Chapter Text
Milk woke up before the alarm even went off, as always.
The morning light was already slipping through the sheer curtains that adorned the windows of her room, spreading across the polished wooden floor and reflecting on every glass and metal surface in its path. The apartment where she had lived for a few years in the ever-busy and lively Bangkok was quiet that morning, the silence interrupted only by the distant sound of car horns. Well, Milk might have just been waking up now, but the city had clearly been alive for several hours already.
The clock on the nightstand beside her read eight in the morning, and there was something almost cruel about the way the city moved outside: an incessant flow of life and motion that seemed to mock her own constant sense of stagnation — even now, right after waking up.
Knowing the long day full of obligations waiting for her as soon as she stepped out of bed, the woman sighed, feeling the weight of years piling on her shoulders. Thirty-five years old. Almost thirty-six. And still, that persistent feeling that life had rushed past her, leaving behind only tasks, responsibilities, and an uncomfortable silence, suffocated her.
Beside her, Peem was still sleeping soundly, breathing softly, with one hand resting on her pillow as if trying to reach for her even in sleep. For a moment, Milk allowed herself to look at her calmly, and for a few seconds, she found herself wishing she could feel something — any spark of their old passion, anything at all — but all she found was familiarity. For years now, the love that had once burned so strongly between them had turned into nothing more than… partnership — solid and respectful, yes, but utterly devoid of any warmth she might want. There were rare, fleeting moments when Milk caught herself remembering what it had been like to feel alive with Peem, but those memories burned silently, never truly materializing — at least not in the last years of their relationship.
Shifting slightly in bed, the woman began to get up quietly, doing her best not to wake the small pile of blankets gathered on her other side. On the left side of the bed, pressed up against her, breathing as if there were no worries in the world, was Dao, who, even at six years old, still insisted on sleeping curled up beside her mothers — more specifically, beside Milk.
Milk smiled softly, gently brushing away the messy strands tangled across that little face so much like her own, feeling that mix of love and tenderness she hadn’t felt in a long time for anyone other than her children. The little girl was her jewel, and along with her older son, she was the purest, most unquestionable bond that still tied her to everything her “perfect” life was supposed to mean — a reflection that at some point in the past, things had once gone right. And despite all the years of physical and mental exhaustion she had endured and still lived through, the long-cooled marriage, and the countless compromises she had made over the years, something good had bloomed and taken root after it all.
On her way to the office, Milk passed by her eldest son’s room, noticing he was no longer there — he was probably already on his way to school. She also passed through the kitchen, grabbing her usual strong black coffee. In the car, while her driver weaved through the busy streets, traffic was beginning to build around them, taxis, motorcycles, and tuk-tuks tangled together in an orderly chaos. The woman stared out the window, allowing herself to enjoy the beautiful sight of Bangkok under the clear blue sky of that sunny morning. She thought about the irony that surrounded her life: she ran a fashion empire, had a career few would dare to dream of, and yet she constantly felt trapped, suffocated, as if all the strings she controlled at work were insignificant compared to what was really happening deep inside her core.
Once at the office, formal greetings surrounded her from all sides. “Khun Milk,” some secretaries said as she passed, reverent, polite, their faces marked by rehearsed smiles. She replied with a simple nod of acknowledgment, but her mind was already elsewhere. It wandered through expansion plans still needing her approval, investor meetings scheduled for the afternoon, and countless sales figures yet to be discussed with her team. All of this ran through her mind at that moment, but with every technical detail she examined, Milk felt a familiar emptiness growing in her chest. It was as if she were watching her own life from a distance, unable to truly touch it.
When she reached the main office — her office — set in the very center of the top floor of the massive Vosbien Company tower, the panoramic view of Bangkok greeted her. Across the street, directly in front of the building, one of the Vosbien empire’s stores shone below, its façade lights glimmering like diamonds. Impeccable window displays, mannequins dressed in the most elegant tailoring from the just-arrived season’s collection — every tiny detail designed to seduce and captivate. Deep down, Milk wondered how many of those details mirrored her own life: external beauty and absolute control.
Or, almost absolute.
She thought of her children. Niran, the eldest, her pride. He was her firstborn, and though he hadn’t come at the best time, he had always been loved. Now seventeen, polite and obedient, captain of the basketball team, so full of energy and expectations that reminded her of herself in her youth. That, perhaps, was the only similarity between them, since in every other way — appearance and personality — he was a clear copy of her wife. On the other hand, there was Dao, her greatest treasure, still so young, so small and pure in her childish innocence, that Milk wished she could keep her in a glass jar to protect her from every disappointment and every bad thing the world was full of.
The dynamic between her, her children, and Peem had lately become a delicate subject, especially when it came to her relationship with her wife. Everything seemed on the verge of losing balance: love, affection, rules, traditions, and responsibility. All of this surrounded her and her family — some feelings stronger than others, some more oppressive than the rest.
Milk knew the image people had from the outside when looking at her family, at the nearly 20-year relationship between her and Peem. Many saw them as a goal to aspire to, and perhaps even their own children saw them that way. But the truth, the one hidden beyond the walls of their shared bedroom, was that what had once been a source of inspiration for many was now shattered, like broken glass. Though there was partnership, support, and affection, the woman missed something. She knew — she had always known — that desire, intensity, the feeling of being seen as whole by someone, and of seeing someone else that way — as if the person sleeping beside her were unbearably irresistible, impossible to keep her hands off — was no longer there. She wanted — no, she needed — to feel not only respected and admired but desired.
While going through the reports piling up on her desk, she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her blazer. When she picked it up, she noticed the screen flooded with messages, from colleagues at work to a few from her mother hours earlier, about the upcoming annual spring dinner at her in-laws’ house. Yet, among all of them, one message in particular caught her eye.
A text flashed on the screen: “Milk, opening of my new bar tonight. VIP area and everything. You’re coming, right? — Namtan”
Milk allowed herself a slight smile as she read. Namtan, her best friend since… well, since forever, the owner of several bars and casinos across the city, always seemed to know how to pull her out of her suffocating routine. She was one of the few people capable of making her forget her responsibilities for at least a few hours — able to make her feel like just Milk, not Mrs. Vosbien, not the great CEO of the empire carrying her last name, and certainly not the good old wife and mother she was so used to being.
The invitation was simple, but it came at the right time, carrying the weight of trust and intimacy Milk valued in her years-long friendship with the other woman. And even though she wasn’t the type to go out seeking lively nights like her best friend, she thought about the exhausting day she had already had, the children and the wife waiting at home for dinner, like almost every night — and she couldn’t resist the urge to let herself break the routine just once. To hell with it being Wednesday. She needed this: to step away, to try, even for just a few hours, to forget what her life had been like these past five years.
Decided, she quickly typed a reply: “Of course, Nam. I’ll be there. Just tell me the address and time.”
And for a moment, the woman allowed herself to feel that anticipation she hadn’t felt in a long time. Something about that night, in the vibrant, glowing Bangkok, promised to be different — even if she didn’t yet know exactly how.
***
The clock read a little past ten when Milk walked into Namtan’s bar with measured steps, her posture as elegant as ever, though the fatigue was noticeable to more trained eyes. Crimson Desire, that’s what the sign outside read. Bold, perhaps the boldest name her friend had ever given to a new venture. Milk knew her friend had begun opening establishments entirely her own, ones she had built from scratch without any help from her father, who, even in retirement, still enjoyed giving his opinions here and there about the empire he had once founded. And from the little she had seen since stepping into the place, Milk could say with certainty that Mr. Weerawatnodo was very likely proud of his daughter.
The place was packed. Everywhere the woman looked, more and more people crowded together — some dancing, others talking. The lights flashing throughout the room shifted between softer tones and dazzling, striking ones, offering something for every taste. Most of the furniture was dark — black, brown, and crimson — and the décor masterfully blended urban luxury with the coziness of an intimate setting. An electrifying beat pulsed in the background, but it didn’t overwhelm the space; no, the sound still allowed nearby conversations to be heard, and with some effort, laughter occasionally echoed over the music.
The woman took a deep breath as she looked around for a familiar face, trying to shake off the tension built up during the day. Still a bit stiff, her body and mind abandoned, clouded by exhaustion, she allowed herself, slowly, to breathe deeply, loosen her shoulders, and glance around — this time without hurry.
Suddenly, Namtan appeared at her side like a whirlwind of energy, exuding the unshakable confidence Milk had long grown used to.
“Milk! You finally made it!” the other woman exclaimed, hugging her with such force that it made Milk smile involuntarily as she returned the embrace with equal intensity. “Tonight is ours, you just need to let loose a little. Come on, let’s drink!” her friend said, lightly pulling her toward what was clearly the VIP section of the place.
Letting herself be led, Milk gave a reserved smile, watching her friend guide her into a new area — not so different from the other, but clearly more luxurious, especially the dance floor — toward the bar. As she passed, she observed the crowd, men and women laughing, talking, dancing. She recognized some faces as longtime clients, investors, and even several familiar figures from the media. But all of it faded into irrelevance when, unexpectedly, her eyes were drawn to two figures moving in sync on the illuminated, electrifying dance floor just a few steps from where she now stood at the bar. And then she saw her.
A flash of reddish hair, a posture both confident and youthful at once, and eyes that locked with hers for just a few seconds — seconds that reverberated like silent thunder in her chest. Milk froze for a moment, the air catching in her lungs. Who was that girl? Possessor of a presence that struck her almost physically, even from a distance.
Tearing her gaze away only to accept a glass of whiskey on the rocks — just the way her friend knew she liked it — Milk turned her eyes back to the dance floor the very next second. Her gaze fixed once again on the figure in the center of the crowd, leaving behind the conversation Namtan had started with some of their mutual friends at the corner of the bar, focusing solely on the target of her newest interest.
The young woman, who couldn't have been more than 5'3" tall, was delicate but had a presence that seemed to defy her stature. She danced in the center of the dance floor with another girl — probably her friend — and the two seemed so enthusiastic about everything around them that they seemed to float with the music, their movements fluid and contagious. They moved very close to each other, their bodies sometimes colliding, broad smiles lighting up their faces and provocative gestures seeming to arise between them. The two looked like they were enjoying every bit of it.
As she watched, Milk noticed that almost everyone around seemed to be just as captivated by the magnetism of the girls’ dance as she was — all eyes in the VIP area seemed locked on them, curious and desirous gazes were cast their way at every moment, restrained yet wide smiles curled on the lips of those watching, and some fingers pointed boldly in their direction. But Milk saw no one else. She couldn’t. Her entire attention was trapped on the smaller girl, who seemed to pulse with the music, radiating an energy the older woman hadn’t felt in years. Every move of hers seemed to make her feel more alive, more alert, and far more aware of her own body, which hummed softly, infected by the fervor unfolding before her.
Every step, every movement, every laugh that slipped through the younger girl’s lips held her, hypnotized her.Curiously, among all the feelings flooding her in that moment, Milk found herself feeling an unexpected joy. All that lightness, that pure, carefree laughter emitted by the girl, reminded her of her own youth, so long lost. The girl before her was not only provocative, but alive, unpretentious, her dance carrying a freedom so overwhelming it violently contrasted with the heaviness the woman carried in her own life. And that was electrifying.
It was strange, she knew, but at the same time, irresistible. She was enchanted by the youth radiating from the smaller girl and, at the same time, by the subtle provocation present in the deliberate movements of her hips, where a shiny, delicate chain rested. And how had Milk noticed that detail? Simple — she had been staring too much. She realized it wasn’t just the dance, or the beauty itself that caught her attention, but the way the other seemed to take up space with such natural ease and charm. Even though she was smaller and shorter, her presence was enough to fill the entire room.
At her side, Namtan, noticing Milk’s persistent gaze toward the dance floor, looked in the same direction and quickly caught on to what seemed to have captured her friend’s attention. She nudged her lightly on the shoulder and whispered with a mischievous smile:
“Looks like someone caught your eye… what a surprise.”
Caught red-handed, the woman snapped out of her stupor, quickly shifting her gaze and fixing it on her friend, who now watched her more closely, a sharp, teasing look on her face.
Noticing the slight tremor in the woman’s expression, Namtan was amused, and as she looked over her friend’s shoulder, her amusement deepened, along with the mischievous smile tugging at her lips, before she added:
“And it looks like your looks are being returned.” Namtan continued, leaning closer to Milk’s ear. “See for yourself…” she pointed discreetly at something behind her friend.
Milk tried not to look, she swore she tried, but she found herself unable to resist. The woman slowly turned, and as her eyes returned to where they had been fixed minutes earlier, she froze. The girl who had been dancing so cheerfully was now staring directly at her. Her dark, dilated eyes locked on her, with her friend now whispering something into her ear, nodding toward Milk with a subtle tilt of her head before beginning to step off the floor, heading toward the bar. And suddenly, Milk found herself alone with that presence. Time seemed to slow down. The girl, now by herself, held her gaze, intense, defiant, as if daring her to come closer, and realizing this, Milk felt her breath falter and her heart race.
“What are you waiting for? Go on, get closer.” Namtan’s voice rang behind her, teasing and amused, urging her to take action.
And for a second, Milk hesitated, but it was as if there was an invisible magnet pulling her. Leading her to make decisions she normally wouldn’t. As she stood and began to take her first steps toward the floor, the woman blamed the whiskey she had drunk for her reckless actions, even though she had only had one glass so far.
When she reached her destination, she noticed how the music pulsed in her ears, but the world around her disappeared, and now, face to face, there were only the two of them, and the electric energy growing between every inch that separated them.
But before she could even think about reacting, the smaller girl pressed her body against hers, and a wave of heat shot down the older woman’s spine. Her body responded instinctively: her hands rose and wrapped firmly around the girl’s delicate waist, feeling the subtle firmness and softness radiating from that skin beneath her fingers. The girl drew closer and closer, without words, and simply began to dance against her, eyes locked, smiling at her with a mixture of mischief and challenge.
Their bodies moved together, synchronized, dancing to the music that was no longer just sound but shared rhythm, heartbeat to heartbeat. The girl's touches on his shoulders and arms were light, teasing, and undoubtedly devastating in a way nothing else had been for a long time. Milk felt desire grow like a restrained fire, spreading through her entire body, from head to toe. Every breath from the girl in front of her, pressed so close, brushed near her collarbone, turning them into a kind of provocation. even if unconsciously, even if unintentionally. And from the look on the shorter one’s face — dark, dilated, and challenging, fixed on hers, searching for the tiniest reaction — Milk could tell that, intentional or not, every little gesture from that little provocateur overflowed with double meanings.
The younger girl’s body moved against hers with confidence, stirring sensations in Milk she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A shiver ran down her spine, and a jolt of electricity rushed toward her face, the arousal she felt in this moment becoming almost painful. She could feel that the girl felt it too, that every movement from the shorter one was like a silent invitation.
Suddenly, surprising her, a voice cut through the comfortable silence that had stretched between them since they had drawn close. And as if Milk had imagined it, the sound that reached her ears was nothing less than incredibly beautiful and melodious, a tone that only the voice of an angel like the one before her could carry.
“You like dancing like this, don’t you? Almost as if you want to merge.” the girl said, nearly a whisper in Milk’s ear, her voice dripping with clear provocation. Fearless. Confident. As if she knew exactly what to say to disarm anyone before her. And well, it was Milk standing in front of her now, and without a doubt, she was disarmed.
“Yes… I do,” Milk replied, trying to keep her composure, but her breath faltered, her body both tense and surrendered.
“But I bet you’ve never done this with someone so… much smaller?” The girl arched an eyebrow as a defiant smile spread across her mouth, and Milk felt every word ignite a fire in her cheeks. The shorter one was probably referring to the fact that, even though Milk was holding her waist firmly, she seemed not to know what to do beyond that, looking at the girl pressed against her as if any slightly abrupt move would break her. And the young one noticed it.
Milk smiled at the provocation, doing her best to keep her voice steady, not to show the effect all of this was having on her, but that effort became useless the very next moment with the words that slipped out:
“You’re taking my breath away.” the woman whispered, her breathing uneven and heavy.
And the girl in front of her definitely seemed amused by that.
“Well then, breathe deeper.” the girl said, leaning even further into the taller woman’s space, proving it was possible to press their bodies even closer, while she began moving her hips with more force, holding Milk’s steady hands on her hips with her own.
Teasing and laughing softly, the young woman drew everyone’s attention again, but this time, she was practically grinding against Milk. The heat of their bodies mixing more and more with every shift of hips.
The touch, the looks, the seemingly casual provocations — everything — went on for a few more minutes, while the music carried that growing tension that was becoming almost unbearable. Running her hand lightly along the older woman’s arm, up to her shoulder, and finally intertwining it around her neck, the shorter one was in control. Every gesture was a clear invitation for Milk to lean closer and closer toward her face, now as flushed as her own. Every smile, a new challenge. And Milk held on tight — she had to — because with each passing second, she felt the arousal that started in the pit of her stomach grow. She felt the ecstasy of the closeness, the desire exploding inside her, as if a dam that had held for so long was about to burst. But suddenly, awareness hit her like a gunshot, and a cold shock seemed to freeze her for a few seconds, when, finally, she realized—with her mouth just inches from the other’s — what she was doing.
What the hell was she doing?
Images of her family, her wife and children and her responsibilities, flashed through her mind. And as if struck by lightning, the woman pulled back.
With a trembling, almost inaudible sigh, she stepped away, trying to keep as much distance between them as she could in that moment.
Seemingly lost in her own daze, the girl took a while to notice the distance, but once she did, the expression on her face — once as surrendered to the moment as the woman’s — shifted into something like… recognition, and then she simply smiled, whispering something Milk couldn’t catch because of the space she had now forced between them.
But something caught the woman’s attention — the girl’s gaze now shifted from her face to somewhere else, more precisely, to Milk’s hands, which just seconds earlier had been holding firmly onto the small woman’s hips.
Following her gaze, the woman realized with shock what the girl was looking at. On her left hand, there it was — her ring. Her damn wedding ring.
Milk was married. But the girl in front of her already seemed to have noticed that, and the look on her face, along with the mischievous smirk curling her lips, showed that she had simply been waiting to see when the taller woman would realize it too.
Seeming satisfied with the shock written all over the woman’s face, the girl did the same — she pulled back. And with one last provocative smile in her direction, she slowly turned, heading toward the bar without looking back, leaving Milk stunned, heart racing, mind in chaos.
Dazed, and a little unsteady, Milk made her way to the counter at the other end of the bar, ordering another glass of straight whiskey, and then another, and another — all of them burning as they slid down her throat. Each sip scorched her throat, but it was necessary. She needed to compose herself, to regain some shred of control before the night — and she herself — slipped away completely. She sat down, trembling hands resting lightly on the glass, and let out a deep sigh, trying to drive away the image of the girl, once so close, so intense, so alive before her eyes. She tried to convince herself that it had only been a moment, a fleeting instant of excitement, a detour, a slip, but with every sip it became harder and harder to deny the effect that little provocateur had had on her body and mind.
Looking into the rest of the amber liquid in her glass, she thought that if she stayed in the bar, she might end up doing something she would surely regret bitterly later, that maybe she would give in to something she would never forgive herself for. The whiskey had helped create a kind of illusory clarity and distance from the earlier situation, but it couldn’t erase the rapture the girl had stirred in her. Milk’s body and mind were still connected to that instant — to the touch, the provocation, the eyes that had completely disarmed her. The feeling was delicious, and that was dangerous.
Decided to put an end to it all as soon as possible, Milk left the bar with slow but steady steps. She breathed deeply, trying to calm the heart that seemed about to burst from her chest, but every breath only intensified the memory of skin pressed against hers, of nearly shared breaths in such closeness, and of the subtle scent the girl exuded. Milk could swear it was a blend of vanilla and cherry. Sweet. Inviting.
Already on the sidewalk, she stood for a moment, looking around at the illuminated city of Bangkok, and lifting her head a little higher, she was met with the dark, starless sky stretching above her. She had arrived here a little after ten, and now, the watch on her wrist read exactly one fifteen in the morning. Time had passed too quickly; at home, everyone must already be asleep — unless Peem was still awake waiting for her, like the last time she had forgotten to send a message saying she’d be home late because of work. That had happened a few times, and almost every time her wife had waited for her, worried she was overworking herself. But tonight, her lateness had nothing to do with work, and Milk could only pray that this time, sleep had been stronger than Peem’s worry.
“It was just a moment… a slip,” she murmured to no one, shutting her eyes tightly, as if that could erase from her memory the girl’s lascivious smile, her dark eyes that had locked with hers, and above all, the way she had made her feel.
Milk breathed deeply for what felt like the thousandth time that night, feeling the night breeze against her skin. She knew that if she stayed any longer at the bar, if she let desire guide her, she could completely lose control. And she couldn’t. She couldn’t — for herself, for her family, for her wife, for her children. Still, there was something in her body, in her mind, that refused to calm down. The feeling had been intoxicating, dangerous, and Milk sensed that on that night, even if only for an instant, a seed had been planted in her mind. But, as the mature woman she was, she also knew she should tear it out by the root once and for all, before whatever it was could sprout. For her own sake, and for the sake of everyone she loved.
With steady steps, though still a little shaken, she finally moved away from the bar, leaving behind the loud music, the blinding lights, the stares, and the cause of her newest daydreams — the one who had awakened something she hadn’t even known still existed. Getting into her car, she closed her eyes for a second, then started the engine, speeding through the nearly empty streets at that hour, leaving behind the place that had almost been the den of her downfall, and trying, once again, to convince herself that, in the end, she had managed — she had resisted. But something inside her told her that, however brief it had been, that encounter had already changed everything.