Episode 3: Dinner at the Table, Secrets on the Tongue

🌿 Episode 3: “Dinner at the Table, Secrets on the Tongue”

(Setting: Executive dining hall, Suwichan Group headquarters)

Theme: Power in silence, loyalty in the shadows, and the first moment Freya sees Eirawan fight quietly — for her.

Bangkok glittered behind floor-to-ceiling glass panels as dusk fell, painting the skyline in hues of gold and rose. The executive dining hall of Suwichan Group HQ, perched on the 59th floor, resembled a private gallery more than a meeting space — minimalist décor, dim lights, and a view that reminded everyone just how far they’d climbed.

Freya smoothed down her midi-length cream dress as the elevator doors slid open. A Suwichan intern bowed, motioning for her to follow the glass walkway.

She had been invited to the Board Welcome Dinner — a private gathering of Suwichan’s senior partners, legacy investors, and hand-picked directors. A symbolic seat had been prepared for Khun Freya Piriyakorn, future co-partner and officially, the “family’s next generation.”

Symbolic. Not powerful. Not yet.

But one wrong word from her tonight could make that symbolism dangerous.

And she knew it.

When the doors opened into the long dining hall, Freya spotted her immediately — Eirawan, seated at the head of the black marble table. Composed. Dressed in a full graphite-gray suit. Her hair pulled into a sharp bun, lips painted in the faintest wine red.

She didn’t stand. She simply looked up.

That look… it anchored Freya instantly.

She made her way to the empty seat beside her, noting the others at the table: mostly older men, two women in tailored blazers, one international partner from Seoul who wore his entitlement like a watch. Polite nods followed her as she sat.

Dinner began with soft piano music in the background. Servers moved like shadows between the tables. Discussions flowed — mostly about economic forecasts, tech acquisitions, and quarterly shifts in market power.

And then…

“Khun Freya,” said Mr. Arun, one of the oldest directors, setting down his wine glass with a practiced pause. “Since you’re expected to handle Suwichan’s branding and outreach, I wonder — how do you plan to protect the legacy of a traditional name while being… so new?”

Freya blinked. “Pardon?”

He smiled — too sharp, too polished. “Your résumé is impressive, no doubt. But Suwichan’s public identity has stood untouched for over four decades. What can someone like you teach it?”

Someone like you.

The phrase twisted like a thorn.

She parted her lips — but Eirawan’s hand moved beneath the table, her fingers brushing Freya’s wrist just once.

A signal.

Let her speak.

Eirawan set her cutlery down, calm and cool.

“When I brought Freya into this table, it wasn’t to defend her qualifications.”

A beat.

“It was to remind everyone that Suwichan doesn’t fear new minds. We built empires not by repetition, but by recognizing what the next generation brings that we lack.”

She turned her gaze fully on Mr. Arun.

“If youth unnerves this table, then perhaps the table should rethink its own confidence.”

Silence.

Freya didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

But the tiniest, smallest curl of pride bloomed in her chest.

Another director, one of the women, leaned forward. “I’ve reviewed Freya’s portfolio from her time at Piriyakorn Media. Her campaigns are fresh. Sharp. If we’re aiming to expand our outreach beyond legacy markets, we need eyes like hers.”

Just like that, the balance shifted.

Dinner moved on. Lighter talk. Laughter. But Freya could feel Eirawan’s presence beside her — like a fortress that wouldn’t fall.

—

Later, after the final course and too many toasts, Freya stepped out onto the balcony alone. Bangkok spread beneath her — glittering, indifferent.

She heard the glass door slide open behind her. Then: footsteps.

Eirawan stood beside her, not touching, but close enough that Freya could feel the heat off her skin.

“I wasn’t expecting to speak tonight,” Freya admitted.

“You didn’t need to,” Eirawan said. “But if you had, I wouldn’t have let them silence you.”

Freya looked down. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Eirawan turned her head slowly.

“You can only embarrass me,” she said softly, “if you choose to stop being yourself.”

Freya finally looked up, searching her eyes.

And there it was again — that unwavering certainty. That silent promise: You don’t need to change. You just need to last.

“I’ll try,” she said, voice almost trembling.

Eirawan didn’t say anything.

Instead, she reached forward — slow, deliberate — and tucked a loose strand of Freya’s hair behind her ear.

Freya froze.

No one had ever touched her like that — not in public, not with that kind of gentleness.

“I know how loud this world is,” Eirawan said, barely a whisper. “Let me be your quiet.”

Freya’s throat tightened.

And though neither of them leaned forward, though the gap between their bodies never closed… Freya knew that if she stepped just once into her, Eirawan would never let her fall.

Not even once.

—

The next morning, Freya’s secretary handed her a slim envelope.

Inside: a company access card.

Her name embossed in gold.

Department: Strategic Branding Division, Lead Partner.

And a note in Eirawan’s handwriting, clipped to the back.

“Legacy doesn’t wait. But neither do I.”

— E

Freya smiled — quietly, to herself.

The world still didn’t love her.

But Eirawan… might be starting to.