Chapter Text
The night was warm, tinged with the soft humidity that clung to Bangkok in late August like a leaden blanket. City lights flickered through Earn’s windshield, kaleidoscoping into fragments as her car sped down the wide, glittering road. Music throbbed from the stereo, the bass heavy and heart-pounding, but her head pounded louder into her ear.
The party uptown had been indulgent, as always.
She’d arrived in diamonds and champagne and left a few hours later, the echo of another shallow kiss still staining her lips. Laughter had felt hollow tonight, and the tequila even more so.
Behind the wheel, Sanithada Phongphiphat—Earn to the world, darling to fans, mess to herself—blinked hard, once, then twice, trying to shake the brain fog from her vision. The road stretched long and empty ahead of her, lined with shuttered cafés and sleeping city trees. Her hand tightened on the wheel. Her ankle pressed deeper into the pedal.
She just needs to get home and nurse this headache.
But of course, her brain has other plans. Maybe it was the silence that made her reckless. Maybe it was the loneliness. Or maybe she just didn’t care anymore. She sped down the almost-empty road, as they were at two in the morning.
Until she almost hit the old woman.
It happened in a blink, a flash of pale skin and sudden motion in her headlights, a scream that tore from her own throat before the tires shrieked against pavement. She swerved. Hard. The world tilted. Metal crunched against steel. The air was filled with the smell of burning rubber.
Her car gave out one final lurch before it slammed itself into a pole.
The airbag deployed. Her ears rang. The dashboard blinked red and white like a dying heartbeat. Earn sat still, stunned by the split-second still that came after the violence. Her hands were trembling. Her head felt like cotton. There was blood on her lip, maybe from the airbag—and the slow realization crept in like cold water under a door: she could’ve killed someone.
She could’ve died.
A whistle pierced the air.
Someone was shouting—a man’s voice, clear and commanding. Orders were barked. Someone was coming to help the old woman, who had fallen to her knees. The old woman thanked the man who helped her up.
It took a few moments for Earn to take in the scene and finally see the man: he was tall and lean with wide shoulders. He’s sporting a very short crew cut, almost a buzz cut. His uniform was olive green, fitted, and dusty from fieldwork, cleared with no honorific pins. He’s young, an officer-in-training or a newly-hired private, probably. Still young enough to believe in rules. He approached with brisk steps, jaw set, and his eyes sharp.
He knocked on her window once. She blinked at him like he wasn’t real.
“Ma’am, are you alright? Can you please step out of the car?” he asked politely, though his tone was firm and his voice was even.
Earn didn’t move. It felt like she was hearing him underwater. She squinted up through the cracked windshield.
“Ma’am,” he said again, his tone still gentle. “I need you to step out of the vehicle now.”
Something clicked inside Earn, and she slowly reached for the door. Her heels clacked against the pavement as she staggered onto the road. Her legs felt like jelly, her pride cracking around the edges.
He didn’t look impressed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She blinked again. “Do you not know who I am?”
The officer didn’t answer. He glanced behind him at the old woman, who was shaken but alive. The old woman stood, being comforted by a few bystanders. One of them was filming on a phone. Another whispered, “Is that her? The singer?”
Earn turned, and for a moment and saw the phone-recording bystander; her voice was loud as she exclaimed. “Stop recording that!”
Then, she turned to the officer whose face was as hard as stone. “I’ll have your badge for this. Do you have any idea who I am?”
The soldier’s gaze didn’t waver. Closer and closer, Earn could hear the sound of police sirens. The young soldier stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Earn's.
“You’re driving under the influence, you endangered lives, and damaged government property. I know who you are. You were lucky you only got a graze, a split lip. It could have been worse,” the soldier said softly as he took off his cap. “And you are not above the law, Miss Phongphipat.”
At the police precinct, the room smelled of fluorescent lights and cheap coffee. Earn sat with her arms crossed, sunglasses still on despite the late night hour, her hair mussed and her shirt stained and creased with humiliation.
The private, who introduced himself to the police as a military private named Napat Wongwiwat, was calm as he gave his statement. No dramatics. No embellishment. Just the truth of what had happened on the road.
“She was visibly intoxicated. I wasn’t able to get a BCD count, but I could smell the alcohol on her. I don’t think she did it on purpose or sthat he was even aware of what was happening,” he said to the police taking the intake. “There was erratic driving and a near collision with a senior. I was about to issue a civil arrest as per Article 18 and M.C. 16-2007 if she ever drove away and endangered more lives or even herself, but she didn’t seem keen on leaving.”
Earn scoffed at her seat, glared at Wongwiwat. “A cadet? You’re letting a child dictate arrests now?”
The private and the police gave her a sharp look, but they chose to ignore her.
“Wait until my lawyer and my manager come here!” Earn said loudly. “I know my rights, I am allowed to make a call!”
The police officer opposite Wongwiwat sighed and gave Wongwiwat a phone. The private sighed and headed to Earn, holding up the phone to the actress.
“Fine,” he said, not making eye contact. “Make your call, Miss Phongphiphat.”
By the time Susi arrived, the sun was almost up.
In a crisp beige blazer and oversized sunglasses, the woman who had built Earn from a pretty girl with a pretty voice into a national icon entered like a typhoon in heels. She was composed but livid. The entire police station fell quiet as she strode through the gallery. She sat beside Earn, not looking at her, but radiating fury.
“You’re lucky you didn’t kill anyone,” Susi hissed under her breath. “I called our lawyer. You disrespected police officers, threatened a serviceman, and almost killed someone. Attorney Mahatak was smart enough to pull the right strings and got you a courtroom date as soon as possible.”
Earn didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her silence said everything — shame, confusion, bruised ego.
“It’s at nine today. We better get you dressed and ready,” Susi said.
Two hours later, Earn sat next to her lawyer on the bench of a stuffy, wood-smelling courtroom. Wongwiwat and the police captain were on the other side of the room. The judge, to his credit, didn’t fawn over Earn. He was older, maybe in his sixties, and even at nine in the morning, he looked tired.
“Let's get this over with,” he said as he held up the statements coming from Earn, the police, and the private. Slowly, he put down the papers next to his gavel. He gave a small nod to the private and the police captain, and then turned to Earn.
From behind the bench, Susi leaned forward. He whispered, just loud enough for Attorney Mahatak and Earn to hear. “We all went through so much trouble for you. Whatever the judge says, you agree.”
Earn nodded slowly.
“Miss Phongphipat, I have no interest in headlines,” the judge said sleepily while adjusting his glasses. “And I don’t believe in punishing people for mistakes they’re already paying for emotionally.”
Earn sat straighter, wore a sad look on her face. On the other side of the courtroom, Wongwiwat looked surprised. Then, he scowled as the realization dawned on him. He turned to the police officer next to him. “You…you can’t let her get off the hook that easily. She…she almost killed someone!”
He turned to Wongwiwat and gave him a sharp look that effectively shut him up. He continued, “Miss Phongphiphat will not face jail time. Her public record will remain sealed. However…”
Susi leaned forward.
“…she will fulfill an order of public service. In a way that befits her…capacities,” the judge paused. Wongwiwat was still scowling. “And one that would teach her the value of humility. Private Wongwiwat, is it correct that in the field, you are taught the value of humility?”
Wongwiwat sat up straight. “Yes, Sir. That is correct.”
The judge smiled. “I understand that you are awaiting reassignment? Where were you on your previous tour of duty?”
Wongwiwat didn’t miss a heartbeat in answering. “The 134th Infantry Regiment, Sir. I was assigned as ground support in Songkhla region for four months before requesting that I be transferred closer to Bangkok.”
“Why is that so?” the judge asked. “If I may ask?”
Wongwiwat’s face softened. “I got married and my wife is pregnant, Sir.”
The judge smiled, almost looking pleased with himself. “Well, would you be amicable if I say Miss Earn would hold a charity concert for soldiers, to raise morale? And perhaps, to see for herself the harrowing conditions men like you, men she would readily harrass on the street for nothing, ah...perhaps she can see the these conditions for herself, yes?”
Earn frowned. “Excuse me? P'Susi, please help...”
Wongwiwat seemed to consider it for a moment. “I would not be opposed to this. Being a soldier is hard. I think it’s time Miss Phongphipat sees it for herself.”
The judge’s tone was firm. “Then I think it's settled. You will perform a two-night charity concert for the 134th Infantry Regiment in Songkhla. Transportation and logistics will be provided by the military. Will two weeks suffice as your preparation, Miss Phongphipat?”
The silence was suffocating. The judge tapped his pen on the table impatiently.
Earn wanted to laugh. “You’re punishing me with soldiers?”
The judge didn’t blink. “Miss Phongpiphat, you seem not to understand the gravity of your deeds. You almost ran over someone’s grandmother. And you mocked the man who stopped you just to keep you from doing more harm to others, and most importantly, to yourself. That man, incidentally, was recently stationed at that very base. Consider this a lesson in humility. You’ll sing for these men who are fighting for their lives down south, or you’ll go to jail.”
Susi gave Earn a look. Do not argue.
Earn swallowed whatever retort had risen in her throat.
The judge nodded. He took his hand and slammed the gavel on the wood. “It’s decided then,” he said with an air of finality.
In the car ride home, Susi didn’t speak to her. The city blurred past the windows. Billboards with Earn’s face loomed large over the skyline—a reminder of the life she’d built and was now teetering on the edge of losing.
“You’re lucky none of them pressed charges,” Susi finally said as they turned down the street that led to her condominium unit. Her voice was quiet. “You’re lucky that grandma was alive and your car didn’t sustain so much damage.”
Earn sighed and leaned on the window. “P'Susi, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know. But intent doesn’t erase consequences.”
The car turned into their condo’s underground garage and halted. The car engine idled, but none of them went to get out.
“There’ll be cameras when we arrive, so you need to smile for the camera and say nothing,” Susi said. “Come here, let me touch up that makeup of yours so it’s not obvious you busted your lips.”
Earn didn’t respond, but she followed Susi’s advice. She leaned forward and allowed Susi to fix her makeup. Once they’re done, Susi got out of the car first. The driver got out and flanked Earn.
By the end of the day, the press had already spun stories of Earn’s incident.
“Starlet’s Slip-Up: Earn Phongphiphat’s Close Call After Party Night”
“Court-Order: Pop Idol to Perform for the Army”
“From Carpet to Camouflage?”
It wasn’t just gossip now. It was a PR disaster. Susi had spent the day glued to her phone, typing out statements, picking up calls, sending emails just to save Earn’s reputation.
Social media was a war zone—some defended her, that she was just a child, barely out of her early twenties. She was just an immature girl who had access to money and luxury. Others demanded consequences. Her sponsors issued statements. One quietly withdrew.
Earn sat alone in her apartment that night, legs folded under her. She played with the frayed threads of her blanket. Susi had advised against using phones for now. In the other room, the one next to hers, she could hear Susi talking to suppliers and team members: makeup artists, backup dancers for her upcoming concert in the southern region of the country.
She didn’t sleep that night.
Two weeks later, Earn found herself sitting in the back of a Bell 412 Utility helicopter, a standard issue of the Royal Thai Aviation Forces. Susi sidled next to her as it eased itself into the makeshift helibase in Songkhla. Heat shimmered off the pavement. Jungle trees swayed behind chain fences.
Earn looked out the window of the descending air vehicle and felt something shift in her chest. Far beyond the clearing where they’re supposed to land, she could see the green roof and the tents huddled together to form a circle with a large clearing in the middle, encased altogether with a perimeter fence. There was a small, makeshift stage made of wood in the middle of the base. Soldiers crittered away like tiny ants. She swallowed hard.
This wasn’t a stage. This wasn’t the capital. This wasn’t the world she knew.
Her whole world rattled as the helicopter made contact with the ground. She stepped out, high ponytail swaying, oversized sunglasses hiding the exhaustion in her eyes. Behind her, Susi barked into a phone. A cameraman followed closely.
A waiting van pulled up close, as closely as possible. Two soldiers stepped out of the front and gathered their bags. Earn stayed close to Susi, who barked off instructions upon instructions to the soldiers. Earn’s team loaded up their cameras, makeup kits, and her customized microphone into the vehicle.
The drive from the helibase to the military base was brief. Earn stared at the window, watching as the trees and the greenery passed by. When the van stopped at the hangar, the soldiers were already waiting for them.
Soldiers turned at the sight of two cameramen getting off the van. Some whispered amongst themselves. The female soldiers wore giddy smiles. Men fawned over Earn. One saluted instinctively before realizing who she was.
Across the field, Dr. Fahlada Thananusak, the regiment’s military trauma surgeon, didn’t care much for pop stars. She’d seen too much of the war in the south: too many wounded boys, too many bloodied stretchers, too many late nights stitching lives back together with trembling hands and coffee breath to believe in frivolity.
She saw the cameras before she saw Earn.
She saw the lip gloss and red boots. The dramatic entrance. The entourage.
And she sighed.
Another puppet for morale. Another bread-and-circuses stunt from HQ.
She let out an unimpressed snort. Unlike Dr. Bow and Dr. Thaen, who seemed to be so excited when they heard that a famous pop idol was headed to Songkhla to perform for them, Lada didn’t have time for vanity projects like Earn Phongpiphat.
Lada returned to her report, her pen scratching softly across the clipboard. She had surgeries to prep. Medical orders to request. Men to heal.
Somewhere outside, Earn smiled at the welcoming committee, signed a soldier’s cast, and blew a kiss to the camera. Susi was at her side, making sure the camera got a good shot of Earn.
Lada wouldn’t have cared if she had.
“I’m so excited to hear her sing,” Dr. Bow yipped next to her. “Are you not excited to see her live, Lada?”
Lada smiled at her friend. “This place will eat her alive, Bow. The sooner she’s out of here, the sooner I’d like it.”
She went back to her reports. Because in this place, image didn’t matter. Here, the only thing that counted was who you were when the shooting started, on what you were willing to do. And no one—not even a pop star with a fragile ego and a tarnished name—was immune to that.