Chapter 22

Rani’s Point Of View

It was 3:00 in the morning, and the highway stretched out in front of me like a dark ribbon kissed with fog. The driver barely spoke as the city lights behind us faded into countryside silence. I sat in the backseat of the car, legs crossed, one hand resting on my lap while the other gripped the still-warm Starbucks coffee I’d demanded before we left. Triple shot espresso, no sugar, extra strong, because sleep wasn’t an option today.

The hum of the engine was the only soundtrack to my thoughts as I stared out the window. Santa Rosa was still an hour away, and my inbox was already flooding with emails. I had my iPad beside me, unread files stacked in folders, reminders dinging softly every few minutes.

But for now, I just sipped.

The coffee scalded the tip of my tongue, but I welcomed the sting. I needed it. I needed something to feel real, something to ground me through another day of pretending I wasn’t exhausted, pretending I didn’t notice the weight behind Lamia’s eyes every time she looked at me lately, pretending I wasn’t still navigating how to breathe in a life that kept shifting under my feet.

Outside, the world was still asleep. But me?

I’d been awake long before the sun ever thought to rise.

It was exactly 5:43 AM when the car rolled to a slow stop in front of my Santa Rosa mansion. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, the sky a gentle blur of lavender and ash blue, the air cool and damp with the scent of grass and dew. As the gates swung open and we turned into the driveway, a familiar warmth swelled in my chest. This place… this quiet estate nestled in Laguna’s stillness… it was mine. My sanctuary. My breath of air after days of suffocating penthouse walls and suffocating questions.

The headlights cut across the curved steps leading to the front door, and before the driver could even turn off the engine, the front door opened. There she was.

Kiyang.

“Ma’am Rani!” her voice rang out, cheerful even before sunrise. She was already in her housecoat, her hair tied in a perfect bun, her slippers making soft scuffs on the marble as she approached. “Ang aga niyo po! Hali po kayo, pumasok ka na, may mainit na kape rin ako na hinanda, mas gusto mo ‘to kaysa Starbucks na ‘yan, sigurado ako.”

I gave her a small smile, sliding my sunglasses on even though it was still barely light out. “Good morning, Kiyang,” I said, stepping out of the car with my tote in one hand and my unfinished Starbucks in the other. “Let’s not slander my overpriced coffee just yet. I’m not in the mood to fight with my caffeine dealer.”

Kiyang laughed, reaching for my bag like she always did. I let her. “Ay, nako. May puto ka pa sa kusina. At may sinigang mamaya sa tanghali… alam kong paborito mo.”

I breathed in deep, letting the calm of this house settle over me like silk. The cool tiles under my heels, the scent of clean linen and early morning breeze, and Kiyang’s chatter in the background. This place didn’t ask anything from me. It didn’t watch me like my parents’ house did, or wait for me to explode the way the penthouse did.

Here, I was just Rani. Not the wife. Not the mother. Not the heiress. Just me.

And for today… maybe that was enough.

As I stepped into the foyer, the familiar polished floors of my Santa Rosa mansion gleaming under the early light, I had barely taken two sips from my coffee when Kiyang’s voice chimed again from behind.

“Ah, Ma’am Rani, may dumating po palang bulaklak kaninang alas-kuwatro ng umaga,” she said, holding up a long box cradled in her arms like it was made of gold. “Pinadala ng Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures, sabi ng rider. Akala ko order niyo sa landscaping ‘yun pala bouquet ng orchids”

I turned around slowly, raising one perfectly arched brow as I sipped from my Starbucks. The moment I saw the logo on the delivery tag, my jaw tightened just slightly. Of course. Lamia.

Kiyang offered it to me with a curious smile, her eyes glinting with a hint of teasing. “Ay, ang ganda, Ma’am. Puting orchids. Parang wedding bouquet, ‘di ba?”

I didn’t even react, just gave her a tired glance and muttered, “There’s a card, isn’t there?”

“Opo,” she nodded, pointing at the small cream envelope nestled among the petals. “May sulat din po sa loob. Gusto niyo bang basahin ko?”

“No,” I said curtly, brushing past her with my tote bag slung back onto my shoulder. “Just put it in my room, Kiyang. I’m leaving again in a few minutes. I have a site walkthrough by six.”

“Ay, ganun po ba? Sige po, ako na bahala,” she said, eyes dropping respectfully as she cradled the bouquet back against her chest.

I didn’t even look back. I didn’t need to.

Because I already knew whatever was written in that card wouldn’t change anything.

Not today.

——

The sun had barely started climbing when I stepped out of the car, the heavy wheels crunching over gravel as the construction site spread out before me in structured chaos. The morning air was sharp and heavy with dust, steel, and the distant growl of machinery. Workers were already bustling about in their hard hats and neon vests, clipboards in hand, barking instructions over the hum of engines.

I adjusted my sunglasses and took another sip of my now lukewarm coffee. The white hard hat I had reluctantly worn was tucked under my arm, I’d put it on once I’d officially stepped past the safety line. For now, I just needed a minute. My outfit is just perfect, and even in this dusty environment, I made sure every inch of me screamed composed and commanding. Diva didn’t take breaks, not even in steel-toe boots.

One of the site engineers, Harold, approached me in a quick stride. “Ma’am Rani, we’ve prepared the blueprints in the mobile office for review. Also, the subcontractors from the Laguna team are already onsite for the drainage system check.”

“Good,” I said, nodding briskly. “Have someone bring me the updated elevation plan. And Harold don’t let that concrete truck start pouring until I’ve signed off the alignment.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, jogging back as quickly as he came.

I walked across the dirt path toward the trailer, heels swapped for practical boots, but still moving like I was on a runway. I passed rebar towers, stacked hollow blocks, and men who straightened up just a little more when they saw me coming. I wasn’t just the boss, I was Rani Hidalgo. And even if my personal life was crumbling in flowers and whispered apologies, this project was mine.

I shoved aside thoughts of orchids, soft cards, and the ghost of Lamia’s voice promising she’d “never give up.” Not here. Not where I was still in control.

Here, I built things. And nothing, not heartbreak, not memory, not love… could tear it down.

The mobile office was cool from the AC, humming faintly in the background as I stepped inside, placing my coffee on the metal table beside a stack of folders waiting for my signature. My tablet synced instantly to the office network, the site map glowing to life on the screen. I scanned the blueprint updates while flipping through the physical documents, checking for deviations, delays, cost impacts. This was second nature. Numbers, structure, logic. Unlike people, they didn’t lie.

My phone buzzed twice in quick succession. I glanced at it. two messages.

Elise
Just a heads-up. Damian sent a basket to your office this morning po Ma’am. Again.

And the other…

Lamia.

I didn’t open it. I didn’t need to. The name alone was enough to stir something in my chest, that quiet war of resistance and… fatigue. Because no matter how often I told myself not to care, her persistence was wearing me down in ways I didn’t want to admit.

I tossed the phone face-down and focused on the work again.

By noon, I had walked through every major checkpoint of the site, barked orders, approved foundation placements, and reviewed logistics with the regional supplier. The site manager had offered lunch, but I declined. There was a quiet rhythm to being here, among the noise, I found silence.

It wasn’t until around 3 p.m., under the beating Laguna sun, that I finally stopped and looked up at the partially built skyline we were carving into this place. Concrete and steel. Determined. Unyielding.

A lot like me.

Still, my thoughts drifted to Faisal. Would she be giving him his banana puffs like I told Nina to keep away until after dinner?

God, even when I tried to run away, I couldn’t stop being a mother.

With a sigh, I turned to Harold. “Have my car brought back around. I need to leave by four. I have a quick Zoom call with the interior architect, then I’m heading back to the Santa Rosa house.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

As I walked back toward the trailer, wiping dust from my wrist with a monogrammed handkerchief, my mind wandered, not to the blueprints anymore, but to the orchids she sent. The card I didn’t read.

And to the promise Lamia had made.

“For Faisal,” she said.

And that… that was the only reason I hadn’t told her to stop.

Not yet.

——

The heavy rain hammered down outside, drumming relentlessly against the restaurant’s wide windows. The sky was a dull gray, clouds swollen and angry, casting a muted gloom over the quiet lakeside scene. Inside, the cozy veranda where I sat felt like a sanctuary from the storm, a perfect cocoon of calm amidst the wild weather.

The valet had hurried me inside earlier, his umbrella barely shielding me from the downpour as I slipped from the car to this quiet luxury spot. The rain blurred the edges of the lake beyond the glass, rippling the water in restless waves, mirroring the restless thoughts churning inside me.

I settled into my usual chair, a glass of cold lemon water sweating quietly beside my laptop. The soft patter of rain mingled with the faint clink of cutlery from the empty tables around me, a hushed soundtrack for the afternoon ahead.

By 5:05 PM, the interior architect’s face popped up on my screen, clear despite the weather outside.

” Miss Hidalgo,” he greeted with a professional smile. “Always a pleasure.”

I tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear, my tone clipped and focused. “Let’s get started. I have thirty minutes.”

As he outlined plans for the Laguna project’s lobby, imported Italian stone, lighting angles, flow… the rain continued to pound outside. I cut through the fluff, telling him to widen the reception area. There were a few nods, some changes I approved, some I dismissed with sharp remarks. My mind was tired, wired, clutching at deadlines and demands.

The waiter quietly refilled my glass, bowing and disappearing like a ghost into the background, as the rain lashed harder, tapping the glass like urgent fingers.

Halfway through, my eyes flicked to my phone. A message from Lamia glowed softly on the screen.

I didn’t open it.

The storm outside roared louder, but inside I remained composed. Rani Hidalgo, drowning out the noise with work and control.

“Add warmth to the ceiling treatment,” I instructed the architect. “I want to feel it, not just see it.”

He nodded, absorbing every detail.

The architect cleared his throat, breaking the quiet hum between us. “Miss Hidalgo, about the flooring… have you considered using the marble from Carrara? It could really elevate the space.”

I folded my arms, leaning back slightly. “Carrara marble is classic, yes. But it’s been done too often. I want something that feels exclusive. Unique. What else do you suggest?”

He paused, then smiled with a hint of excitement. “There’s a new quartzite from Brazil. It has this subtle iridescence that changes with the light, it’s luxurious but not overdone.”

I narrowed my eyes, intrigued despite myself. “Send me samples. And make sure it’s durable. I won’t have clients complaining about scratches or stains.”

“Of course. Also, the lighting layout, we should add dimmable fixtures to create moods for different times of day.”

“Good,” I said. “And I want the lighting controls integrated into a smart system. Everything at my fingertips.”

He nodded, typing notes. “Will do.”

The rain continued its steady assault outside, tapping rhythmically as if urging me forward.

“Anything else?” I asked, my voice firm.

He hesitated, then ventured, “Perhaps consider a statement piece in the lobby. Something bold, art, sculpture, or a feature wall.”

I smiled thinly. “Bold, yes. But tasteful. No distractions. It needs to complement the business, not overshadow it.”

He smiled back, impressed. “Understood.”

We wrapped up the meeting with a few final tweaks, and as the call ended, I stared out the window once more, watching the rain fall, feeling the weight of all that lay ahead.

But this time, beneath the storm, I felt something else: a quiet, fierce determination to keep control. To keep fighting for my son, for my future.

Because Rani Hidalgo never backs down.

The heavy rain hammered against the restaurant windows, blurring the world outside into streaks of gray and silver. I was still focused on the last details from the Zoom call when the door swung open, and the sudden rush of wet air brought with it a familiar presence… Damian Alonzo.

He paused at the threshold, his eyes locking onto me in stunned surprise. I felt the weight of his gaze before he even spoke.

“Rani?” His voice was low, tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here? On a night like this?”

I didn’t bother hiding my annoyance. “Business, Damian. Something you wouldn’t understand.” I kept my voice calm but sharp, my diva armor firmly in place.

He took a step closer, shaking the rain from his coat, water droplets sparkling like tiny diamonds. “I didn’t expect you here. I thought you’d be at the penthouse or with Faisal.”

I raised an eyebrow, cool and collected. “That’s none of your concern. Besides, I have a schedule, unlike some.”

He smirked, unfazed. “Always sharp, aren’t you? But if you wanted company, you could have called.”

I smirked back, my eyes flashing with challenge. “And if I wanted company, you’d be the last person I’d call.”

Damian chuckled softly, pulling out a chair. “Mind if I join you? This storm isn’t going anywhere.”

For a moment, I hesitated, then nodded. If nothing else, this was going to be an interesting evening. The rain outside only adding to the tension already simmering between us.

I narrowed my eyes, folding my arms as I leaned back in my chair. “Okay, Damian… seriously. What are you doing here in the middle of this storm? I didn’t expect to see you wandering into a quiet Laguna restaurant at 7 PM on a night like this.”

He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Funny you should ask. I had a late meeting nearby and figured I’d grab a bite before heading back. But seeing you here… well, that’s the real surprise.”

I raised an eyebrow, not letting him off that easily. “So, a coincidence? Or are you stalking me now?”

His grin widened, clearly amused. “You wound me, Rani. Let’s just say, I like to keep tabs on interesting people.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Well, Mr. Mysterious, if you’re here to keep tabs, maybe you should take notes… because I’m running this whole show tonight.”

The storm raged outside, but the real tension was just beginning between us.

I narrowed my eyes at him, the heavy rain pelting the restaurant windows like a drumbeat, matching the tension simmering between us. “Damian, seriously… stop with the flowers and the grand gestures. It’s been weeks now. You think piling up bouquets and sweet notes will make me suddenly want to drop everything and fall for you?”

He smiled, unfazed, casually brushing a strand of wet hair from his forehead. “Rani, you’re impossible. But you have to understand, I’m not just sending flowers to impress you. I genuinely like you, more than just business. And I’m not going to stop just because you act like I’m some nuisance.”

I folded my arms, voice sharp. “Like I’m supposed to just open my heart to some guy who shows up with expensive flowers and persistent texts? You don’t even know what my life looks like.”

He leaned forward, eyes sincere, voice low but firm. “That’s exactly why I keep trying. Because I see the strength in you. I know you’re dealing with more than anyone should, and still, you hold everything together like a queen. I want to be someone you can count on, even if it’s just a friend for now.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t get it, Damian. I’m not here for friends or some fairy tale romance. I’m caught in a mess that’s way bigger than either of us. And frankly, I don’t have time for distractions.”

He didn’t flinch. “I get it, Rani. But what if I told you I don’t want to be a distraction? What if I want to be the reason you can breathe easier, even if it’s just a little? I’m not some random guy throwing flowers around, I’m serious about you.”

I stared at him, searching for a reason to trust him. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But persistence doesn’t erase heartbreak or the reality of my life.”

He smiled softly, the storm outside paling next to the intensity in his gaze. “Then maybe all I can do is keep showing up. Because I believe in you. And maybe… just maybe, you’ll see I’m not going anywhere.”

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside this quiet corner of the restaurant, the space between us felt charged with something neither of us could quite name.

I shook my head firmly, cutting through the quiet tension between us. “Damian, listen carefully… I don’t like you like that. Not now, not ever. And besides…” I glanced away, voice steely, “I’m married.”

He blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes for just a moment before he masked it with a calm, almost amused smile. “Married,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “That doesn’t scare me off. Not when it comes to you.”

I laughed, cold and sharp. “Well, it should. Because I’m not interested in being your side story, or your conquest. I have enough on my plate without dealing with someone who thinks persistence can replace respect.”

Damian leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. “I respect you, Rani. More than you know. And if that means being patient, then I’m willing to wait. But don’t mistake my persistence for disrespect.”

I crossed my arms, voice final. “Good. Because I’m not the woman you think I am. And I’m certainly not here for games.”

“Let me save us both some time. Damian… I’am serious, very serious, stop. Stop with the flowers, the texts, the showing up. I don’t want any of it.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but not enough to retreat. “Is this about Lamia?”

“What?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, “you’re still married to a woman who let her ex-boyfriend into your lives, the same man who hurt you, who pushed you down and made you lose your baby. And now she’s suddenly a changed person?” He scoffed. “Come on, Rani. You deserve better.”

The words didn’t hit me like a slap. No, they hit like a punch to the gut, like a jagged tear across a wound I’ve barely managed to stitch closed.

I stood, my chair screeching faintly against the floor.

“Don’t you ever speak about my baby again,” I said, voice low and shaking with restrained rage. “Not like that. Not like she was a casualty in some drama you think you understand.”

Damian’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean…”

“No,” I cut in. “You don’t get to throw her name into your pity party. You don’t get to weaponize my trauma just because you think it gives you a better shot with me.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’m just saying… Lamia’s the one who brought him back in.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” I snapped. “Do you think I don’t wake up every day with that pain lodged in my chest like glass? Do you think I don’t look at Faisal and wonder what could’ve been?”

I paused, breath hitching, but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Not for Damian. Not here.

“She made a mistake,” I continued, voice tight. “A horrible, unforgivable mistake. But she didn’t bring Peterson to push me. He did that. He chose violence. She was blindsided just like I was. And now she’s… trying. Trying to fix things. Trying to become someone better. Not for me…” my voice cracked a little, “…but for our son.”

Damian’s expression softened, like he was seeing me for the first time. “You’re still defending her?”

“I’m defending myself,” I said. “Because I’m not going to let you or anyone else turn my pain into a pitch.”

I picked up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder like armor.

“You don’t get to be angry at Lamia for me,” I added, my voice sharp as my heels clicking toward the door. “Because no matter how much I hate what she did… I’m the one who has to live with it. And you? You’re just some man who thinks flowers can buy a place in my grief.”

——

The moment I slid into the backseat of my car, the storm outside seemed to echo the one tightening in my chest. Raindrops slammed against the windows like a ticking clock, and everything felt heavy, my coat, my breath, my thoughts.

I pulled out my phone absentmindedly, needing a distraction from the weight of Damian’s words still echoing in my ears.

And then… a soft chime.

A calendar notification popped up on my screen, unassuming, almost innocent.

2nd Wedding Anniversary – Today.

My heart skipped.

I froze.

The words sat there, glowing on my screen like a slap. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

What?

I blinked, suddenly breathless.

Today?

It was today?

A strange silence settled in the car, even with the heavy rain pelting the roof. It was as if the whole world knew something I didn’t… or something I had forced myself to forget.

My stomach twisted as my eyes widened, and suddenly… too suddenly… I remembered.

The flowers.

The orchids that arrived at my mansion before dawn.

From Al-Gaddafi Oil and Gas Ventures.

From her.

Lamia.

I hadn’t even read the card. I didn’t care to. I was so focused on the site visit, the schedule, the meetings… so focused on forgetting.

But she said it.
“I’m coming there tomorrow.”

I didn’t believe she would.

I had dismissed it the way I dismissed most things she says like background noise I refused to hear anymore.

But now?

My mouth parted in disbelief as realization wrapped around me like a tight noose.

She remembered.

She sent flowers.
At 4 a.m.

And I… I had tossed them aside like they meant nothing.

Because I thought they meant nothing.

But now, seeing this… this reminder of the day we signed our names to a contract built on family duty and hatred, of a year that tore both of us apart… I couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t a real marriage, no. It wasn’t love, not in the fairy-tale sense.

But somehow, Lamia remembered.
Somehow, she showed up, like always lately.

Trying.

Even when I didn’t ask.

Even when I didn’t want her to.

I pressed my hand against my temple, dizzy. The weight of the past two years, of that lost baby, of the nights I cried alone while Faisal slept in the next room, crashed down on me like thunder.

Why now?

Why this day?

My phone trembled in my grip as I stared at the notification again.

I wanted to be angry.

I wanted to roll my eyes and scoff and call her pathetic.

But I couldn’t.

Because deep down, under all the diva armor I wore so perfectly… a part of me was shaken.

A part of me felt something I didn’t want to feel.

“Ma’am?” my driver asked gently. “Saan po?”

I hesitated. My mouth opened, then closed.

I should go back to Santa Rosa. I should stick to my schedule. I should do what I’ve always done: push Lamia out of my head.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about those orchids.

And the card I didn’t read.

And the woman I didn’t love… who somehow still kept showing up.

I snapped back into reality, heart pounding in my chest like it wanted out.

The time on my phone glared at me… 7:20 PM.

Shit.

It’s late. Too late.

What if she already left?

What if she waited all day, waited in that empty house, probably sitting in the lanai or in the formal living room where no one ever sits and I was too busy pretending not to care?

I leaned forward, tapping the divider glass between me and the driver. “Kuya,” I said sharply, my voice slicing through the air like my heels on a marble floor, “sa Santa Rosa ulit. Bilisan mo.”

The driver looked startled but nodded, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Yes, Ma’am.”

The car lurched forward, tires hissing over the rain-slicked road, and I sat back with my heart halfway in my throat.

Was she still there?

Lamia.

The woman I hated. The woman who ruined me. The woman who broke me before I could ever fall.

And yet the same woman who remembered our anniversary… even after everything.

Even after Peterson.

Even after the baby.

Even after the endless screaming matches and the endless silences that hurt worse than screaming.

I closed my eyes, the hum of the engine and the rain outside pulsing together like a warning, or maybe a lullaby. My arms were folded tightly across my chest, jaw clenched, trying to act unfazed.

But I wasn’t.

I was a mess.

I hated that she was always the one trying now. I hated that she was the one who seemed to be changing. That she was always sending flowers, waiting in silence, showing up at my parents’ house, holding Faisal like she hadn’t failed us too.

I hated it.

And I hated that part of me… noticed.

No. This wasn’t a teleserye.

This was my life. My messy, unbearable, exhausting, married life.

And still, there was a part of me… quietly hoping she hadn’t left.

Quietly praying that she was still inside my mansion.

That maybe, just maybe… she’d been waiting for me the way I kept pretending I didn’t want her to.

My fingers were trembling, but my voice stayed firm.

“Just a little faster, Kuya,” I said, barely above a whisper now, staring out the window at the long stretch of road disappearing ahead of us.

Lamia, if you’re still there… you better have waited.

You better not have given up on me now.

Because for once, I might not hate it if you didn’t.

——

As soon as the car pulled into the circular driveway of my Santa Rosa mansion, I didn’t even wait for it to stop completely. My hand gripped the handle, heels already tapping against the floor mat, and before the driver could speak, I pushed the door open.

I ran.

The rain had calmed to a drizzle, but the concrete was still slick, and I didn’t care. I kicked off my heels at the entrance and burst through the main door barefoot like a woman unhinged, the cold marble shocking against my skin as I stormed inside.

“Lamia?” I called, my voice echoing through the wide halls.

Silence.

“Lamia!” I called again, louder now, my heart thudding too hard for my own good.

The living room? Empty.

Kitchen? Empty.

Guest rooms? Nothing.

“Ma’am Rani!”

I turned sharply, heart leaping into my throat, and saw Kiyang, my ever-faithful caretaker, scurrying from the hallway.

“Si Ma’am Lamia po…” she began, catching her breath, eyes filled with a kind of guilt I didn’t understand yet.

My brows furrowed. “Nasaan siya?”

Kiyang bit her lip, hesitant. “Umalis na po kanina… around six. Alas-sais po ng gabi.”

My jaw tightened. “What do you mean umalis?”

“Eh, nasa may gate po siya kanina,” she continued carefully, “mula ala-una ng hapon. Hindi siya pumasok… sabi niya gusto niya kayo i-surprise.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Naghintay po siya, buong hapon sa labas ng gate. Basang-basa po siya sa ulan, Ma’am Rani. Hindi umalis kahit ang lakas ng ulan. May dala pa siyang mga paper bag, mukha mga mamahaling mga paper bags po.”

I stared at Kiyang, the air leaving my lungs like someone had punched me in the stomach.

“She stood outside?” I whispered. “For five hours?”

Kiyang nodded slowly. “Opo. Mula ala-una hanggang ala-sais. Ilang beses ko pong pinilit pumasok, pero ayaw niya.”

And just like that, the air around me cracked, something invisible breaking inside my chest.

My eyes flicked to the hallway, like I expected Lamia to suddenly walk back in, soaked and stubborn, with that ridiculous kind of pride she always wore like perfume.

But she wasn’t here.

Of course she wasn’t.

She waited.

She waited and I never came.

I ran a hand over my face, heart pounding in this humiliating rhythm of confusion and something dangerously close to guilt.

Damn her.

Damn her for remembering. For trying. For still showing up even when she didn’t have to.

And damn me for being too late.

I exhaled sharply, tossing my bag onto the nearby console table and leaning against the wall like my knees might give out.

“She was soaked?” I asked, voice lower now.

“Opo,” Kiyang nodded. “Hindi siya umalis kahit tinanong ko kung gusto niya pumasok.”

My throat tightened.

Of course she said that.

Of course she did.

Lamia Al-Gaddafi, queen of contradictions and chaos. The woman I hated. The woman I couldn’t look at without feeling everything I didn’t want to feel.

And now, the woman who stood for five hours in the rain holding gifts she didn’t even get to give me.

I didn’t say anything else.

I couldn’t.

I just turned away from Kiyang, walked silently into the grand hallway, and felt the weight of the day sink into my bones.

Somewhere deep inside me, where pride couldn’t reach… I knew.

Lamia was still trying.

And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to wish I could try too.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I just wanted silence.

And maybe a little bit of pain.

Because if she stood in the rain for five hours…

She deserved to be missed.

And I missed her… God, I hated it, but I did.

I didn’t even wait for the tears to come. I wouldn’t allow it. Not now, not when my blood was still boiling from the ache I refused to name.

I spun on my heel, nearly slipping on the polished floor. My voice cut through the silence like a slap.

“Kiyang! Tell the driver to start the car. Ngayon din.”

Kiyang blinked, startled. “Ma’am Rani? Babalik na po kayo?”

“Yes,” I snapped, grabbing my handbag from the console table and shoving my phone inside with more force than necessary. “We’re going back to BGC. Now.”

She nodded quickly and hurried toward the main door while I marched after her, barefoot, hair still damp from the drizzle outside, a thunderstorm brewing inside me.

I didn’t know what possessed me. I didn’t even know what I was planning to say when I got back. But I didn’t care.

Lamia waited five hours in the rain.

With gifts.

On our wedding anniversary.

And I missed it.

I didn’t know what the hell that meant. I didn’t want to name the feeling crawling up my throat. Regret? Guilt? Bitterness? A sting of something far more dangerous?

But what I did know, was that I needed to see her.

Not to forgive.

Not yet.

But to make sure she knew I knew.

That I wasn’t indifferent.

That I saw it. I saw her.

The car was already waiting by the time I stepped outside, my heels dangling from my hand. The driver opened the door, and I slipped inside with the grace of a woman used to commanding storms and surviving them.

“Back to BGC,” I said coldly, crossing my legs and glancing out the window into the dark road ahead. “And don’t stop. I don’t care if it rains hell this time.”

The car pulled away from the mansion, leaving Santa Rosa behind as the rain began to fall again, harder this time, like the sky was trying to echo something I couldn’t say.

And in the silence of that moving car, I sat still.

Chin up.

Lips tight.

But my chest? A battlefield.

Because whether I liked it or not…

That woman… the one I hated, was getting harder and harder to forget.

——

The second the car screeched to a stop in front of our building in BGC, I didn’t wait for the driver to open the door.

I yanked it myself.

My four-inch stilettos hit the pavement with a sharp clack, echoing against the entrance like gunshots. I didn’t care if I looked crazy, if my hair was wild from the wind, if my makeup was smudged from sweat and stress. I was going to see her.

I stormed inside the lobby, my heels slicing through the marble floor like I owned the entire building. The receptionist started to greet me, but one glance at my face and she shrank back into her chair like she knew better.

“Good evening, Ma…”

“Not now.”

I reached the elevator and slammed the button with the side of my fist. It dinged open too slow. Way too slow. I was fuming, panting, furious at the world and myself.

And Lamia.

God, Lamia.

My hand clenched the cold chrome handle of my purse. I threw my head back with a deep exhale as the elevator doors slid shut in front of me. My reflection stared back at me, messy, breathless, eyes full of thunder and something dangerously close to emotion.

As the elevator shot upward, my mind raced.

The doors opened to our floor with a cold metallic chime, and I burst out like fire uncontained, my heels clacking violently on the hallway tile.

I didn’t even realize I was running until I reached the door of the penthouse. My heart was pounding… not because I was tired.

But because for the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t sure what I’d see on the other side.

The penthouse was dark when I swung the door open, the quiet swallowing me whole. Not even the faint hum of the television or Nina’s lullabies in Faisal’s room. No lights from the kitchen. No chattering voices of Manang Sally or Anna. No soft echo of footsteps.

Everyone was asleep.

I paused in the foyer, chest rising and falling like I had just run a marathon. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, only the glow of the city bleeding through the windows painting the place in silver shadows.

I didn’t bother turning on the light. I knew where to go.

My heels clicked quietly this time, muffled by the expensive rug as I walked across the marble floor, down the hall, and straight into the bedroom I swore I’d never care about again.

And then I saw her.

Lamia.

She was curled up on the edge of our bed… her back to me, still in her clothes, her jacket half-zipped and damp. Her dark hair was plastered slightly against her temple like it had only just dried. And her arms were tightly wrapped around herself, shoulders trembling, as if her body still remembered the cold she’d soaked in from the rain earlier.

She was shivering.

I stopped at the doorframe, stunned for a second, gripping it like I needed to hold myself up. My eyes traveled across the room, those familiar expensive paper bags, damp and crumpled, were now dumped neatly beside the dresser. A trail of water-dried footprints still marked the floor where she must’ve walked in soaked.

She didn’t even change.

She just came home. Like it was instinct.

Like she was waiting for me here, too.

Something caught in my throat, sharp, painful, unexpected. I wanted to be angry. I had every reason to be angry. She was the reason I lost so much. The reason I bled. The reason I hated waking up for a year now.

But right now, she just looked… small.

And I hated that I cared.

My fingers twitched at my side. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve said something cruel, dramatic, cold enough to pierce her. Something that made it clear I wasn’t moved.

But instead…

I walked in, slowly.

And I said nothing.

Because what do you say to the woman who shattered you, when you find her shivering in the bed you used to share like the cold outside never left her bones?

I didn’t know.

So I just stood there… watching her chest rise and fall, listening to the silence between us, and wondering when exactly hate started feeling this much like heartbreak.

I let out a sharp breath, the kind that almost felt like I was about to roll my eyes, but it caught in my throat halfway.

“You’re going to get pneumonia looking like that,” I said flatly, arms crossing over my chest as I leaned against the wall near our bed, one heel still aching from the stupid sprint I just did from the elevator. “Or is this another drama you’re trying to star in, Lamia?”

Her shoulders twitched, but she didn’t move.

I scoffed. “Silent treatment? Or are your lips frozen too?”

Still no answer.

I rolled my eyes, pushed off the wall, and walked toward her. The scent of rain still clung to her. Expensive perfume mixed with the faint trace of exhaustion. She didn’t even pull a blanket over herself.

“You were soaked. And you didn’t even shower. What are you, twelve?” I muttered, tugging a blanket from the foot of the bed and draping it over her shoulders. “For someone who owns an empire, you’re surprisingly dumb sometimes.”

Then, finally, she spoke. Her voice was small. Raw. Tired. “I didn’t want to miss you again.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I waited for you.” She shifted under the blanket, still not meeting my eyes. “From one to six. Outside. I waited… because I thought you might come back early.”

My throat tightened before I could stop it. “So what? You thought standing there soaked in designer paper bags would win you points? Make me feel sorry for you?”

“No.” She looked up at me then, and I hated the way her eyes looked so dull but filled with something honest, something I wasn’t ready for. “I thought it was the least I could do. To show up. Even if it meant freezing.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Wow. That’s your bar now? Showing up?”

She looked down again, lips pressing into a thin line. But she didn’t fight back. She didn’t throw her usual sass. And maybe that’s what threw me off most.

“Do you think flowers and standing in the rain makes it all better?” I asked quietly, sitting down at the edge of the bed but keeping distance between us. “Do you think I forgot what happened? That I forgot Peterson? The fall? The blood? The way you didn’t come home for days?”

“I think about it every day,” she said, voice shaking but still firm. “I think about what I’ve done, and what I let happen, and how it broke you. Broke us. And I know I don’t deserve to fix it… but I want to. I’ll keep showing up until you believe that.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting her words hit. They didn’t fix anything. Not really. But they landed like a pebble in a glass of water.

“Well, congratulations,” I muttered, rising from the bed. “You made it inside. You’re dry now. Don’t die of guilt or cold or whatever you’re performing tonight.”

I walked toward the bathroom door, then paused. I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t.

“Lamia,” I said stiffly, eyes on the wall. “Next time you wait… bring an umbrella. You look pathetic when you’re wet.”

And I shut the door behind me before she could say anything else.

Just as I reached the bathroom door and was about to slip inside, I heard her soft voice behind it.

“Happy anniversary, Rani.”

I froze. My hand paused on the doorknob. The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

She didn’t have to say anything else. Just those two words carried all the weight of everything between us, our pain, our hatred, our tangled past, and… maybe, just maybe, a faint hope.

I swallowed hard, fighting the lump in my throat. The diva mask felt heavier now, almost suffocating.

I whispered back without turning around, my voice barely steady, “Happy anniversary, Lamia.”

And then I stepped inside, shutting the door on the quiet, on the rain, on the impossible.