OCTOBER 2022
LILLIAN
The high, imposing wrought-iron gates of the Atienza estate loomed through the darkness, cutting a harsh silhouette against the heavy downpour. In the backseat, my knuckles bled white as I gripped my clutch like a shield, but it did nothing to stop the violent tremor racking my chest.
Manong Ben brought the car to a gentle stop under the grand portico. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence inside the vehicle became deafening, forcing me to hear the ragged, terrified rhythm of my own hyperventilating breath.
Turning around in his seat, he looked at me with profound, quiet helplessness.
"We're here, ma'am."
I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly against the foyer tile. The mansion was dead silent, but a faint, haunting melody drifting from the end of the hall rooted my feet to the spot.
It was the melancholic, sweeping piano and violin chords of my uncle's favorite classic masterpiece.
My breath hitched. A visceral wave of nausea hit me, and my hands began to tremble so violently that my clutch slipped from my fingers, thudding against the rug.
He was waiting for me.
I forced my feet forward, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Every step toward his home office felt like a march to the scaffold. I rested my hand on the heavy mahogany door, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and pushed it open.
The room was suffocatingly dim, illuminated only by the amber glow of the desk lamp and the dying, blood-red embers of the fireplace. In the enclosed space, the music swelled, wrapping around me and filling the room with an agonizingly beautiful sorrow.
The heavy, rhythmic click of his leather dress shoes echoed against the hardwood floor. Out of the shadows stepped Uncle Lucian. Suite unwrinkled, with expression entirely blank. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask why the dinner had ended early. He already knew.
Without a single word, he closed the distance between us. His fist cut through the air, burying itself deep into my stomach.
The air tore from my lungs in a choked, pathetic gasp. The sheer force of the blow folded me in half, sending me crashing hard onto the floor. I curled into a tight ball, clutching my abdomen, desperately trying to draw oxygen into my burning lungs as hot tears blinded my vision.
Above me, the classical music reached a crescendo.
He didn't hesitate. Uncle Lucian pulled his foot back and delivered a brutal kick straight into my ribs. I cried out, a raw, strangled sound.
"Useless!" his upper lip curled as if he had just tasted spoiled milk.
He drew his leg back a second time, aiming directly for my chest. I escalated my panic, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing for the impact that would likely break me.
But then a knock stopped him.
"Sir," his secretary, Jeremy Fernandez, called from the other side of the door.
Uncle froze, his boot hovering inches from my face. He slowly lowered his foot, smoothing the front of his designer suit as if he had merely been interrupted mid-sentence.
"Come in."
The door swung wider, revealing Jeremy. He stood there, holding a thick manila folder. His gaze shifted from my uncle, down to me, bleeding and panting on the floor. I saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard, but when he looked back up at Uncle Lucian, his face was a mask of clinical indifference. He adjusted his glasses, looking right past my writhing body.
"Forgive the interruption, Mr. Atienza," He said, his voice professional, and utterly hollow. "But Mr. Guerrero Senior is on line one. He wishes to discuss the... restructuring of the wedding contract."
I lay in the dark, while my cheek pressed against the cold floor. Uncle Lucian stared down at me for a beat longer, his chest rising and falling in a controlled, terrifying rhythm. The fury in his eyes didn't vanish.
He didn't walk toward the desk immediately. Instead, he stepped over my writhing body, the polished leather of his shoe brushing against the tangled hem of my emerald dress. He stopped right beside my head, looking down at me as if I were nothing more than a stain on his hardwood floor.
"You have until seven o'clock tonight," his voice dropped to a low, venomous purr beneath my cheek. "Clean yourself up. The Rodel Charity Auction is tonight, and the Guerreros will be there."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on me.
"Put him through, Fernandez," Uncle Lucian commanded smoothly, his demeanor shifting instantly back to the powerful, untouchable patriarch as he walked toward the phone.
I whimpered, a small sound of protest catching in my throat, but he ignored it completely. He walked toward the phone, his calm, baritone voice instantly filling the room as he cordially greeted the father of the man who had just assaulted me.
The door of the office had barely clicked shut behind Uncle Lucian and Jeremy before the fragile composure I was holding broke. I curled into myself on the cold hardwood, a ragged sob tearing through my throat. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass; my ribs throbbed in an agonizing, rhythmic pulse, and my shoulder was already stiff, screaming in protest at the slightest movement.
Seven o'clock.
The deadline echoed in my head like a death knell. If I was late, the next beating would be worse.
Dragging myself off the floor was a masterclass in agony. I used the edge of the heavy mahogany desk to pull myself up, my vision swimming with black spots as I forced my trembling legs to bear weight. Limping to reach my room.
The heavy oak door of my bedroom clicked shut.
Moving with agonizing slowness, I stripped out of the ruined emerald dress, and forced my aching arms up to pull on the long-sleeved navy-blue silk dress that would serve as my armor.
Sitting before the vanity, I expertly layered foundation over the rising shadow under my eye and added a swipe of muted red lipstick until the physical damage was completely erased.
By the time seven o'clock loomed, my skin burned beneath the elegant fabric, but I stared straight into the mirror and forced my trembling lips into a flawless, empty smile. I held it until my cheeks ached, memorizing the muscle placement so I could call it up on command.
A sharp, heavy knock on the bedroom door shattered the silence. "Lillian. Sir Lucian is already waiting in the foyer," it was Jeremy.
The practiced smile vanished instantly. My chest tightened as I grabbed my clutch, took one last look at the perfectly camouflaged girl in the mirror, and walked out to meet my fate.
It was almost eight in the evening when we arrived the venue.
The moment I stepped inside the auction house, light swallowed me whole.
Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, spilling golden glow across polished marble floors, while soft music drifted through the ballroom, elegant enough to disguise the low murmur of negotiations. Beneath it were men in tailored suits standing in circles, crystal glasses balanced effortlessly between their fingers while smiles curved across their faces with practiced precision.
I sat in the front row. My hands rested in my lap, and beneath the fabric, my fingernails dug deep, biting crescents into the skin of my palms.
Uncle Lucian didn't sit next to me. Instead, he anchored himself to Mr. Guerrero. I watched them from the corner of my eye, grateful for the distance.
But the relief was entirely short-lived.
My eyes drifted past the crowd and locked onto his son, Lance Guerrero. He was already looking at me. The moment our eyes met, a predatory smirk spread across his face. He detached himself from the group he was speaking with and began walking straight toward me, his stride slow, deliberate, and entirely confident.
A cold wave of nausea hit me, more violent than the pain in my ribs. My heart hammered against my chest like a trapped bird, and for a terrifying second, my legs felt like lead.
"Lillian," Lance smooth voice slid over me as he stopped just inches away.
Before I could even attempt to pull up my practiced smile, he stepped deep into my personal space. That was when it hit me—the heavy, sharp scent of his expensive cologne.
The air left my lungs. The scent was an instant, violent trigger, ripping me out of the crowded ballroom and throwing me right back into the dark. Suddenly, I was back in that room, suffocating under his weight, smelling that exact same cologne while I fought for air, trapped in the night where he had tried to drain the last bit of my dignity.
I began to tremble, a visible shudder passing through my shoulders that I couldn't stop.
Lance leaned in closer, bending his head until his lips were right against the sensitive skin of my neck.
"You look stunning tonight." he whispered, his voice dangerously low, meant for my ears alone. "I assume your uncle already told you? You're staying with me tonight."
His hot breath sent a sickening shiver down my spine.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to shove the memories out of my mind, forcing the terror down into a dark corner where no one else could see it. When I opened them, the ballroom was still spinning, but my posture was rigid.
The performance had to continue.
Instead of walking away, Lance smirked at my forced composure and dropped uninvited into the empty seat right beside me. His thigh brushed against mine, he leaned back casually, draping an arm over the back of my chair, completely marking his territory. Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, but I forced myself to sit perfectly still, staring straight ahead as my nails dug deeper into my palms.
He liked the terror he caused. I knew that. Giving him a reaction would only feed it.
We sat like that for a tense, agonizing minute, the scent of his cologne clouding my senses. But Lance's attention spanned only as long as his amusement.
A shadow fell over us as a young woman in a backless maroon dress glided past our row. She slowed her pace, cutting her eyes toward Lance with a slow, deliberate smile.
Lance caught the look instantly. The predatory focus he'd just had on me fractured, replaced by an easy, arrogant charm. He let out a soft, amused hum, his arm slipping off my chair as he stood back up.
Without a single glance back at me, as if I were nothing more than a placeholder he was done playing with, he stepped into the aisle to intercept her.
The sudden rush of cool air where he had just been sitting made me dizzy. My shoulders sagged slightly, a ragged breath escaping my lips.
The lights dimmed, the auctioneer stepped forward, and the bidding began.
Bids rose faster. Paddles lifted with elegant ease while smiles curved a little sharper with every victory. Around me, guests offered soft gasps, appreciative nods, and polished compliments before turning their attention to whatever would be sold next.
At some point, the numbers stopped sounding real. I leaned back in my seat, boredom creeping in despite the spectacle. It was all the same, possession disguised as appreciation, so I barely listened.
Until...
"May I?"
________________________________________
ISAAC
The board members' voices bounced off the glass walls of the conference room, sharp and demanding. I didn't blink. I simply watched them, my expression entirely unreadable.
"The charter is clear, Isaac," my Aunt Celestia said, leaning forward as she smoothed her impeccably tailored blazer. Her eyes held a calculated gleam. "The CEO must be married to fully secure the family trust and the primary inheritance. An unmarried man at the helm creates instability. The market doesn't like instability."
Beside her, my cousin Sofia offered a tight, plastic smile. "We only want what is best for the company, Isaac. If you can't fulfill the requirements, perhaps it's time to step aside and let someone else take the seat."
They had been orchestrating this corporate tremor for weeks, using a rigid, outdated clause to eye the position I currently held. They wanted me gone. But I wasn't stepping down.
I lowered my hands to the edge of the mahogany table, letting my left cuff slide back just enough to reveal the heavy silver timepiece resting against my wrist. It was a classic, mechanical chronograph—the sweeping secondhand a silent, steady pulse against the tension in the room. I ran a thumb over the slight scuff on the bezel, a mark left from the day it was handed down to me. The metal was warm against my skin, a quiet anchor amidst their swirling ambition.
This company was the legacy my older brother, Elijah, had built before he passed away. I felt nothing for the board, but I owed Elijah everything. I would not let them touch his life's work.
If they wanted a marriage, I would give them a transaction. That's all marriage ever was anyway—a cold, strategic merger. I had watched my own parents turn a household into a bloodless business partnership. Love was an inefficient variable.
"Give me a month," I said, my voice cutting through the noise like ice. I didn't wait for their approval before standing up and exiting the room.
Back in my office, I glanced at my assistant. "Marco. Set up dates for me. High-society families. I need a contract wife. Screen them for compliance."
Over the next two weeks, Marco arranged the meetings, and each one was an exercise in futility. The women were transparent. One spent two hours subtly fishing for the valuation of my offshore assets; another was an amateur spy, leaking our conversation directly back to Sofia. They were either gold diggers or puppets controlled by my aunt. I dismissed each one within thirty minutes.
On a Thursday afternoon, Marco walked into my office and placed a sleek, embossed card onto my desk.
"The Rodel Charity Auction tonight," Marco said, keeping his voice strictly professional. "Everyone of status will be there. But more importantly..." He handed me a tablet displaying a background check profile. "I ran a cross-reference on your old university roster. I think I found a viable candidate. Lillian Imara Atienza."
I stared at the photo on the screen. Lillian. She had sat three rows behind me in college. Quiet. Guarded. Someone who kept her distance, just like I did.
"Her family is backing her into a corner," Marco explained, tapping the screen to bring up the family data. "They are trying to force a high-profile match with Lance Guerrero to merge their business interests. She's trapped in their political games, Isaac. She needs an exit strategy as much as you do."
I closed the tablet. It was perfect. I didn't need a partner; I needed someone who understood the utility of a mutual arrangement. I would provide her with absolute financial independence and a way out of an unwanted marriage; she would provide the marital status required to secure Elijah's legacy. No emotions. Just a contract.
A few hours later, I stood near the back of the crowded Rodel auction house, my arms crossed. The crystal chandeliers spilled a golden glow over polished marble, but my eyes were fixed entirely on the front row.
I watched Lance Guerrero step into her space. Even from this distance, his arrogant, overbearing presence was obvious. Lillian's posture went completely rigid. I noticed the subtle shudder that passed through her shoulders, and the way her fingernails dug deep into her own palms. She clearly despised him, yet she didn't cause a scene. She was composed. She knew how to play a part in public.
When Lance finally distracted himself with another woman and walked away, Lillian's shoulders sagged, a ragged breath escaping her lips.
The auctioneer's voice became white noise as I adjusted my black coat over my shoulders and walked down the aisle, my stride deliberate and silent. I stopped right beside her empty row, looking down at her. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with a quiet, fierce exhaustion.
"May I?" I asked, my voice entirely flat, steady, and devoid of pity.
———————————————————
LILLIAN
I turned.
A man stood beside me, tall and composed. A black coat draped perfectly over his broad shoulders; while it hid the definition of his muscles, it couldn't conceal his athletic build. His black hair neatly parted, revealing his sharp brows and intense brown eyes.
It was Isaac.
My former college classmate. The one who sat three rows ahead, who never spoke unless necessary, whose presence had always been impossible to ignore and impossible to reach.
He gestured to the empty seat beside me.
I hesitated for a second before nodding. As I faced forward again, my pulse began to pound. The bidding continued around us, but the entire room had shifted.
"You seem very invested in the auction," he said, sarcasm lacing his voice.
I stayed silent, staring ahead.
"I wouldn't mind a hello," he added. "Even a glance? Or did we leave our manners back in the lecture halls?"
I didn't give him a glance, but I couldn't keep the coldness out of my voice. "We haven't spoken in years, Isaac. Don't act like we're old friends catching up."
He chuckled, entirely unbothered by the bite in my tone. "Fair point. But you haven't changed. Still hiding behind that perfect, frozen stare."
I frowned, his teasing annoyed me more than it should. "What do you want?" The question tore from my throat before I could catch it.
"You."
I turned sharply, only to find him smiling, with a teasing glint in his eyes. But beneath the smirk, his gaze was intensely focused, mapping my face like he'd been waiting for this exact reaction.
"I'm engaged." I stood up, so abrupt that my chair nearly toppled. My uncle's warning gaze at once found me: a cold, physical weight on the back of my neck.
I need air.
Without looking back, I left.
The glass door rattled in its frame as I wrenched it open, stepping out into a sudden, biting draft that raised goosebumps over my bare arms. I gripped the stone railing, my chest heaving as I sucked in the cold air, trying to find a full breath that didn't catch in my throat.
"That wasn't very polite."
I didn't turn. I began to walk away.
"I'm offering you a deal," his voice trailed after me, the playful sarcasm finally dropping into something grounded and serious.
I kept my eyes forward, and kept moving. "Go make deals with someone else, Isaac. I'm not a business transaction."
"Call it off," he added, his tone dropping, weightier now. "Marry me instead."
I stopped in my tracks, a harsh laugh escaping me. I finally whipped around to face him. "Are you insane? We barely spoke in college, we're practically strangers now, and I am already promised to someone. You don't know what you're doing, Isaac."
"I know exactly what I'm doing, Lillian. And I know who I'm asking," he said, taking a slow step forward, his eyes locking onto mine with total clarity. "I need a wife. Someone who understands this world but hates it as much as I do. I remember how you looked at the elites in our class. You're a pragmatist. This is business. Nothing real."
A wife? A role to play?
I was already an actress. I had been performing the "dutiful niece" for years.
"Then you've got the wrong girl," I said, though my voice lacked its previous venom, trembling slightly under the weight of his observation. He had noticed me back then. More than I thought.
"Name your price," he countered, stepping closer, entirely unbothered. "Whatever it is, I'll give it—double it."
His voice echoed in the cavernous space.
"Just give me three years," he continued, his tone softening, sensing the crack in my armor. "Then you're free. Truly free."
The sharp, rhythmic clicking of my heels on the marble died instantly, as his words hung heavy in the freezing air.
A dangerous spark of hope flared in my chest.
I stood frozen and turned back toward the balcony, unable to let him see the desperation in my eyes.
Subconsciously, my fingers traced the hidden, tender ache beneath the navy silk of my sleeve: the ghost of my uncle's fury, while my eyes are fixed on the heavy iron fire exit at the end of the hall.
I heard his footsteps move towards me. He didn't touch me, but the warmth of him was a physical weight against my back, shielding me from the wind that whipped across the terrace.
"So...
I heard him take another step closer to me.
"Lillian Imara Atienza...
"Will you marry me?"