Chapter 20

Rani’s Point Of View

The moment I stepped into my office that morning, the faint scent of perfume and petals greeted me before I even set my bag down.

Two bouquets sat proudly on my desk, like competing declarations in silk-wrapped armor, one bold, masculine arrangement in deep reds and whites, undoubtedly from Damian, and another soft, delicate mix of peonies and ivory roses, arranged with an intentional grace I didn’t need a card to recognize.

Lamia.

I didn’t sigh, not outwardly. But inside, the weight pressed against my ribs like it always did now. That familiar pull, the kind that makes your spine straighten but your soul slump hit me like clockwork.

It was becoming routine. Flowers, gestures, notes. One trying to come back. One trying to come in.

I set my purse gently on the chair beside my desk and walked toward the two bouquets, the click of my heels echoing off the floor in a rhythm I’ve always found empowering. But today, it just felt loud in a room that suddenly felt too full.

I stared at them. Two lives. Two versions of something I used to want, or could have wanted.

One, a man I barely knew past pleasantries and flattery, trying to romanticize my pain like it was something he could rescue me from.

And the other… Lamia. Complicated, arrogant, infuriating Lamia. A woman who gave me a child I love more than myself. A woman who tore open wounds in me and now dared to offer roses as sutures.

I leaned forward, picking up Lamia’s bouquet first, brushing a thumb lightly over a petal like it could whisper to me what she was really thinking. She always chose flowers that said more than she ever would.

But I wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t love. Not from either of them.

This was persistence. Guilt. Desire. A chess game in slow motion, and I was the queen both sides were trying to corner.

I picked up Damian’s card, then Lamia’s. I didn’t open them. Not yet. Not today.

Because part of me was tired of hearing everyone else’s thoughts. For once, I just wanted to sit down, drink my damn coffee, and feel nothing.

But as I turned to my desk chair and sat down, my gaze fell once again on those flowers.

And I knew, no matter how much I wanted peace, the war wasn’t done with me yet.

——

At exactly ten in the morning, I stepped out of my car and stood before the towering glass façade of the Gaddafi Al-Nasr Corporation building, an empire sealed in steel and legacy. The name alone rang with decades of power, money, and politics, whispered through the business corridors of the country like a sacred warning, you don’t mess with the Al-Gaddafis.

The sunlight hit the surface of the glass building, casting a reflection of me back at myself. Impeccably dressed, heels sharp enough to wound egos, and not a strand of hair out of place I looked like I belonged. But inside, there was a quiet resentment I could never quite shake every time I entered this place. This was Lamia’s turf. Her name echoed in these halls, her signature lived in the contracts stacked in executive drawers. Even if we didn’t love each other, hell, we hated each other, the irony that I’d married into this building, that I now had to sit at their long black conference table like I was one of them, never failed to tighten something in my chest.

I handed my visitor’s pass to the receptionist without a word, heels tapping against the polished marble as I made my way to the executive floor. I knew today’s meeting wasn’t about personal drama, it was strictly business. I had a seat as a partner through one of my own ventures, and Gaddafi Al-Nasr Corporation was a key strategic collaborator. But still, I braced myself.

There would be eyes on me. Whispers. Curiosity laced in civility. They’d all seen the headlines. The scandal. The baby we lost. The divorce papers. They wouldn’t say a word, of course, not to my face. But I’ve lived too long in the business world not to know how to read glances sharper than knives.

I entered the conference room early, the scent of rich coffee and mahogany greeting me like a cold handshake. The long obsidian table stretched across the room like a battlefield. I chose my seat at the far end, unapologetically powerful, commanding, and deliberate.

Because no matter how many ghosts this building held for me, no matter how tied my name still was to Lamia’s, this morning, I wasn’t here as a wife. Or an ex. Or a grieving mother.

I was Rani Hidalgo.

And I came here to work.

I had just placed my leather folder on the table when the doors of the conference room opened and my perfectly measured breath caught the moment I looked up.

Of course.

Damian Alonzo walked in first, smooth as ever in a navy suit that probably cost more than a junior exec’s salary. His confident stride hadn’t changed since we last locked eyes at that industry gala months ago, but what startled me wasn’t the fact that he was here. It was the fact that he had sent me flowers this morning. And now here he was, flashing me that casual smirk like this wasn’t wildly inappropriate.

But I wasn’t given even five seconds to digest that when she entered.

Lamia Al-Gaddafi.

In head-to-toe white, hair tied in a sleek bun, heels commanding every inch of the floor she walked on. Her signature scent, oud and smoke and secrets trailed after her like a ghost I never invited. She looked like a storm in silk. And I hated that I still noticed.

Two people.

Two bouquets.

And now they were seated at the same table, breathing the same air, pretending this was just business, as if I didn’t receive their carefully written notes, tucked into overpriced floral arrangements, just hours earlier.

For a second, I blinked at the surreal timing. Was this some kind of setup? Did they know? Or worse, was this just the universe playing with me again, dangling irony like a joke at my expense?

I sat straighter, smoothing the fabric of my blouse, making sure not a single emotion cracked through my expression. I wasn’t about to let anyone, especially not them, think I was caught off guard.

Lamia’s eyes flicked to mine, calm and unreadable.

Damian looked amused, like this was all just some big coincidence. Please.

I cleared my throat softly, just enough for them to hear.

“Well,” I said coolly, adjusting my pen with deliberate grace, “this should be… interesting.”

And just like that, the meeting began, three of us at the table, three pasts between us, and one silent war buried beneath every contract on that agenda.

I barely had time to arrange my notes before a soft rustle of silk signaled someone taking the seat beside me. I turned just slightly, enough to catch the scent of jasmine and fresh linen, and there she was… Kiara Mendoza.

Kiara. One of those women the industry both feared and admired. CEO of a logistics empire, twice featured in Forbes Asia, and known for closing multi-million-dollar deals without ever raising her voice. She had that effortless aura of someone who didn’t need to prove anything and yet somehow, her presence always left a mark.

She crossed one leg over the other, her manicured fingers resting elegantly on her notepad before she tilted her head to me with a small, almost conspiratorial smile.

“Rani Hidalgo,” she said smoothly, her voice low and lilting like velvet. “It’s been a while. You look stunning, as always.”

I returned the smile, diplomatic and controlled. “Kiara. You haven’t aged a day. How’s Cebu treating you?”

“Busy,” she said with a small laugh. “Always is. But not as busy as Manila drama, apparently.”

She didn’t say it cruelly, but her eyes sparkled like she already knew what was coming. Of course she did. Everyone with a pulse and a data plan knew by now. My name had been floating on every business tabloid and gossip reel for the last two weeks.

I exhaled slowly and offered a shrug, brushing a nonexistent piece of lint off my sleeve.

“Drama’s just noise,” I said, voice calm. “Work keeps me focused.”

Kiara leaned closer, not nosy, curious. Woman to woman. “But are you okay? Really? I mean… she’s here. In her family’s company and you here. If that happened to me, I’d already be on a yacht halfway to Greece.”

I gave a soft, almost amused huff. “I don’t have the luxury of running. Not when I have a company to run and a son to raise.”

Her expression softened. “Faisal, right? I’ve seen photos. Beautiful boy.”

I nodded, a brief smile tugging at my lips. “He’s my world. And that’s why I can’t afford to break. Not even now.”

Kiara glanced toward Lamia at the end of the table, who was listening to someone from finance speak, her posture perfect, her hands folded, like she hadn’t just shattered my world months ago.

“And Lamia?” Kiara asked gently. “I saw some articles. She’s really trying, huh?”

I didn’t look. I didn’t need to.

“She always tries,” I said under my breath. “After she ruins everything.”

Kiara said nothing, only nodded like she understood more than she let on. Then she sat back, giving me my silence, her presence no longer prying but quietly supportive.

And as the next presentation began, I straightened my back and lifted my chin, determined to make it through this meeting like I always did… gracefully. Even if the ghosts in the room wore fresh suits and familiar perfume.

The room fell into a respectful hush the moment the heavy mahogany doors swung open and Jazed Al-Gaddafi, the Babba himself stepped in.

He didn’t need to speak for everyone to rise to attention. The weight of his authority walked into the boardroom ahead of him, sharp and immovable. Dressed in his signature tailored navy thobe and gold cufflinks that glinted beneath the lights, he looked every inch the man who built empires with silence and crushed legacies with a single look.

I stood, as did everyone else. Even Damian straightened from his lazy lean on the conference chair, and Lamia, sitting ons seat away from me, pressed her lips into a thin line and folded her hands neatly on the table.

“Let’s begin,” Babba said simply, his voice deep and unhurried, yet filled with finality.

He took the seat at the head of the table. Lamia was to his left. Damian was across.

The projector flickered to life as the assistants handed out folders and digital tablets, the presentation on quarterly ventures lighting up the boardroom. My eyes skimmed over the pages, already familiar with the figures, already rehearsed in what I needed to say. But I couldn’t ignore the silence sitting between me and Lamia. Or the way Damian’s glances occasionally drifted toward me.

And then Babba spoke again.

“Before we dive into the numbers,” he said, fingers steepled before him, “I want to make one thing clear… business will remain professional. No matter what personal matters exist between any of us in this room.”

A chill passed over the table. Lamia stiffened beside him. Damian cleared his throat.

I didn’t flinch. I knew that was directed at me.

“I understand, sir,” I said clearly, firmly. “I’m here to talk business.”

Babba’s eyes narrowed just a little, just enough to see if I’d crack. But I didn’t. I held his gaze until he moved on, giving a short nod.

The meeting began in earnest. Charts. Profits. Expansion plans in Southeast Asia. Sustainability programs. I spoke with ease when it was my turn, sliding seamlessly into the pitch for a new logistics partnership. Lamia asked pointed questions, polished and precise. Damian threw in numbers like candy. And Babba… he just listened. Watched. Judged.

But beneath the corporate gloss, I could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me.

Because even though I wore heels and armor, I was still a woman who had to share a table with the mother of her child… and the woman who broke her heart without ever loving her.

And across it all, Babba’s presence loomed like a warning,

That no matter how far we thought we had come, he still held the final say.

The moment Babba stopped speaking, the room fell into careful order. The first slide illuminated the dark wood-paneled walls with bar graphs of growth projections for the Gaddafi Al-Nasr Corporation’s upcoming joint ventures.

A male executive began his summary, but no one was really paying attention, at least not the core of this tension.

“Miss Hidalgo,” Babba said, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the room. “You’ve had success with supply chain integration under your group. Let’s hear your proposal for Q3.”

I nodded, standing up, smooth and confident, despite the buzz of nerves under my skin. “Thank you, Mr. Al-Gaddafi.”

I walked toward the screen, my heels echoing across the marble. As I gestured to the figures on the screen, I kept my voice steady. “Based on our market analysis, we believe shifting our logistical base to Calabarzon will increase efficiency by twelve percent and reduce transportation costs by…”

“She already implemented something similar in her own company,” Damian interrupted, flashing one of his practiced smiles. “Rani’s team made headlines with the savings.”

I gave him a side glance. “Appreciate the mention, Damian. I wasn’t finished yet.”

There were light chuckles around the table, but Babba raised a brow. “Continue.”

I did. I finished the pitch without missing a beat. But I knew who was watching me the entire time.

When I returned to my seat, Lamia leaned slightly toward me. Her voice was low, just enough to be heard. “You’re brilliant. As always.”

I didn’t look at her. “Flattery doesn’t erase the past.”

Damian, who sat across from both of us, smirked like he could feel the frost coming from my end of the table. “Well, this meeting just got interesting.”

Kiara, the woman seated beside me, leaned over with her elbow on the table and whispered, “Damn, girl. You’re powering through this with two lovers at the same table?”

I offered a small smile. “It’s just another Tuesday.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” she said, half-joking.

Lamia cleared her throat and addressed the table. “If I may, I’d like to suggest we attach the integration plan to our Bataan refinery expansion. The cost savings align well with Rani’s projections.”

Babba raised an eyebrow at her. “You support Rani’s proposal?”

“I support what’s best for the company,” Lamia replied, cool and decisive.

I didn’t know whether to roll my eyes or stare at her. The way she was switching from business to personal was infuriating and confusing.

Then Damian tapped his pen lightly and said, “I second Lamia’s suggestion. But I also think we need to evaluate the supplier contracts again. Rani, we should talk offline about some of your vendors. Maybe have dinner?”

Lamia’s jaw subtly tightened.

I smiled sweetly. “Let’s keep it to business hours, Damian. This project’s already complicated enough.”

The tension didn’t go unnoticed by Babba. He leaned forward, finally speaking again. “If we’re all done measuring our egos, can we move to financials?”

Silence.

Then polite coughs. Nods.

“Yes, sir,” Lamia said first, all steel and dignity.

I nodded too. “Let’s proceed.”

——

The last slide blinked off, and most of the partners filed out, their polite nods and murmurs fading into the hallways. But I stayed planted in my seat, my fingers tapping absently on the polished conference table. Now beside me, Damian was quietly folding his notes, while Lamia’s gaze was fixed somewhere distant but unyielding. Babba leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp as ever, watching us all.

Silence stretched between us like a taut wire, electric and brittle.

I cleared my throat, breaking it. “So… is there anything else?”

Damian glanced up, a faint smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. “Just the usual, making sure we don’t kill each other before next quarter.”

I shot him a look, but there was no denying the truth in his joke.

Lamia finally spoke, voice calm but assertive. “This project will succeed if we put aside our differences. For Faisal’s sake, and for the future.”

Babba’s eyes narrowed as he turned to me. “Your thoughts, Rani?”

I drew a slow breath, feeling the weight of all eyes on me. “I agree. We need to focus on the work and not the past.”

Damian nodded approvingly. “Wise words. Though some of us have a harder time than others.”

Lamia’s gaze flicked to him sharply, but I held her look steady. I wasn’t about to let her steal my moment.

Babba stood, gathering his briefcase with a deliberate calm. “Good. Then let this be a new chapter. For the company and for the family.”

The word hung heavy in the room, both a promise and a challenge.

I grabbed my own bag, as I turned toward the door, I caught Lamia’s eyes once more.

No words were needed.

We both knew this wasn’t over.

——

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the penthouse floor. I stepped out, heels clicking against the marble, exhaustion clinging to every part of me. My blazer hung over my arm, and my phone was buzzing again with emails I refused to read. Meetings had stretched far longer than expected, one after another, then a dinner with an investor that I couldn’t avoid. I hadn’t even realized it was already past 11 PM until I checked the time in the car.

I slid my keycard into the door and pushed it open slowly.

The penthouse was dim, only the faintest warm light from a floor lamp in the living room casting soft gold against the polished floors. The silence was calming, a rare, heavy stillness that settled into my shoulders like a sigh. I slipped my heels off by the door and set my bag down gently. The scent of roses hit me before I even turned the corner.

And then I saw her.

Lamia.

Asleep on the couch.

She was curled on her side, her hair messy, makeup faintly smudged like she’d drifted off before even bothering to clean up. She wasn’t wearing anything grand, just an oversized black shirt and soft cotton nylon wideleg pants, but the sight of her lying there, so still, so quiet, sent a strange throb through my chest.

Beside her, resting carefully on the coffee table, was another bouquet of flowers.

Of course.

I stepped closer, slowly, careful not to wake her just yet. The bouquet was elegant, white lilies and pale pink roses, tied with a velvet ribbon. There was no note this time, but it didn’t need one. I already knew who it was from. The same person who kept sending flowers, notes, and promises I never asked for.

Lamia shifted slightly, a small sigh escaping her lips.

I stood there in the stillness, arms folded tightly across my chest. Part of me wanted to scoff. Another bouquet? Another sorry, without saying the word? As if that could undo what had happened. As if roses and lilies could erase the image of blood staining the hospital sheets. As if sleep on my couch would somehow plant her back into my life like none of it ever broke.

And yet…

She looked so tired.

Almost as tired as I felt.

I didn’t wake her. I didn’t speak. I just turned quietly, stepped into the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of water to swallow the bitterness rising in my throat. Then I leaned against the counter, staring back at her.

God, I hated how familiar this all felt.

Like a life we used to fake, now being faked again.

Except now, there was no audience.

Just two strangers, orbiting around the ruins of something neither of us ever asked for.

And flowers that couldn’t fix anything.

I was mid-sip of lukewarm water when I heard the soft rustle of the blanket.

My eyes flicked to the couch, where Lamia stirred beneath the throw she had pulled over herself earlier. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked up at the ceiling in that disoriented way people do when waking up somewhere they shouldn’t be sleeping. Then, slowly, her gaze shifted…meeting mine.

She didn’t speak right away. Just sat up, pushing her long hair away from her face. The bouquet she had brought home lay slightly crumpled beside her. I hadn’t touched it.

“Rani,” she said, voice raspy from sleep. “You’re home.”

I didn’t answer. I leaned against the counter in the kitchen, the silence between us stretching too long, too familiar.

“You fell asleep in the living room,” I said eventually, folding my arms. “On my couch.”

Lamia straightened, pulling the blanket off her lap with a quiet sigh. “I was waiting for you. I must’ve dozed off.”

I gave her a look, unamused. “That seems to be your specialty lately. Showing up with flowers and sleeping in places you’re not supposed to.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “I just wanted to see you.”

I raised a brow, stepping closer, just enough to let the sharpness in my voice land between us. “You live here again, remember? You don’t need to camp out on the couch to prove a point. If you have something to say, say it.”

She stood up fully now, not defensive, just tired, but still with that irritating composure only she could pull off after waking up on velvet upholstery like she meant to.

“I missed you,” she said plainly. “I waited because I wanted to talk to you, but you got home late… again.”

I scoffed. “We’re not doing this. It’s too late for drama and too early for delusion.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” she said calmly, walking around the couch toward me. “I just wanted to see you. To remind you I’m still trying.”

I gave her a pointed look. “Trying?” I echoed, crossing my arms again. “You call this trying? Sending flowers like we’re some high school romance gone sour? Sleeping on couches like you’re some sad ex hoping for a second chance?”

Her jaw tensed, but she kept her tone measured. “I’m doing everything I can to stay in this house. In this family. With our son. And yes, even with you.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away, walking toward the hallway. “Save it. If you were that desperate, you wouldn’t have needed Babba to drag you out of whatever affair you were having to remember who your family is.”

That one hit. I knew it did, her silence said everything.

I paused at the hallway entrance, my back still to her. “Don’t wait up next time. I didn’t ask you to.”

“You don’t have to ask,” she said behind me. “I’ll still wait.”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing the slight clench of my jaw, the heaviness in my chest. I walked straight into the bedroom and closed the door, quietly.

Let her sleep out there if she wanted to act like she belonged again.

This wasn’t love.

This was war in silk pajamas.

And I was done pretending I didn’t know the battlefield.

I climbed the stairs slowly, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders and heavier still in my chest. My heels had been kicked off at the door, God knows they’d done their duty and my silk blouse was unbuttoned halfway by the time I reached the ensuite bathroom.

The mirror caught my reflection under the dim vanity lights. My lipstick had faded into a soft stain, and the shimmer under my eyes had turned to shadows. I stared at myself for a moment. Not the woman from the tabloids. Not the perfect wife. Just a woman… tired, worn, and surviving.

I tied my hair up into a loose bun and began my routine. Cleanser. Toner. Serums. Eye cream. Moisturizer. The motion of each step was muscle memory by now, but tonight it felt slower, heavier. Like I was putting a mask back on instead of taking it off.

The room was quiet when I stepped out of the bathroom. I dimmed the chandelier overhead and walked over to my side of the bed. The sheets were crisp and cold… untouched. Lamia’s side was still made, and a part of me hoped she stayed on the couch.

I slipped into bed with a sigh, pulling the covers up to my chin. My body finally started to relax. My eyes fluttered shut.

And then the door creaked open.

I didn’t move at first. Maybe I imagined it.

But then I heard it. The soft click of the door closing. The barely-there sound of bare feet against the hardwood floor. The rustle of fabric.

I opened my eyes and turned my head, and there she was.

Lamia.

She stood at the edge of the bed, she looked… calm. Too calm for someone who had slept on the couch and wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.

“You’re still awake,” she said quietly, as if she wasn’t breaking some silent treaty we’d drawn between us.

“Not anymore,” I muttered, sitting up slightly, pushing my hair behind my ear. “What do you want?”

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she walked slowly toward her side of the bed, eyes never leaving mine. She placed a glass of water on the nightstand… hers, not mine, and then sat down.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said finally.

“Then you shouldn’t have come in,” I replied coolly, shifting away from her. “The couch suits you.”

She smirked, barely. “It’s not about comfort, Rani. I’m still your wife. Whether you like it or not.”

“That’s not an argument, Lamia. That’s a threat.”

“It’s a fact.” Her voice was soft, too soft. “And maybe I’m clinging to facts right now, because everything else is falling apart.”

I gave her a long, unblinking stare. “Then cling somewhere else. You lost the right to be here the second you made me feel like an outsider in my own marriage.”

Her smile faltered.

“But you’re still here,” she said. “And so am I. And that means something.”

“It means I’m too tired to pack my bags,” I snapped.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

Instead, she pulled back the covers on her side and climbed into the bed like she used to, like nothing was broken between us. I watched every move, my chest tight with disbelief and frustration.

“You’re unbelievable,” I hissed.

“I’m trying,” she murmured, already lying down, facing the ceiling.

I turned away, facing the opposite wall, eyes wide open despite the darkness.

I didn’t tell her to leave.

But I also didn’t tell her she could stay.

And somehow, that middle ground felt more dangerous than anything else.

Because in that space between hate and love, silence could start to sound a lot like hope.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready for either.

I closed my eyes again, pulling the blanket tighter over my shoulder, trying…. really trying to will myself into sleep. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t settle. Thoughts twisted and turned like vines in my skull.

The seconds ticked on, and the quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the space between us. I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. I didn’t want her to see the storm still rolling inside me. I just lay there, still as stone, my back facing her, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

Ten minutes, maybe. Or fifteen. I don’t know how long passed. Just long enough for the silence to almost feel safe.

And then I felt it.

Soft. Gentle. Barely there.

A kiss on my forehead.

Her lips.

It lingered just a second too long for comfort, just short enough to make me doubt it happened at all. But I knew. I knew. That warmth, that weightless pressure, familiar, infuriating, undeserved.

I didn’t move. I didn’t open my eyes. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was scared she could hear it.

And yet… I said nothing.

I just lay there, in the dark, pretending I didn’t feel it.

Pretending it didn’t make something crack quietly inside me.

Because I didn’t know what scared me more…
That she did it.

Or that a part of me had waited for it.

And suddenly, sleep felt even further away.