Blame It On Me (LMSY)

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The city smelled the same.

A mix of rain on hot pavement, exhaust fumes, and street food. Bangkok had always been alive-too alive. The streets were restless, buzzing with movement even in the late evening. The glow of neon lights reflected off wet roads as motorbikes weaved through traffic, their riders shouting to one another. But to Pleng, the city felt different now. Smaller. Emptier.

She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag and stepped off the train platform, ignoring the way her heart clenched at the sight of familiar places. The last time she had been here, she was different. Life was different. But she had left, thinking she could outrun grief. Now, she was back, and nothing had changed-except for the fact that the person she was before didn't exist anymore.

Pleng flagged down a taxi, sliding into the backseat as the driver asked for her destination.

"Din Daeng," she murmured, watching the city blur past through the window.

Her family home was still there, untouched by time. The white paint had started to dull, and the iron gate creaked as she pushed it open. She didn't have to knock. Her aunt, P'Saow, had left the door unlocked like she always did, a silent way of saying, you still belong here, even if you don't feel like you do.

The house smelled like jasmine. Like home.

But home wasn't supposed to feel this hollow.

Pleng dropped her bag by the door and let out a slow breath. She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come easy-not in a place filled with ghosts of the past.

⸻

The Wanviva-Fahlada Legacy

While Pleng was relearning the city she once called home, across town, the Wanviva-Fahlada estate stood untouched by time.

Theirs was a family name that carried weight.

The kind of name people whispered in both admiration and caution. Old money. Power. Scandals swept under rugs made of silk. Their estate, hidden behind high gates and security cameras, sat like a relic of the past-beautiful, grand, and suffocating.

Fahlada had always carried the burden of their name with grace. The perfect daughter. The one who followed the rules, spoke when spoken to, and made their father proud. In every room she entered, she was respected. Admired. If she ever struggled under the weight of expectations, she never let it show.

Wanviva, on the other hand-

Wanviva was a problem. A storm in human form.

Where Fahlada was careful, Wanviva was reckless. Where Fahlada built bridges, Wanviva burned them without a second thought. She had always been the disappointment. The wild one. The one their father scolded, the one the city gossiped about. She had been in fights. She had been in trouble. She had walked away from love and loyalty as if neither mattered.

And yet, she was the one no one could ignore.

Fahlada worked hard to be respected. Wanviva simply demanded it.

Tonight, Wanviva leaned against the balcony of their family home, cigarette in hand, watching the city stretch before her. She didn't belong here. She never had.

Inside, their father was talking business. Fahlada was probably sitting beside him, nodding at all the right moments, being the daughter he actually cared about. Wanviva exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the night air.

She wasn't jealous.

She wasn't.

But sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be loved as easily as Fahlada was.

⸻

Pleng didn't know much about the Wanviva-Fahlada family. She had heard the name before-who in Bangkok hadn't? But she never paid attention to gossip. She didn't care about the lives of the rich or the whispers of scandal.

But she was about to.

Because the moment she stepped back into this city, her path was bound to collide with theirs.

With Fahlada, who would offer her a kind of warmth she hadn't felt in a long time.

And with Wanviva, who would set her world on fire.