Episode 4: Soft Eyes, Sharp Tongues

🌿 Episode 4: “Soft Eyes, Sharp Tongues”*

(Setting: Bangkok Charity Gala at Mandarin Oriental Grand Ballroom)

Theme: Public exposure, private tension, and the first real moment where Eirawan chooses Freya — visibly, fiercely, undeniably.

The ballroom shimmered like something from a royal dream — chandeliers dripping crystal, candlelight flickering in golden sconces, and the hush of expensive silk brushing polished marble.

Freya stood near the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass of sparkling water, trying not to crumple under the weight of the evening.

The Mandarin Oriental Charity Gala was one of the top three events in Thailand’s social calendar — and the first they were attending together. As an engaged couple.

It wasn’t subtle.

Eirawan had picked the look herself.

Freya wore a pale silver gown, sleeveless, back dipped low. Her hair pulled into soft waves, light makeup, a tiny diamond drop necklace. Her bodyguard-turned-stylist called it “controlled softness.”

But none of that mattered once the cameras started flashing.

They had entered separately — a Suwichan tradition. Eirawan as the powerful CEO. Freya, a quiet partner.

Even now, Eirawan stood across the room in conversation with several foreign delegates. Elegant. Unshaken. Untouchable.

And still… her gaze found Freya across the crowd. Every few minutes.

Like clockwork.

And yet, Freya still felt the burn of eyes — the socialites whispering near the golden flower arrangements, the murmurs of the media, the judgment disguised as curiosity.

“She’s young, isn’t she?”

“Barely a woman. Does she really have the mind for this?”

“Eirawan doesn’t need a wife. She needs a mirror.”

Freya turned away, forcing a small smile. She knew how these things worked. Public image could poison or protect. There was no in-between.

Then, a voice cut through the music behind her.

“You’re much prettier in real life. Pictures don’t do you justice.”

She turned — and found herself face to face with Pran Visut, heir to a telecom dynasty and one of Bangkok’s most notorious playboys. Dressed in a white tux, charming grin in place, holding a martini like it was an accessory.

Freya bowed politely, but coldly. “Khun Pran.”

He leaned a little too close. “Didn’t expect to see someone like you here. Suwichan’s not usually into— what do they say— soft girls?”

Freya stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Relax,” he said, laughing. “Just teasing. You’re lucky, you know. Eirawan’s out of reach for most of us. But you? You landed her. Smart girl.”

Freya blinked. “If you’ll excuse me—”

But he stepped in front of her again, too close, voice low now. “Or maybe Suwichan needed someone pretty to soften her image. That’s why they picked you, right?”

Before she could answer—

Before her fingers could tremble—

Before she even fully processed the insult—

A voice sliced through the music like steel.

“Move.”

Everyone turned.

Eirawan stood a few feet away, calm but lethal. Her expression unreadable — except for her eyes.

Her eyes were fury wrapped in poise.

Pran blinked. “Eirawan— I didn’t—”

“I said move,” she repeated.

Not loud. Not theatrical.

But final.

He laughed awkwardly and stepped aside, hands raised. “Didn’t mean to offend. I was just saying hi.”

Eirawan didn’t even glance at him again. She walked directly to Freya, placed her hand — deliberately — at the small of her back.

And turned her to face the cameras.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Every reporter froze. Every guest noticed.

They’re standing together.

She’s holding her.

That’s not just symbolic.

Eirawan bent slightly, so only Freya could hear.

“Anyone ever makes you feel small again — tell me. I don’t care who they are.”

Freya’s breath caught.

“I didn’t mean to draw attention,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” Eirawan replied. “I did.”

Freya turned her head slightly. “Why?”

Eirawan’s hand didn’t leave her waist. “Because you’re mine,” she said softly. “And if they want to see what Suwichan stands for — they can look at you.”

The room was still watching.

But all Freya saw was her.

And all she felt… was safe.

—

Later that night, back at the penthouse they were beginning to share, Freya stood by the window in her dressing robe, a cup of warm jasmine tea in her hands.

Eirawan emerged from the ensuite bathroom, tie loosened, blazer removed, hair now down — the image of quiet intimacy she rarely allowed the world to see.

“Thank you,” Freya said quietly.

Eirawan poured her own tea. “For what?”

“For choosing to stand with me. Not just… behind me.”

Eirawan turned toward her, one brow raised.

“You think I stand behind anyone?”

Freya smiled, a little. “No. But you bend… for me. A little.”

Eirawan considered that.

“Only for you.”

And then, as if the night wasn’t surreal enough — Eirawan walked over, took the cup gently from Freya’s hands, and set it aside.

Before Freya could speak — or think — Eirawan leaned in.

Not to kiss.

Just to rest her forehead gently against hers.