Chapter 4

As the hospital doors slid open, Lamia emerged, her designer sunglasses glinting in the bright sunlight. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the quiet atmosphere. A luxury coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, a testament to her impeccable style.

Rani stood waiting beside a sleek, blacked-out Rolls-Royce, her arms crossed and a hint of impatience etched on her face. She was dressed in head-to-toe Chanel, her outfit a masterclass in understated elegance.

“Took you long enough,” Rani said, her voice dry. “I was starting to think they were keeping you to renovate the hospital with your attitude.”

Lamia’s smirk was a work of art. She adjusted her shades, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Please. The only thing that needs renovating is your personality.”

Rani’s chuckle was as dry as the Sahara desert. “Still as charming as a cactus in a cocktail dress.”

Lamia’s laughter was husky, her eyes never leaving Rani’s face. “And yet you married me. Tragic, really. Your taste is as questionable as your parenting skills.”

Rani’s eyebrow shot up, her expression a mask of polite disdain. “Funny, coming from someone who calls the nanny ‘the woman who raises my child.’“

Lamia’s voice was laced with venom. “Correction. Our child. Unfortunately.” She paused, turning her head slowly to Rani, her eyes glinting with malice. “Remind me again why we didn’t just co-parent from separate continents?”

Rani’s smile was a thin-lipped affair. “Because your father threatened to cut you off if you didn’t play the perfect wife for a year.” She leaned in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’m the reason your credit card still works.”

Lamia’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with anger. “And you’re the reason I needed a week of morphine and silence.”

Rani’s smile was sweet, but her eyes told a different story. “Silence suits you. Pity it’s temporary.”

Lamia’s voice was icy. “You can stop pretending to care now. I’ve been discharged, not dead.”

Rani’s laughter was low and husky. “Oh, I know. But one can dream.”

The driver opens the car door, and Rani steps aside, her movements fluid and regal, like a queen granting permission. Lamia pauses, her eyes locked on Rani’s face, her gaze dripping with diva energy.

She raises an eyebrow, her voice husky. “You’re still sitting in the front. I don’t share the backseat with liabilities.”

Rani’s smile is a work of art, her eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s fine. I don’t ride with snakes unless they’re on my bag.”

The air is thick with tension as the two women engage in a silent standoff, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. The driver, sensing the unease, clears his throat, his eyes darting nervously between the two women.

Finally, Lamia breaks the silence, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How gracious of you to allow me to ride in the backseat. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you want to keep an eye on me.”

Rani’s laughter is low and husky, her eyes never leaving Lamia’s face. “You’re so paranoid, Lamia. It’s almost… cute.”

The car glides smoothly through the city, the divider a physical barrier between the two women. The tinted windows add to the sense of isolation, the silence between them thick and heavy.

But it’s a silence that’s short-lived.

Lamia adjusts her silk blouse, her eyes fixed on some point outside the window. Her voice is detached, her words dripping with venom. “Tell Faisal I’ll be home in time to kiss him goodnight, if he even remembers who I am after your PR parenting.”

Rani’s eyes never leave her phone, her fingers scrolling through her messages with ease. Her voice is calm, her tone even. “Oh, he remembers. He asked if the ‘lady with the cold voice’ was still in the hospital.”

Lamia’s sarcasm is biting. “Touching. Coming from the woman who schedules bedtime like a board meeting.”

Rani’s smile is a thin-lipped affair. “Structure builds character. Not everyone can wing motherhood like a guest appearance.”

Lamia’s glare is icy, her eyes flashing with anger. “And not everyone can fake maternal instinct like a corporate merger.”

Rani finally sets her phone down, her eyes locked on Lamia’s face. Her voice is steady, her words measured. “Say what you want, Lamia. Faisal is thriving. Happy. Grounded. Despite having two mothers who’d rather kill each other than co-exist.”

Lamia’s voice is laced with disdain. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want to kill you.” She pauses, a beat of silence hanging in the air. “Just… exile you. Somewhere far. Quiet. Preferably without Wi-Fi.”

Rani’s smirk is a work of art. She leans back, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart. I thrive in exile. It’s solitude for me, silence for you.”

Lamia’s eyes roll heavenward. “You always did romanticize loneliness. No wonder this marriage feels like a networking deal with a side of emotional tax.”

Rani’s voice is a gentle reminder. “And yet you still signed the prenup.”

Lamia’s laughter is husky. “Of course I did. I’m not stupid. I may hate you, but I’m not giving you free access to my empire because your cheekbones made Daddy swoon.”

Rani’s laughter is music to Lamia’s ears, but her words are a slap in the face. “Your empire? Cute. The only thing you’ve successfully built is a wardrobe and a trail of disappointed assistants.”

Lamia’s smirk is cold, her eyes glinting with a calculating intensity. “And the only thing you’ve built is a life pretending you don’t love the power that came with my last name.”

A heavy silence follows, both women looking out their windows, their jaws tight, their eyes fierce. The tension between them is palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulses with anger and resentment.

The car hits a red light, and Lamia finally speaks, her voice quieter, calculated. “Tell me something, Rani. If we weren’t locked in this mess by our families, would you have even noticed me?”

Rani’s response is immediate, her voice devoid of hesitation. “No.” She pauses, a beat of silence hanging in the air. “But I would’ve remembered you.”

The car starts moving again, but Lamia doesn’t respond. She just stares out the window, her reflection staring back, a queen in a cage she helped gild herself. The silence between them is oppressive, a physical weight that presses down on them both.

The Rolls-Royce glides smoothly to a stop in front of the luxurious penthouse, the soft purr of the engine dying down as the driver shifts into park. The building’s sleek glass and steel façade rises up, a testament to the wealth and privilege that lies within.

Lamia’s door opens, and she steps out onto the sidewalk, her heels clicking on the polished stone. She doesn’t wait for Rani, instead striding towards the entrance with a confident air that brooks no argument.

Rani emerges from the car, her eyes fixed on Lamia’s retreating back. Her expression is inscrutable, a mask of calm that hides the turmoil beneath. She follows Lamia into the building, the soft whoosh of the doors closing behind them.

The penthouse’s opulent lobby stretches out before them, the marble floors and crystal chandeliers a testament to the lavish lifestyle that they lead. The air is thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the soft hum of classical music.

Lamia strides across the lobby, her heels echoing off the marble. She doesn’t break stride, instead heading straight for the private elevator that will take her to the penthouse’s upper floors. Rani follows, her eyes fixed on Lamia’s back as the doors slide shut behind them.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the breathtaking penthouse that Lamia and Rani call home. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch up to the ceiling, framing a stunning skyline view that seems to stretch on forever. Designer furniture and impeccable decor add to the sense of luxury and refinement.

But the peace is short-lived, shattered by the soft babbling of Faisal, their young son. A nanny walks over, carrying the baby, a warm smile on her face.

“Ma’am Lamia, welcome home po. na-miss po kayo ni Faisal.”

Lamia steps out of the elevator, her movements confident and assured, like she owns the building… which, in essence, she does. Rani follows, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

Lamia takes off her sunglasses, her eyes locking onto Faisal’s face. For a moment, her expression softens, and she looks almost… human. “Of course he did. Anak ko ‘yan, not some company mascot.”

She takes Faisal from the nanny and kisses his forehead gently, a rare display of affection. But the moment is fleeting, and her diva mask snaps back into place.

Rani leans against the wall, her arms crossed, a wry smile on her face. “Wow. Look who suddenly remembered she has a maternal side. Let me know if you want me to print the definition of ‘consistency.'”

Lamia gives Rani a slow, deliberate once-over, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Let me know if you want me to print the definition of ‘shut up.'”

She hands Faisal back to the nanny, who wisely retreats, sensing the tension between the two women.

Lamia walks toward the bar, her heels clicking on the floor. “Gin, neat. I need to rinse the hospital out of my mouth.”

Rani follows, not missing a beat. “And maybe rinse your ego while you’re at it.”

Lamia pours herself a drink, her eyes rolling heavenward as she speaks. “Hay nako Rani, don’t start. I just got home. This penthouse may have your name on half the papers, pero lahat ng nasa loob, I paid for. Even that overpriced face serum na sinasayang mo.”

Rani’s response is immediate, her voice dripping with mock horror. “Oh no, the mighty Lamia nagbibilang na ng gamit? How pedestrian.”

Lamia’s eyes flash with annoyance, her voice taking on a sharp edge. “Hindi ako nagbibilang, I’m reminding you. I gave you access, not equality.”

Rani’s smirk is a slow, deliberate thing, her eyes glinting with amusement as she approaches Lamia. “Sweetheart, if this is your idea of dominance, baka kailangan mo ng refund. Kasi kahit anong yaman mo, you still wake up next to me hating your life.”

The air between them is thick with tension, the silence that follows Rani’s words hanging heavy with unspoken meaning. Lamia’s eyes narrow, her face a mask of calm, but Rani can see the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Lamia’s laughter is cold, her eyes glinting with malice. “Correction, I don’t wake up next to you. I wake up, in spite of you.”

Rani’s voice is low, her words dripping with implication. She leans in, her eyes locked on Lamia’s face. “And yet… you stay.”

Lamia’s response is immediate, her voice dripping with disdain. She walks off, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Only because divorce would mean family scandal. And honestly, you’re not worth the headline.”

Rani’s smile is almost amused, her eyes glinting with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. “But I am the headline. You’re just the footnote with better handbags.”

The space between them is thick with tension, the air heavy with glitter, venom, and secrets. Faisal’s soft cooing echoes down the hallway, and both women glance in his direction instinctively. For a moment, the temperature drops, and the animosity between them seems to falter.

Lamia’s voice is laced with a hint of weariness. “Let’s not do this in front of the baby.”

Rani’s response is quiet, her words measured. “Then maybe we start acting like we deserve him.”

Lamia says nothing, her face a mask of calm. She downs the rest of her gin, places the glass down like a statement, and walks to the bedroom without another word. Rani stays behind, composed but visibly tense, the silence between them hanging heavy with unspoken meaning.

Lamia steps into her bedroom, the soft click of the door closing behind her a welcome respite from the tension that hangs heavy in the air. She kicks off her heels, feeling the soft plush of the carpet beneath her feet.

She walks over to the bed, her eyes fixed on the inviting expanse of crisp white sheets and plush pillows. She feels a wave of exhaustion wash over her, the stress and anxiety of the past week finally catching up with her.

Lamia collapses onto the bed, feeling the softness envelop her like a cloud. She closes her eyes, letting out a deep sigh as she feels her body relax, her muscles unknotting from their tense, defensive posture.

For a moment, she just lies there, feeling the quiet of the room wash over her. She can hear the distant sound of Rani moving around in the living room, but it’s muffled, a reminder that she’s safe, alone, and unbothered in her own private sanctuary.

As she drifts off to sleep, Lamia feels a sense of relief wash over her. She’s home, she’s safe, and for the next few hours, at least, she can forget about Rani, forget about their toxic dynamic, and just be.

Lamia wakes up after a half-hour nap, feeling slightly refreshed but still weighed down by the events of the day. Her room is a serene oasis, a minimalist luxury dream that wraps around her like a soft blanket. Soft lighting, imported silk sheets, curated art, and not a single thing out of place… except her heart.

She tosses her coat on the chaise and kicks off her heels, the silence enveloping her like a heavy but familiar blanket. She walks to the floor-length mirror, staring at her reflection with a critical eye.

Lamia’s voice is barely audible, a soft whisper to herself. “You’re fine. You always are. Kahit ilang beses ka niyang bastusin with that smug smile…”

She takes off her earrings, placing them carefully in a velvet box. Her eyes are tired, the exhaustion etched on her face like a map.

For once, she’s not performing, not putting on a mask of confidence and poise. She sits on the edge of her bed, holding her wrists, looking down at the floor. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You hate her. You do. Right?”

Her eyes drift toward the baby monitor on the nightstand, and she presses a button. The tiny screen lights up with a soft video of Faisal asleep in the nursery, his little chest rising and falling. Her eyes soften, a look of love and vulnerability crossing her face.

She whispers, “Pero he loves her.” A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “Of course he does. She always knows the right thing to say to him. The right books. The right sleep schedule.”

Lamia’s jaw clenches, her eyes flashing with anger. She looks away from the monitor, muttering to herself. “And I’m just… the mother by DNA. The one who signs checks and shows up late. God, am I becoming her?”

She pulls her hair up into a bun, trying to shake off the thoughts. But her expression stays haunted, her eyes troubled. She stands, walks to the window, looking out at the glowing Manila skyline.

A half-laugh escapes her lips, a wry, self-deprecating sound. “Funny how I can buy buildings, crush investors, fly private… pero I can’t win a simple marriage. Not even fake happiness.”

The silence that follows is oppressive, a heavy blanket that wraps around her like a shroud. She turns from the window, walks to her vanity, and picks up her serum, the one Rani mentioned earlier. She looks at it, a moment of hesitation, before tossing it into the trash bin with a sigh.

The silence in Lamia’s room is broken by a soft knock on the door. It’s Faisal’s nanny, her voice barely above a whisper. “Ma’am Lamia? Gising na po si Faisal, umiiyak.”

Lamia’s eyes flicker towards the door, a beat of hesitation before she responds. Her voice is soft, a gentle contrast to the turmoil that’s been brewing inside her. “I’ll come.”

She stares at herself one last time in the mirror, her eyes searching for any signs of weakness. But even as she scrutinizes her reflection, she can’t help but notice the cracks that are starting to show. The flawless facade is still intact, but the fierce determination in her eyes is tempered by a hint of vulnerability.

Lamia picks up a baby blanket from her drawer, the soft fabric a comforting reminder of her role as a mother. She walks out of her room quietly, the blanket clutched tightly in her hand, ready to face whatever challenges await her.

Lamia enters Faisal’s room, and the warm, gentle atmosphere envelops her like a soothing balm. The pastel tones, gold-accented baby furniture, and soft lullaby playing in the background create a sense of serenity, a world away from the tension and conflict that fills her adult life.

Faisal sits upright in his crib, hugging a stuffed bear, his cheeks rosy and his eyes shining with excitement. When he sees Lamia, his face lights up instantly, and he giggles and babbles, eager to connect with his mother.

Lamia smiles softly, kneeling beside the crib, her voice trembling just a bit. “Hey, Faisal… anak. You’re getting big. Months old and already ignoring me like your Mommy Rani.”

Faisal giggles and babbles, and Lamia chuckles weakly, picking him up and holding him close. He tugs at her necklace and drools on her shoulder, and Lamia wipes it gently, muttering, “Salamat ha, designer ‘to.”

As she sways gently, holding Faisal close, Lamia feels a sense of calm wash over her, a feeling she’s been missing since arriving home. For a few precious seconds, she’s just a mother, free from the burdens of her empire, her marriage, and her obligations.

She whispers softly into Faisal’s hair, her voice barely audible. “I wanted a different life, Faisal. One where I was with Peterson, maybe living in Paris or Singapore. He would’ve taken care of you. Loved you.”

Lamia’s eyes grow distant, her thoughts drifting back to the past, to the choices she made, and the life she left behind. Faisal grabs her finger and squeals happily, bringing her back to the present.

She sighs, almost to herself, her voice laced with regret. “And then there’s Rani. The woman who made me hate mornings and miss arguments.”

Lamia sits in the rocking chair, holding Faisal close, her eyes drifting off into the distance. “She had Markus. I had Peterson. We were in love. Real love.”

Her voice grows bitter, the words spilling out like a confession. “Pero hindi sapat ‘yon para sa mga pamilya namin. Love doesn’t sign billion-peso contracts.”

Lamia kisses Faisal’s head, her voice trembling now. “And now… look at me. Married to a woman I can’t stand. Stuck in a house that’s half mine, with a child who deserves a home full of love, not cold wars.”

She pauses, closes her eyes, and rocks slowly, the motion soothing, as she tries to come to terms with the life she’s built, and the choices she’s made.

Lamia’s voice is barely audible, a quiet whisper that only the shadows might hear. “Sometimes I wonder… what would’ve happened kung lumaban kami. Me and Peterson. Rani and Markus. Would we have been happy? Or just… free?”

She looks down at Faisal, who’s asleep in her arms now, his soft breathing a gentle reminder of the life she’s built. Lamia’s eyes linger on his face, her expression softening for a moment.

She whispers, her voice a promise to herself and to Faisal. “But I chose you. And I’ll keep choosing you.”

Lamia gently lays Faisal down in the crib, brushing his hair away from his face. Her fingers linger there for a second longer than necessary, a subtle display of affection. A single tear escapes her eye, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that she quickly suppresses.

Just as she wipes away the tear, the door creaks open slightly, and Rani stands there, leaning against the frame, watching Lamia with eyes that are unreadable.

Rani’s voice is quiet but sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Peterson again?”

Lamia freezes, her back still facing Rani, as the tension snaps back into the room like a switch flipped.

Without turning, Lamia’s voice is icy, a warning to Rani to back off. “You have no right to ask.”

Rani’s response is immediate, her voice laced with a subtle venom. “And yet, you keep saying his name loud enough for ghosts to hear.”

The silence that follows is oppressive, heavy with unspoken meaning. Faisal stirs slightly, and Lamia quickly pulls the blanket over him, using the moment to compose herself. She turns to face Rani, her expression back to stone, her eyes flashing with a warning.

Lamia’s voice is icy, a single word that hangs in the air like a challenge. “What do you want?”

Rani’s smile is a thin, mirthless thing, her eyes glinting with a subtle malice. “Just came to check if the mother of the year needed help… or therapy.”

Lamia’s eyes narrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cute. Tell me, do you practice these lines in the mirror before throwing shade? Or does it just ooze out naturally?”

The air between them is thick with tension, the quiet venom and old wounds simmering just below the surface. They glare at each other, the silence between them heavy with unspoken meaning.

But beneath the anger and resentment, there’s something more complicated lingering in the space between them. A spark of attraction, a flicker of emotion that neither of them wants to acknowledge. It’s a fragile, brittle thing, easily broken, but it’s there nonetheless, a reminder that their relationship is far more complex than either of them is willing to admit.

Faisal’s gentle breathing is the only sound in the room, his small form peaceful in the dimly lit space. Lamia stands by the crib, her arms crossed, a sentinel guarding her child’s rest. Rani stands just inside the doorway, confident and poised, but with a hint of something hidden beneath her surface.

The silence stretches long and sharp, a palpable thing that fills the space between them. Lamia’s voice breaks the stillness, her words without heat, but with a underlying resentment. “You really couldn’t give me a moment alone?”

Rani shrugs, a careless gesture that belies the tension between them. “You stopped deserving silence the day you made me your obligation.”

Lamia turns around slowly, her eyes flashing with anger, her voice biting. “Obligation? Don’t flatter yourself. I married you to keep my empire clean. You married me to prove you could live without Markus.”

Rani steps closer, her voice tight, her words laced with venom. “And you? You left Peterson with a kiss and a signature. Don’t act like you were dragged into this in chains. You wore the ring first.”

Lamia’s eyes blaze with a mix of anger and pain, her voice cracking with emotion. “Because I didn’t have the luxury of choice! My father said it was either you or exile. You know what exile means in our family, Rani. It’s not distance it’s erasure.”

Rani’s response is quiet, but sharp, her words cutting deep. “Poor little heiress. Must’ve been hard choosing me over actual love.”

Lamia’s laughter is bitter, her eyes flashing with tears. “You think you were the sacrifice? You think I didn’t cry the day after our wedding because I knew I’d never hear Peterson say ‘I’m proud of you’ again?”

The air between them seems to vibrate with tension, the silence that follows heavy with unspoken meaning. Rani’s eyes are unreadable, her face a mask of calm, but her voice is low and clipped. “You cried? Funny. I was too busy watching Markus delete our photos.”

Lamia’s breath catches, her eyes flashing with pain, and for a moment, the mask slips, revealing the real hurt beneath. The words hang in the air, a challenge, a revelation, a truth that’s been hidden for too long.

Lamia’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “You loved him.”

Rani’s nod is slow, her eyes locked on Lamia’s face. “I still do.”

The words hang in the air, a confession, a revelation, a truth that’s been hidden for too long. Lamia’s voice is barely audible, a whisper that’s almost lost in the silence. “So do I.”

The silence that follows is profound, a silence that’s not just the absence of sound, but the presence of understanding. Two women, standing in the ruins of their choices, both married to the wrong person, both too proud to say it out loud… until now.

Rani steps forward, her tone raw and unguarded. “Why are we still doing this, Lamia? The insults, the cold war, the fake smiles in front of our families. What are we even protecting?”

Lamia’s response is deadpan, her voice devoid of emotion. “Our reputations. Our bank accounts. The illusion of control.”

Rani’s eyes flicker toward the crib, her voice laced with a deep concern. “And him?” She gestures toward Faisal, her words a gentle rebuke. “Where does Faisal fall in that list? Because I don’t want our son growing up watching two women destroy each other just to keep the family name shiny.”

Lamia stares at Rani, something breaking in her eyes. Her voice drops, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to love you.”

Rani’s response is honest, her words a gentle admission. “I never asked you to.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the air thick with unspoken meaning. Rani’s voice is barely above a whisper, her words a gentle plea. “I just asked you to stop pretending you don’t feel anything at all.”

The words hang in the air like perfume, beautiful, heavy, and hard to breathe through. Lamia doesn’t respond, her face a mask of calm. She walks past Rani, slowly, deliberately, but as she brushes by, she stops. Just for a second.

Lamia’s voice is barely audible, her words a whispered confession. “I never wanted to hate you, Rani. In fact, I hated that it wasn’t you I loved.”

And then she walks away, leaving Rani standing alone, her eyes burning, her heart louder than the silence she’s always wrapped herself in. The sound of Lamia’s footsteps fades into the distance, leaving Rani to grapple with the weight of her words.