CHAOTIC KWONG THE IMMORTAL FAMILY (邝一家）

"LINGLING SIRILAK KWONG!!!"
Orm's voice echoed through the mansion like a thunderclap, shaking birds from the treetops and causing every staff member within earshot to either freeze or silently sprint in the opposite direction. Somewhere down the hallway, a maid clutched her rosary.

Namtan, ever the prophet of doom, casually strolled past the foyer and caught sight of her mother barreling forward like a storm cloud with perfect eyeliner. Without breaking her stride, she muttered to the nearest person, "Dad better run."

Lingling, who was halfway up the staircase with a cappuccino in one hand and her phone in the other, paused like a deer caught in the headlights of an emotional monsoon. She slowly turned, spotted Orm striding toward her with murder in her eyes, and made the first mistake of the evening—she tried to retreat.

Too late. A slipper sliced through the air like a heat-seeking missile. WHAP. Direct hit. Headshot.
Lingling's cappuccino wobbled. Her phone clattered to the ground.

"Honey..." she greeted cautiously, rubbing her temple with a wince, her voice lined with a nervous tremble. "Let's... talk about this?"

Orm stomped up the last few steps and held out her phone, screen blazing with a high-resolution photo.
In the image: Lingling, sitting at a low table surrounded by Bliss, the hottest new girl group in the industry. There were videos too—clips of her clapping along with them, even swaying slightly while one of them sang to her. There was even a frame of her laughing—like full belly-laugh, dimples on display, teeth sparkling. Happy. Too happy.

"What," Orm hissed, "is the meaning of this?!"

Lingling blinked. Twice. She leaned in to peer at the photo, then back at her furious wife with the gentlest smile she could muster. "It's not what it looks like," she said, hands half-raised in surrender. "They were the girl group Bliss—Channel 3 asked if our company could potentially sponsor their tour. It was strictly business."

Orm narrowed her eyes. "And the dancing?"

Lingling winced. "They insisted."

"And the hand-holding?"

"I kept my hands respectful!" Lingling protested, looking mildly insulted. "Two centimeters of air between me and that girl, I measured!"

Orm stared her down like a seasoned detective trying to crack a suspect. "Lingling. You looked like you were being courted."

"They were just friendly," Lingling replied. "I promise. One even called me 'Auntie.' You think I'd cheat with someone who calls me Auntie?"

Orm was still fuming, but the mental image of a teen idol calling her wife 'Auntie' seemed to soften her fury by 0.3%. She exhaled slowly, still glaring.

Lingling, ever the opportunist in marital crisis, reached for her wife's hand. "Teerak," she said sweetly, "I missed you the whole time. I couldn't even enjoy my coffee without thinking about your voice."

Orm narrowed her eyes again, but her lips twitched, just slightly. "You bought three albums from them."

"...to support young talent."

"You autographed their merch."

"...I was pretending to be the CEO's assistant, it was a PR exercise—very immersive."

Orm finally let out a long sigh and dramatically snatched her slipper back from the floor. "One more suspicious photo and I'm posting our wedding video on their fan page with the caption 'Sorry, she's taken by the woman who paid for her coffee machine that she didn't even use.'"