WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology.
Bangkok – Bang Na Expressway
The city of Bangkok never slept, and up here on the elevated Bang Na Expressway, the only sounds cutting through the night were the distant honks of late-night traffic and the deep growls of three ultra-luxury sports cars.
Tawan, dressed in her signature all-black attire, leaned against her Bugatti La Voiture Noire—the world's most expensive and powerful beast, its sleek black exterior shining under the dim streetlights.
Ai smirked from beside her McLaren P1, the hybrid hypercar built for speed but still no match for Tawan’s monster.
Sam twirled her keys casually, standing next to her Porsche 918 Spyder, its aerodynamic design built for agility rather than raw power.
"This better be worth the time," Tawan muttered, her voice laced with irritation.
Ai rolled her eyes. "Come on, Miss Too-Busy-To-Have-Fun. You need this."
Sam smirked. "And let’s not pretend you don’t enjoy this shit. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here."
Tawan exhaled sharply but didn't deny it.
Ai smirked. "Alright, let's make it interesting. Longest, cleanest drift wins."
Sam raised a brow. "And the prize?"
Ai chuckled darkly. "Let’s go filthy. Winner gets to choose whatever they want. Money, car, or—" she paused, licking her lips suggestively, "—someone to warm their bed tonight. Losers arrange it."
Sam whistled. "Damn, going all out, huh?"
Tawan scoffed, slipping into her car. "I'll take my reward in silence after I win."
Ai smirked. "Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up."
The air exploded with the deafening roar of engines. Tires screeched as the three cars shot forward, tearing through the highway at breakneck speeds.
The first curve approached fast. Ai took it aggressively, her McLaren screeching as she drifted hard, the tail end swinging wildly before regaining balance.
Sam followed smoothly, her Porsche maintaining a perfect line, nimble but lacking the raw dominance needed to pull the longest drift.
And then came Tawan.
Her Bugatti glided into the drift with terrifying precision, holding the slide longer than either of them, her control unwavering. The city lights blurred as she pushed the limits, the asphalt burning under her tires.
She was about to claim victory—
Until a woman ran onto the road.
Tawan’s instincts kicked in. Her foot slammed the brakes. The car skidded violently but came to a screeching halt just inches from the girl.
The woman stood frozen for a second. Everything blur. Then, as if the weight of the world finally crushed her, she collapsed.
Thud.
Silence.
Ai and Sam barely managed to swerve around the stopped Bugatti, coming to a halt a few meters ahead.
"What the actual fuck?!" Ai snapped, stepping out.
Sam cursed under her breath. "Is she—?"
Tawan had already thrown open her door, her frustration evident. But the second she got a clear look at the unconscious woman, her expression shifted. Her breath hitched—recognition flashing in her sharp eyes.
For the first time that night, Tawan looked… rattled.
But she masked it quickly. Without answering the others, she bent down, scooping the girl into her arms.
Freen raised a brow. "Tawan?"
"Not here," Tawan muttered, her voice low and controlled. "I’m taking her home."
Ai crossed her arms. "What the hell is going on?"
Tawan shot her a cold glare. "Drop it."
Without another word, she placed the girl carefully into her passenger seat, shutting the door before sliding into the driver’s side.
The car purred back to life.
And before either Ai or Sam could question her further—
She was gone.
Tawan’s Penthouse – 3:15 AM
A faint rustling. A sharp inhale. Then, a slow, unsteady exhale.
Ira’s lashes fluttered as she stirred, her mind clawing its way out of unconsciousness. The soft silk beneath her was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—expensive, like a mix of sandalwood and something sharp, crisp.
She forced her heavy lids open, her pupils dilating as they adjusted to the dimly lit room.
Dark. Royal blue. Elegant.
The walls, the furniture, even the curtains—everything screamed wealth and power. Aesthetic, sophisticated, and dangerously expensive. The subtle glow of the city filtered in through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, fractured shadows over the minimalist yet luxurious decor.
Her gaze darted to the bedside table. A digital clock glowed in soft white—3:15 AM.
And then, like a floodgate being ripped open, everything reeled back.
The race.
The sharp glint of headlights.
The panic that gripped her chest.
The split-second decision to step forward.
And then—darkness.
Ira sucked in a sharp breath, her heart slamming against her ribs.
"Shit."
She sat up abruptly, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as her mind scrambled for logic. "Where the hell am I?, "Who brought me here?"
Panic coiled in her stomach as she threw the blanket off, swinging her legs over the edge. Her bare feet hit the cool marble floor, grounding her—but only slightly.
Kidnapped? No. If someone had kidnapped her, they wouldn’t have placed her in this level of comfort.
But this was still a stranger’s home.
Ira wasted no time. She pushed herself off the bed, her hands instinctively reaching for the door. She needed to get out. Find her phone. Figure out who—
The bedroom door creaked as she pulled it open, revealing a vast, open-concept penthouse bathed in dim golden lighting. The penthouse was massive, modern, with an unsettling silence that stretched across the space.
Ira’s steps were cautious but urgent as she made her way toward what looked like the living area, her breath shallow.
And then—
She stopped.
Dead in her tracks.
Her eyes widened, her shock momentarily short-circuiting into pure disbelief.
Across the open space, in the high-end kitchen, a figure stood by the counter, moving with effortless precision.
Dressed in nothing but sleek black pants and an apron loosely tied around her waist, Tawan. Chopped something with practiced ease. Her toned arms flexed slightly with each movement, the knife gliding through the ingredients like she was born for it. The dim glow of the kitchen lights cast sharp shadows along the defined muscles of her back, and Ira could immediately tell she wasn’t even wearing a bra beneath that apron.
The contrast of her utterly domestic action and her infuriating grumpiness hit Ira like a brick.
What the actual fuck—Holy fuck!
Her lips parted, shock rendering her speechless for a moment. But then, recognition settled deep in her bones.
No way.
No fucking way.
Tawan, her college senior. The untouchable, brooding force that had once occupied Ira's thoughts far more than she cared to admit. Tawan, who had unknowingly been Ira’s biggest crush all those years ago.
Tawan, who was currently cooking at 3:15 AM in nothing but an apron and pants.
Ira swallowed. Hard.
Her throat was suddenly very, very dry.
Tawan didn’t acknowledge her at first. She simply continued chopping, her movements fluid and controlled.
Then, without looking up, she exhaled sharply and muttered—
"You’re awake. Took you long enough."
That voice. Low, husky, and laced with irritation. The same voice that had once scolded Ira for being late to a seminar. The same voice that had told her to "stop being annoying" every time she found an excuse to linger around her.
Ira blinked, snapping out of her daze and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out—“Why aren’t you wearing anything under your apron?”
Tawan, without missing a single beat, continued chopping.
Then, in that infuriatingly gruff voice, she muttered—
“Why? Is it distracting you?”
Ira choked on air. "W-What?!"
Tawan finally turned her head, lazily scanning Orm from head to toe before smirking slightly.
"Stop drooling, problem solved."
Ira’s jaw dropped.
She is still grumpy as ever.
Ira’s mind scrambled for words, but they came out in fragments. "I— You— What the hell is going on? Where am I?"
Tawan set the knife down with a quiet clink and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest—only to realize too late that the action pushed her apron against her bare skin.
She huffed in mild annoyance but didn’t fix it. Instead, she simply replied, "My place."
"I can see that." Ira gestured around wildly. "But why? What am I doing here? P'Tawan?"
Tawan’s expression didn’t change.
"Because you threw yourself in front of my car like an absolute dumbass, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a police report."
Ira bristled. "I did not—" She paused, realizing she had no solid counter argument. Because... yeah. She kinda did step in front of a moving Bugatti.
Shit.
Tawan sighed and ran a hand through her hair, irritation flickering across her face.
"Look, I don’t know what kind of suicidal tendencies you’ve developed over the years, but next time? Try not getting yourself killed in front of my car. It’s a fucking headache."
Ira narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, I’m so sorry my near-death experience inconvenienced you."
Tawan’s lips twitched, just slightly, but she masked it quickly.
"Apology accepted."
Ira exhaled through her nose, frustration mixing with sheer disbelief. Of all people...
She studied Tawan’s face—her sharper features, the way exhaustion subtly weighed on her expression.
And yet, despite the years, despite the changes, it was still the same P'Tawan. The same broody, effortlessly skilled, frustratingly attractive senior Ira had spent too much of her college life thinking about.
Ira ran a hand through her own hair, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "I can’t fucking believe this. You— You were my college senior."
Tawan raised a brow. "And?"
"And I—" Ira stopped herself just in time. Nope. Not telling her about the massive crush. Not happening.
She coughed, deflecting. "I used to annoy the hell out of you."
Tawan hummed, as if recalling the past. Then, with a slight smirk, she said "You still do."
Ira glared. "Wow. Some things really never change."
Tawan picked up the knife again, returning to her chopping like Ira’s existence wasn’t a major disruption to her night. "Clearly."
Ira exhaled sharply, arms crossed as she muttered—"P'Tawan you could at least pretend to be happy to see me."
Tawan didn’t even look up. "I could."
A pause.
Then—
"But I’m not."
Ira stared at her, momentarily stunned—before scoffing.
"Asshole."
Tawan smirked, just slightly.
"Welcome back, junior."
The city of Bangkok never slept, and up here on the elevated Bang Na Expressway, the only sounds cutting through the night were the distant honks of late-night traffic and the deep growls of three ultra-luxury sports cars.
Tawan, dressed in her signature all-black attire, leaned against her Bugatti La Voiture Noire—the world's most expensive and powerful beast, its sleek black exterior shining under the dim streetlights.
Ai smirked from beside her McLaren P1, the hybrid hypercar built for speed but still no match for Tawan’s monster.
Sam twirled her keys casually, standing next to her Porsche 918 Spyder, its aerodynamic design built for agility rather than raw power.
"This better be worth the time," Tawan muttered, her voice laced with irritation.
Ai rolled her eyes. "Come on, Miss Too-Busy-To-Have-Fun. You need this."
Sam smirked. "And let’s not pretend you don’t enjoy this shit. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here."
Tawan exhaled sharply but didn't deny it.
Ai smirked. "Alright, let's make it interesting. Longest, cleanest drift wins."
Sam raised a brow. "And the prize?"
Ai chuckled darkly. "Let’s go filthy. Winner gets to choose whatever they want. Money, car, or—" she paused, licking her lips suggestively, "—someone to warm their bed tonight. Losers arrange it."
Sam whistled. "Damn, going all out, huh?"
Tawan scoffed, slipping into her car. "I'll take my reward in silence after I win."
Ai smirked. "Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up."
The air exploded with the deafening roar of engines. Tires screeched as the three cars shot forward, tearing through the highway at breakneck speeds.
The first curve approached fast. Ai took it aggressively, her McLaren screeching as she drifted hard, the tail end swinging wildly before regaining balance.
Sam followed smoothly, her Porsche maintaining a perfect line, nimble but lacking the raw dominance needed to pull the longest drift.
And then came Tawan.
Her Bugatti glided into the drift with terrifying precision, holding the slide longer than either of them, her control unwavering. The city lights blurred as she pushed the limits, the asphalt burning under her tires.
She was about to claim victory—
Until a woman ran onto the road.
Tawan’s instincts kicked in. Her foot slammed the brakes. The car skidded violently but came to a screeching halt just inches from the girl.
The woman stood frozen for a second. Everything blur. Then, as if the weight of the world finally crushed her, she collapsed.
Thud.
Silence.
Ai and Sam barely managed to swerve around the stopped Bugatti, coming to a halt a few meters ahead.
"What the actual fuck?!" Ai snapped, stepping out.
Sam cursed under her breath. "Is she—?"
Tawan had already thrown open her door, her frustration evident. But the second she got a clear look at the unconscious woman, her expression shifted. Her breath hitched—recognition flashing in her sharp eyes.
For the first time that night, Tawan looked… rattled.
But she masked it quickly. Without answering the others, she bent down, scooping the girl into her arms.
Freen raised a brow. "Tawan?"
"Not here," Tawan muttered, her voice low and controlled. "I’m taking her home."
Ai crossed her arms. "What the hell is going on?"
Tawan shot her a cold glare. "Drop it."
Without another word, she placed the girl carefully into her passenger seat, shutting the door before sliding into the driver’s side.
The car purred back to life.
And before either Ai or Sam could question her further—
She was gone.
Tawan’s Penthouse – 3:15 AM
A faint rustling. A sharp inhale. Then, a slow, unsteady exhale.
Ira’s lashes fluttered as she stirred, her mind clawing its way out of unconsciousness. The soft silk beneath her was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—expensive, like a mix of sandalwood and something sharp, crisp.
She forced her heavy lids open, her pupils dilating as they adjusted to the dimly lit room.
Dark. Royal blue. Elegant.
The walls, the furniture, even the curtains—everything screamed wealth and power. Aesthetic, sophisticated, and dangerously expensive. The subtle glow of the city filtered in through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, fractured shadows over the minimalist yet luxurious decor.
Her gaze darted to the bedside table. A digital clock glowed in soft white—3:15 AM.
And then, like a floodgate being ripped open, everything reeled back.
The race.
The sharp glint of headlights.
The panic that gripped her chest.
The split-second decision to step forward.
And then—darkness.
Ira sucked in a sharp breath, her heart slamming against her ribs.
"Shit."
She sat up abruptly, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as her mind scrambled for logic. "Where the hell am I?, "Who brought me here?"
Panic coiled in her stomach as she threw the blanket off, swinging her legs over the edge. Her bare feet hit the cool marble floor, grounding her—but only slightly.
Kidnapped? No. If someone had kidnapped her, they wouldn’t have placed her in this level of comfort.
But this was still a stranger’s home.
Ira wasted no time. She pushed herself off the bed, her hands instinctively reaching for the door. She needed to get out. Find her phone. Figure out who—
The bedroom door creaked as she pulled it open, revealing a vast, open-concept penthouse bathed in dim golden lighting. The penthouse was massive, modern, with an unsettling silence that stretched across the space.
Ira’s steps were cautious but urgent as she made her way toward what looked like the living area, her breath shallow.
And then—
She stopped.
Dead in her tracks.
Her eyes widened, her shock momentarily short-circuiting into pure disbelief.
Across the open space, in the high-end kitchen, a figure stood by the counter, moving with effortless precision.
Dressed in nothing but sleek black pants and an apron loosely tied around her waist, Tawan. Chopped something with practiced ease. Her toned arms flexed slightly with each movement, the knife gliding through the ingredients like she was born for it. The dim glow of the kitchen lights cast sharp shadows along the defined muscles of her back, and Ira could immediately tell she wasn’t even wearing a bra beneath that apron.
The contrast of her utterly domestic action and her infuriating grumpiness hit Ira like a brick.
What the actual fuck—Holy fuck!
Her lips parted, shock rendering her speechless for a moment. But then, recognition settled deep in her bones.
No way.
No fucking way.
Tawan, her college senior. The untouchable, brooding force that had once occupied Ira's thoughts far more than she cared to admit. Tawan, who had unknowingly been Ira’s biggest crush all those years ago.
Tawan, who was currently cooking at 3:15 AM in nothing but an apron and pants.
Ira swallowed. Hard.
Her throat was suddenly very, very dry.
Tawan didn’t acknowledge her at first. She simply continued chopping, her movements fluid and controlled.
Then, without looking up, she exhaled sharply and muttered—
"You’re awake. Took you long enough."
That voice. Low, husky, and laced with irritation. The same voice that had once scolded Ira for being late to a seminar. The same voice that had told her to "stop being annoying" every time she found an excuse to linger around her.
Ira blinked, snapping out of her daze and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out—“Why aren’t you wearing anything under your apron?”
Tawan, without missing a single beat, continued chopping.
Then, in that infuriatingly gruff voice, she muttered—
“Why? Is it distracting you?”
Ira choked on air. "W-What?!"
Tawan finally turned her head, lazily scanning Orm from head to toe before smirking slightly.
"Stop drooling, problem solved."
Ira’s jaw dropped.
She is still grumpy as ever.
Ira’s mind scrambled for words, but they came out in fragments. "I— You— What the hell is going on? Where am I?"
Tawan set the knife down with a quiet clink and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest—only to realize too late that the action pushed her apron against her bare skin.
She huffed in mild annoyance but didn’t fix it. Instead, she simply replied, "My place."
"I can see that." Ira gestured around wildly. "But why? What am I doing here? P'Tawan?"
Tawan’s expression didn’t change.
"Because you threw yourself in front of my car like an absolute dumbass, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a police report."
Ira bristled. "I did not—" She paused, realizing she had no solid counter argument. Because... yeah. She kinda did step in front of a moving Bugatti.
Shit.
Tawan sighed and ran a hand through her hair, irritation flickering across her face.
"Look, I don’t know what kind of suicidal tendencies you’ve developed over the years, but next time? Try not getting yourself killed in front of my car. It’s a fucking headache."
Ira narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, I’m so sorry my near-death experience inconvenienced you."
Tawan’s lips twitched, just slightly, but she masked it quickly.
"Apology accepted."
Ira exhaled through her nose, frustration mixing with sheer disbelief. Of all people...
She studied Tawan’s face—her sharper features, the way exhaustion subtly weighed on her expression.
And yet, despite the years, despite the changes, it was still the same P'Tawan. The same broody, effortlessly skilled, frustratingly attractive senior Ira had spent too much of her college life thinking about.
Ira ran a hand through her own hair, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "I can’t fucking believe this. You— You were my college senior."
Tawan raised a brow. "And?"
"And I—" Ira stopped herself just in time. Nope. Not telling her about the massive crush. Not happening.
She coughed, deflecting. "I used to annoy the hell out of you."
Tawan hummed, as if recalling the past. Then, with a slight smirk, she said "You still do."
Ira glared. "Wow. Some things really never change."
Tawan picked up the knife again, returning to her chopping like Ira’s existence wasn’t a major disruption to her night. "Clearly."
Ira exhaled sharply, arms crossed as she muttered—"P'Tawan you could at least pretend to be happy to see me."
Tawan didn’t even look up. "I could."
A pause.
Then—
"But I’m not."
Ira stared at her, momentarily stunned—before scoffing.
"Asshole."
Tawan smirked, just slightly.
"Welcome back, junior."
End of WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology book page.