She wore a cheongsam Chen had chosen — slit high, jade buttons, hiding a stiletto in the seam. Every dinner, every walk by the Singapore River, she edged him toward the teahouse. “There’s a place,” she said, “quiet. No soldiers. Just old wood and incense.”
The night came. A monsoon rain. Chen had positioned three men in the kitchen of the teahouse. Maya entered first, heart hammering. Takeda followed, closing the paper door. He removed his cap, revealing silver-streaked hair. “You’re trembling,” he said. “Cold?” lust caution sub indo
The kitchen door creaked. Chen’s shadow moved behind the rice-paper screen. Maya’s hand went to her cheongsam seam. Not for the stiletto. For the camellia he had given her — now dried, tucked like a secret. She wore a cheongsam Chen had chosen —