WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology.
8:10 PM.
Ling was still standing in the same spot, frozen, her gaze locked in the direction where Orm had run off. Her mind was blank—completely and utterly blank. And yet, her stomach churned with an unfamiliar sensation, as if a thousand butterflies had just taken flight within her. Her fingers had a mind of their own, unconsciously tracing her lips, where the lingering warmth of Orm’s impulsive kiss still burned. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks, a foreign feeling swirling inside her, one she had never allowed herself to experience—one she had sworn off ever since that incident at the airport.
Her thoughts were spiraling, colliding into one another without coherence, until a familiar voice snapped her back to reality.
“Ling, let’s go already. It’s 8:10. Let's go inside.”
Freen.
Ling blinked, turning to see her assistant—no, her best friend—approaching with urgency. “I need to tell you something,” Freen added, her expression serious.
Ling nodded, inhaling deeply before responding, “Freen, I need to tell you something too—after we leave here.”
Without another word, they walked back toward the grand hall, Ling’s personal bodyguards immediately surrounding them in a protective formation. As Freen seamlessly slipped back into her role as the ever-professional assistant, Ling allowed herself a brief moment of grounding.
To the world, Freen was simply Ling’s assistant—the impeccably disciplined, sharp-minded right-hand woman of Lingling Kwong. But only a select few, including Ling’s family, knew the truth: Freen was much more than that. She was Ling’s most trusted confidante, the one person who had stood by her side through everything, through the weight of royalty, through the cutthroat world of business, through the loneliness that came with power.
As they stepped into the grand hall, a wave of silent awe washed over the room. All eyes turned toward them. Spotlights shifted instantly, illuminating Ling’s poised figure as she made her entrance. There were no news reporters, no media frenzy—only personal photographers and handpicked guests. Yet, every single person in the room acknowledged the presence of Thailand’s only princess.
Ling, unfazed by the attention, moved with purpose toward the man she needed to greet first—Mr. Sethratanapong.
Orm’s father was already approaching with his wife beside him, both moving to formally welcome Ling. As they reached her, they began to bow, offering the respect due to her royal status.
Ling, however, immediately stopped them with a composed yet firm voice. “Please, there is no need for such formalities. You are my elders, and it is I who should be showing respect to you.”
Her words, laced with grace and deep-rooted values, earned her a look of admiration not just from Orm’s parents, but from everyone who heard them. The quiet murmur of approval rippled through the guests, reinforcing what was already known—Lingling Kwong was not just powerful; she was cultured, respectful, and deeply principled.
Yet, amidst all the attention, one person was noticeably missing.
The birthday girl herself.
And along with her, Becky was nowhere to be seen either.
Mr. Sethratanapong turned to Ling, his tone warm as he gestured toward an elegant seating arrangement. “Your highness, please, have a seat. Let us take care of our special guest properly.”
Ling nodded politely, taking her seat. The moment she did, she cast a quick glance toward Freen, who understood immediately. With a single nod, Freen signaled for the grand display of gifts to be brought in.
One by one, a procession of exquisite, lavishly wrapped gifts began to line up in the hall. Each one a symbol of wealth, exclusivity, and thoughtfulness.
As the gifts kept arriving, Orm’s mother and father exchanged hesitant glances before turning to Ling.
“This is… too much,Your highness” her mother finally said, shaking her head. “We can’t possibly accept all of this.”
Ling, ever composed, smiled reassuringly.
“It’s not too much when it’s for someone important.” She paused, her voice warm yet firm. “Today is your daughter’s special day, and as her family friends, am I not allowed to celebrate it with her?”
There was something in the way she said it—so naturally, so sincerely—that made them unable to refuse. Mr. Sethratanapong sighed in defeat, smiling softly as he exchanged a glance with his wife. “You’re too kind, Your highness.”
Just then, he glanced around the room, suddenly realizing something.
“But where is the birthday girl?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“She was here just a moment ago…” Orm’s mother replied, scanning the crowd. “I don’t know where she disappeared to.”
Ling, who had been sitting with effortless elegance, suddenly straightened slightly at those words.
And then—
“There she is.”
Ling’s gaze snapped toward the entrance of the hall just as Orm appeared, walking toward them.
Ling immediately rose to her feet.
Between them, Orm’s parents still stood, blocking their view of one another. Ling couldn’t see Orm, and Orm couldn’t see Ling.
But Orm, completely unaware of who was seated before her, casually approached her parents.
“Mom, Dad—” she began, but before she could finish, her father turned slightly, gesturing toward the regal figure beside him.
“Orm, meet our very special guest—Princess Lingling Sirilak Kwong.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Orm froze.
And Ling—who had finally stepped forward enough to see Orm—felt her breath hitch.
In that one instant, the world around them seemed to slow.
Orm’s lips parted slightly, her brain struggling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
No fucking way.
And Ling—whose heartbeat was betraying her usual calm—simply stared.
Because standing right in front of her, in that moment of pure disbelief—
Was the very same girl who had kissed her just minutes ago.
Orm’s parents turned to her expectantly.
“Orm, greet the princess properly,” her father said.
Orm, still reeling from shock, snapped out of her trance. She quickly straightened, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pressing her palms together in a respectful wai and bowing. Her voice came out slightly unsteady.
“S… Sawasdee kha, Your—”
Before she could finish, Ling raised a hand, stopping her.
Not just stopping her—offering a handshake.
Orm’s breath hitched as she stared at Ling’s extended hand, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. A handshake? That wasn’t how people greeted royalty. This wasn’t just unexpected—it was almost casual.
Ling smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Don’t be so formal,” she said, her tone light yet teasing. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
Orm swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. Friends? After what had just happened outside?
Her fingers twitched before she hesitantly placed her hand in Ling’s. The moment their palms met, a jolt shot through her—not physical, but something deep, something unsettlingly warm.
Ling’s smirk deepened, her grip firm but not overbearing. Amused eyes locked onto Orm’s face, watching the way her gaze flickered downward, too flustered to hold eye contact.
Orm’s ears burned. Damn it.
She quickly pulled her hand back, but the heat lingering on her skin didn’t fade.
And Ling—Ling looked thoroughly entertained.
The amusement in her eyes was unmistakable, like she was enjoying this way more than she should. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to Orm.
Before Orm could say anything, her mother spoke up, smiling. “I’m so glad you two are getting along already.”
Ling’s smirk grew.
And Orm knew—she was so screwed.
Dinner had settled into a comfortable rhythm, the hum of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. Orm sat beside Becky, while directly across from her, Ling occupied the seat opposite. Freen sat beside Ling, positioned right in front of Becky.
Becky, ever the instigator, leaned in toward Orm, her voice just above a whisper.
“So… when should I book our one sided tickets to the USA?”
Orm blinked in confusion. “Huh? Why?”
Becky gave her a deadpan look. “Because after what we did—standing in front of the Princess of Thailand and calling her a manager—I’m pretty sure we’ll be exiled.”
Orm gulped. Exile? If only Becky knew the real issue.
That was old news. The fresh disaster? Orm had just shaken hands with the princess—whom she accidentally kissed (White lie), Forget exile. She’s going to have me executed.
Orm Sethratanapong, sentenced to death by intense humiliation.
Suppressing a groan, Orm focused on her plate, but she could feel Ling’s presence—calm, composed, yet carrying an undercurrent of mischief that unsettled her.
The conversation shifted to more neutral topics. Ling’s tone was polite but direct as she turned to Orm.
“So, what’s your plan after graduation?”
Orm hesitated for only a moment before answering. “I’ve been focusing on social media marketing. I handle some brand collaborations, content strategy, and analytics, Your highness”
Ling tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “Social media?”
Orm nodded, growing more confident as she spoke. “Yes, Your highness. The market is constantly evolving. Brands don’t just need visibility; they need engagement. Algorithms favor short-form content now, but at the same time, long-term credibility comes from strategic storytelling. Audience retention, trend analysis, and behavioral tracking all play a role—”
She stopped, realizing she was rambling. Becky grinned and gave her an encouraging nudge.
Ling, however, was looking at her with something unreadable in her expression.
“I see,” Ling murmured, casually picking up her phone. “Your profile is impressive.”
Orm blinked. Wait
Ling smirked. “I just checked.”
She checked? Already?
Orm felt her pulse quicken.
Ling set her phone down, her expression shifting into something far too satisfied. “You know,” she began, “before starting something of our own, I believe experience is necessary.”
Orm nodded, unsure where this was going.
Ling’s smirk widened just a fraction. “So, I have one more gift for you.” She leaned in slightly, voice smooth, deliberate. “You’ll be my personal social media—.”
Orm froze.
Ling let the words hang for a second before adding,
"Manager”
her tone slightly mocking, emphasizing the very title Orm had unknowingly used to disrespect her at their first meeting.
Becky inhaled sharply, barely suppressing a laugh.
Orm? She wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“W-what?” she stammered.
Ling merely shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I need someone to manage my personal profiles. And my company’s.”
Orm’s head spun. Her personal accounts? Her entire company’s social media presence? This wasn’t a job—this was a career-launching opportunity.
Before she could react, her parents—who had been listening to the conversation—immediately got involved. Orm’s mother, always practical, asked about the details, while her father, clearly impressed, spoke about responsibility and professional growth.
After a few minutes of discussion, the decision was sealed.
Starting next week, Orm would officially be the social media manager head for Lingling Sirilak Kwong.
Ling was still standing in the same spot, frozen, her gaze locked in the direction where Orm had run off. Her mind was blank—completely and utterly blank. And yet, her stomach churned with an unfamiliar sensation, as if a thousand butterflies had just taken flight within her. Her fingers had a mind of their own, unconsciously tracing her lips, where the lingering warmth of Orm’s impulsive kiss still burned. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks, a foreign feeling swirling inside her, one she had never allowed herself to experience—one she had sworn off ever since that incident at the airport.
Her thoughts were spiraling, colliding into one another without coherence, until a familiar voice snapped her back to reality.
“Ling, let’s go already. It’s 8:10. Let's go inside.”
Freen.
Ling blinked, turning to see her assistant—no, her best friend—approaching with urgency. “I need to tell you something,” Freen added, her expression serious.
Ling nodded, inhaling deeply before responding, “Freen, I need to tell you something too—after we leave here.”
Without another word, they walked back toward the grand hall, Ling’s personal bodyguards immediately surrounding them in a protective formation. As Freen seamlessly slipped back into her role as the ever-professional assistant, Ling allowed herself a brief moment of grounding.
To the world, Freen was simply Ling’s assistant—the impeccably disciplined, sharp-minded right-hand woman of Lingling Kwong. But only a select few, including Ling’s family, knew the truth: Freen was much more than that. She was Ling’s most trusted confidante, the one person who had stood by her side through everything, through the weight of royalty, through the cutthroat world of business, through the loneliness that came with power.
As they stepped into the grand hall, a wave of silent awe washed over the room. All eyes turned toward them. Spotlights shifted instantly, illuminating Ling’s poised figure as she made her entrance. There were no news reporters, no media frenzy—only personal photographers and handpicked guests. Yet, every single person in the room acknowledged the presence of Thailand’s only princess.
Ling, unfazed by the attention, moved with purpose toward the man she needed to greet first—Mr. Sethratanapong.
Orm’s father was already approaching with his wife beside him, both moving to formally welcome Ling. As they reached her, they began to bow, offering the respect due to her royal status.
Ling, however, immediately stopped them with a composed yet firm voice. “Please, there is no need for such formalities. You are my elders, and it is I who should be showing respect to you.”
Her words, laced with grace and deep-rooted values, earned her a look of admiration not just from Orm’s parents, but from everyone who heard them. The quiet murmur of approval rippled through the guests, reinforcing what was already known—Lingling Kwong was not just powerful; she was cultured, respectful, and deeply principled.
Yet, amidst all the attention, one person was noticeably missing.
The birthday girl herself.
And along with her, Becky was nowhere to be seen either.
Mr. Sethratanapong turned to Ling, his tone warm as he gestured toward an elegant seating arrangement. “Your highness, please, have a seat. Let us take care of our special guest properly.”
Ling nodded politely, taking her seat. The moment she did, she cast a quick glance toward Freen, who understood immediately. With a single nod, Freen signaled for the grand display of gifts to be brought in.
One by one, a procession of exquisite, lavishly wrapped gifts began to line up in the hall. Each one a symbol of wealth, exclusivity, and thoughtfulness.
As the gifts kept arriving, Orm’s mother and father exchanged hesitant glances before turning to Ling.
“This is… too much,Your highness” her mother finally said, shaking her head. “We can’t possibly accept all of this.”
Ling, ever composed, smiled reassuringly.
“It’s not too much when it’s for someone important.” She paused, her voice warm yet firm. “Today is your daughter’s special day, and as her family friends, am I not allowed to celebrate it with her?”
There was something in the way she said it—so naturally, so sincerely—that made them unable to refuse. Mr. Sethratanapong sighed in defeat, smiling softly as he exchanged a glance with his wife. “You’re too kind, Your highness.”
Just then, he glanced around the room, suddenly realizing something.
“But where is the birthday girl?” he asked, turning to his wife.
“She was here just a moment ago…” Orm’s mother replied, scanning the crowd. “I don’t know where she disappeared to.”
Ling, who had been sitting with effortless elegance, suddenly straightened slightly at those words.
And then—
“There she is.”
Ling’s gaze snapped toward the entrance of the hall just as Orm appeared, walking toward them.
Ling immediately rose to her feet.
Between them, Orm’s parents still stood, blocking their view of one another. Ling couldn’t see Orm, and Orm couldn’t see Ling.
But Orm, completely unaware of who was seated before her, casually approached her parents.
“Mom, Dad—” she began, but before she could finish, her father turned slightly, gesturing toward the regal figure beside him.
“Orm, meet our very special guest—Princess Lingling Sirilak Kwong.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Orm froze.
And Ling—who had finally stepped forward enough to see Orm—felt her breath hitch.
In that one instant, the world around them seemed to slow.
Orm’s lips parted slightly, her brain struggling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.
No fucking way.
And Ling—whose heartbeat was betraying her usual calm—simply stared.
Because standing right in front of her, in that moment of pure disbelief—
Was the very same girl who had kissed her just minutes ago.
Orm’s parents turned to her expectantly.
“Orm, greet the princess properly,” her father said.
Orm, still reeling from shock, snapped out of her trance. She quickly straightened, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pressing her palms together in a respectful wai and bowing. Her voice came out slightly unsteady.
“S… Sawasdee kha, Your—”
Before she could finish, Ling raised a hand, stopping her.
Not just stopping her—offering a handshake.
Orm’s breath hitched as she stared at Ling’s extended hand, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. A handshake? That wasn’t how people greeted royalty. This wasn’t just unexpected—it was almost casual.
Ling smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Don’t be so formal,” she said, her tone light yet teasing. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
Orm swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. Friends? After what had just happened outside?
Her fingers twitched before she hesitantly placed her hand in Ling’s. The moment their palms met, a jolt shot through her—not physical, but something deep, something unsettlingly warm.
Ling’s smirk deepened, her grip firm but not overbearing. Amused eyes locked onto Orm’s face, watching the way her gaze flickered downward, too flustered to hold eye contact.
Orm’s ears burned. Damn it.
She quickly pulled her hand back, but the heat lingering on her skin didn’t fade.
And Ling—Ling looked thoroughly entertained.
The amusement in her eyes was unmistakable, like she was enjoying this way more than she should. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to Orm.
Before Orm could say anything, her mother spoke up, smiling. “I’m so glad you two are getting along already.”
Ling’s smirk grew.
And Orm knew—she was so screwed.
Dinner had settled into a comfortable rhythm, the hum of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. Orm sat beside Becky, while directly across from her, Ling occupied the seat opposite. Freen sat beside Ling, positioned right in front of Becky.
Becky, ever the instigator, leaned in toward Orm, her voice just above a whisper.
“So… when should I book our one sided tickets to the USA?”
Orm blinked in confusion. “Huh? Why?”
Becky gave her a deadpan look. “Because after what we did—standing in front of the Princess of Thailand and calling her a manager—I’m pretty sure we’ll be exiled.”
Orm gulped. Exile? If only Becky knew the real issue.
That was old news. The fresh disaster? Orm had just shaken hands with the princess—whom she accidentally kissed (White lie), Forget exile. She’s going to have me executed.
Orm Sethratanapong, sentenced to death by intense humiliation.
Suppressing a groan, Orm focused on her plate, but she could feel Ling’s presence—calm, composed, yet carrying an undercurrent of mischief that unsettled her.
The conversation shifted to more neutral topics. Ling’s tone was polite but direct as she turned to Orm.
“So, what’s your plan after graduation?”
Orm hesitated for only a moment before answering. “I’ve been focusing on social media marketing. I handle some brand collaborations, content strategy, and analytics, Your highness”
Ling tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “Social media?”
Orm nodded, growing more confident as she spoke. “Yes, Your highness. The market is constantly evolving. Brands don’t just need visibility; they need engagement. Algorithms favor short-form content now, but at the same time, long-term credibility comes from strategic storytelling. Audience retention, trend analysis, and behavioral tracking all play a role—”
She stopped, realizing she was rambling. Becky grinned and gave her an encouraging nudge.
Ling, however, was looking at her with something unreadable in her expression.
“I see,” Ling murmured, casually picking up her phone. “Your profile is impressive.”
Orm blinked. Wait
Ling smirked. “I just checked.”
She checked? Already?
Orm felt her pulse quicken.
Ling set her phone down, her expression shifting into something far too satisfied. “You know,” she began, “before starting something of our own, I believe experience is necessary.”
Orm nodded, unsure where this was going.
Ling’s smirk widened just a fraction. “So, I have one more gift for you.” She leaned in slightly, voice smooth, deliberate. “You’ll be my personal social media—.”
Orm froze.
Ling let the words hang for a second before adding,
"Manager”
her tone slightly mocking, emphasizing the very title Orm had unknowingly used to disrespect her at their first meeting.
Becky inhaled sharply, barely suppressing a laugh.
Orm? She wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“W-what?” she stammered.
Ling merely shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I need someone to manage my personal profiles. And my company’s.”
Orm’s head spun. Her personal accounts? Her entire company’s social media presence? This wasn’t a job—this was a career-launching opportunity.
Before she could react, her parents—who had been listening to the conversation—immediately got involved. Orm’s mother, always practical, asked about the details, while her father, clearly impressed, spoke about responsibility and professional growth.
After a few minutes of discussion, the decision was sealed.
Starting next week, Orm would officially be the social media manager head for Lingling Sirilak Kwong.
End of WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology Chapter 16. Continue reading Chapter 17 or return to WHISPERS OF LINGORM : A One-Shot Anthology book page.