Painted

Chapter 2

Rebecca hadn’t expected to see Sarocha again so soon. After all, Bangkok was a city of millions, where familiar faces drifted out of sight and memory like the river winding through its heart. And yet, a mere week after the art exhibition, there Sarocha was, sauntering into the quiet café as if drawn by some unspoken gravity. The café’s low lighting softened her edges, making her dark eyes glint like onyx, alive with mischief as they swept across the room.

Rebecca, who’d been hunched over her morning coffee and a meticulously spread array of architectural sketches, tensed. She kept her head down, but her mind was already racing, half hoping Sarocha would glide past without noticing her.

But Sarocha’s gaze landed on her with pinpoint accuracy. There was a beat of surprise, then a slow, confident smile. That signature, infuriating look Rebecca had seen too many times in their past encounters—the one that made her feel as though she were already caught in Sarocha’s web.

There was no escape now. Rebecca looked up, meeting Sarocha’s gaze with a carefully blank expression.

“Rebecca Armstrong,” Sarocha greeted, her voice laced with a warmth that bordered on teasing. She crossed the room in a few strides, each movement smooth, calculated, like she was gliding on rails. “Funny seeing you here. Bangkok’s such a small town, isn’t it?”

Rebecca gave a tight smile. “It has its moments.”

Sarocha didn’t wait for an invitation; she slipped into the seat across from her, folding herself gracefully into the small space. The air between them was suddenly, sharply charged, as if the mere proximity of their bodies sparked a chemical reaction. Rebecca forced herself to keep her eyes on her coffee, hoping Sarocha couldn’t see the slight tension in her posture, the tight line of her mouth.

“Busy morning?” Sarocha asked, her gaze dipping to the architectural sketches spread neatly across the table. She lifted an eyebrow, taking in the crisp lines, the precise angles Rebecca had been fine-tuning all morning. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the brilliance at work.”

Rebecca’s lips twitched, half a smirk, half a grimace. “Hardly brilliance. Just details.”

Sarocha’s mouth quirked, her eyes lighting up with interest as she studied Rebecca. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Rebecca. Not after the storm you kicked up with that riverside gem.” Her tone was soft, almost thoughtful, but Rebecca sensed the challenge in it—a deliberate reminder of her most prominent achievement, the residential tower that had put her name on the city’s map and won her a dozen new clients overnight.

Though she was lauded for the project once her design was revealed to the media at the time, the building had only recently been completed and was set for a grand opening soon. This timeline allowed for a resurgence of interest in Rebecca's work, already creating excitement over what would be next from the rising star.

Rebecca bristled. Of course, Sarocha would bring that up, as if it were something to use against her. She straightened, forcing herself to relax. “Oh, so you follow architecture now?” she replied with an arched brow. “Or are you just very thorough in tracking your… rivals?”

Sarocha’s laugh was rich and low, tinged with that familiar hint of amusement that bordered on flirtation. “Rivals? Is that what we are?” She tilted her head, as if genuinely intrigued. “I always thought of us as… friendly competition.”

“Is that why you went on and on about my ‘crude functionality’ at the Srisoonthorn Gallery panel last year?” Rebecca’s voice was sharp, though she kept her tone even, masking the irritation she felt beneath her practiced professionalism. She hadn’t forgotten that moment—the sting of Sarocha’s words still lingered like an old wound, carefully disguised as constructive criticism.