minutes late."

Orm turned toward her.

"Thank you. I can read a clock."

Ling raised one eyebrow.

Orm immediately regretted speaking.

"I was only pointing it out."

"Well, you've successfully pointed it out."

The faintest hint of amusement appeared in Ling's eyes.

Orm hated that look.

She hated even more that she couldn't tell whether Ling was making fun of her.

Then Ling glanced downward.

"Your coffee is leaking."

Orm followed her gaze.

A thin stream of coffee had escaped beneath the lid and was running directly over her hand.

"Oh."

She stared at it in horror.

Before she could figure out what to do, Ling reached inside her jacket and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief.

She held it toward Orm.

Orm hesitated before accepting it.

"You carry a handkerchief?"

Ling looked at her.

"Apparently."

Orm took it and quickly wiped her fingers, noticing the tiny embroidered letter in one corner.

L.

"Thank you."

The elevator reached their floor.

The doors opened.

Ling stepped out, walking several paces before stopping.

Without turning around, she said, "Conference Room Three."

Orm blinked.

"I know."

"Good."

Ling continued walking.

Orm watched her disappear around the corner before looking down at the handkerchief in her hand.

She sighed.

"Now I owe the scary woman a handkerchief."

?

By the time Orm entered Conference Room Three, everyone was already seated.

Bow looked up from her laptop the moment Orm slipped through the door, and the expression on her face was enough to tell Orm that an explanation would be required later.

Orm mouthed, Sorry, and Bow pointed toward an empty chair with the resigned expression of someone who had already decided to lecture her after the meeting.

Orm hurried over, placed her laptop on the table, and tried to look as though she had been there all morning. Unfortunately, the small coffee stain on her sleeve and the slightly disheveled state of her hair made the attempt considerably less convincing.

The client meeting began at nine exactly.

For the next forty minutes, Orm forgot about Ling.

Mostly.

The campaign they were presenting was a major opportunity for Veyra, a new lifestyle brand hoping to establish itself across Southeast Asia.

The client wanted something sophisticated without feeling distant, luxurious without appearing unattainable, and modern without becoming another forgettable advertisement that disappeared from social media within a week.

Orm had spent most of the weekend working on the concept.

She believed in it.

That was why her palms were sweating.

She stood at the front of the room and clicked to the first slide.

A photograph appeared on the screen behind her, showing an ordinary woman standing beside a large window while soft morning light spilled across her face.

"People don't buy a lifestyle because it's perfect," Orm began. "They buy the feeling that their life could become something more."

Her voice was slightly shaky at first, but she steadied herself.

"Our concept is built around a simple idea. Luxury isn't necessarily about having more. Sometimes, it's about noticing more."

The next image appeared.

A cup of coffee beside a book.

A pair of shoes waiting beside a doorway.

A handwritten note tucked beneath a plate.

Someone standing at a train station waiting for another person.

Small moments.

Ordinary moments.

Moments that most people would normally overlook.

Orm continued explaining the campaign, and with every slide, her confidence returned. She spoke about emotional storytelling, audience connection, visual identity, social media engagement, and the importance of making the brand feel like something people could experience rather than simply purchase.

For the first time that morning, she felt like herself.

She wasn't the new employee anymore.

She wasn't the woman who had arrived late.

She wasn't the girl who had spent the morning worrying that someone might discover she was completely out of her depth.

She was a creative director.

She belonged here.

At least, she thought she did.

Then the conference room door opened.

Orm's eyes flicked toward it.

Ling walked inside.

She didn't apologize for being late.

She didn't need to.