Multi Shot - LingOrm and FreenBecky

FreenBecky - Fierce Attraction: Shadow Of Expectation

Freen sat in her private office on the top floor of Chankimha Tower, bathed in the artificial glow of overhead lights. Even though the sun had already set, she was still poring over financial reports, trying to focus on a massive real estate acquisition that wouldn't wait for her emotions to settle. 

Yet no matter how she tried to drown herself in work, a constant ache throbbed beneath the surface—an ache named Becky.

For a week, she'd barely reached out to anyone outside the company, burying herself under contracts, meetings, and endless calls. Her subordinates noticed how unusually silent she'd become, her replies short, her temper shorter. 

But none of them knew the real cause: heartbreak, tangled with self-doubt.

She'd sulked, yes, and she knew it. But Freen was hurting. She'd opened herself up to Becky in a way she'd never done with anyone before, exposing family pressures and her own vulnerability. And what she got in return felt like hesitation, a near-dismissal of the very thing that was tearing her life in two.

"It's not like I was asking her to marry me tomorrow," Freen muttered under her breath, flipping another page of a contract. "I just wanted her to understand that I'm cornered."

But Becky's reaction had cut deep. Every replay of their argument in her mind led Freen to the same point: she wanted Becky by her side, not to fix everything, but to stand with her, to at least consider a future—even if it was far off.

She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. Expectation weighed on her—her father stepping down soon, her mother's gentle but insistent prodding, the board's traditional views, and now Becky's uncertain reaction. 

She felt caught in a tangle of loyalties, wanting to please her family without losing herself in the process. And in that web of responsibility, she was losing the one person she dared to love.

Her phone, resting on the desk beside her, pinged. The sound seemed to echo in the silent room. Freen froze, a flutter of hope rising in her chest. She hadn't received any direct messages from Becky all week—not since their disastrous meet-up.

She reached for the device with trembling fingers, her breath hitching. A notification. A message.

Becky: "Hey. I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

Freen stared at the screen, her heart pounding so loudly she thought everyone in the tower might hear it. She re-read the short text, the words both simple and monumental. In an instant, her swirl of emotions sharpened—anger, relief, longing—all crashing together.

A wave of relief spread through her, tinged with lingering hurt. She missed Becky terribly, had scrolled through photos on her phone at night, replaying old memories. But that pain of feeling dismissed and misunderstood still stung.

Picking up the phone, she typed and erased multiple responses, her thoughts in disarray. Part of her wanted to snap back, to let Becky feel a fraction of the ache she'd endured. 

Another part wanted to drop everything, drive to her penthouse, and pull her into a fierce hug.

Freen set the phone down, leaning back in her chair, eyes closed. Her mind replayed moments of tenderness she'd shared with Becky—the gentle teasing, the secret hand-holding, the unspoken promises. 

This was the first time she'd allowed herself to love someone freely, to show vulnerability. Now she questioned whether she'd been naive.

She inhaled deeply, focusing on steadying her breath. 

Yes, she was upset—maybe even furious. But Becky's message showed a willingness to bridge the gap. 

Could Freen still trust that?