That afternoon, I did nothing but weep as I bathed, the sound of the shower masking my grief. The bathroom had always been my only sanctuary; a habit born of necessity since childhood. I knew all too well that if my mother saw or heard me crying, she would only use it as ammunition to hurt me further—something I dreaded, yet felt powerless to stop.
By the time I reached the milk tea shop, the shift was in full swing. I arrived a little late, but my coworkers didn't mind. I took my place at the sink to dry the freshly washed cutlery while Ira manned the register and Kulas worked the bar. Kulas was a natural; he was so swift and skilled at mixing drinks that he rarely needed my help, though I stepped in whenever the line of customers stretched out the door.
"Good heavens! I need a break!" Ira groaned, stretching her arms as she retreated into the kitchen. "Thank God we have twenty minutes to just sit."
The owner allowed us to close the shop briefly during our breaks so our rest wouldn't be interrupted. It was the only reprieve we got during the entire shift. Ira slumped into a chair, while Kulas handed me a glass of juice he had just prepared. We were all too exhausted for immediate conversation. It was always like this—no sooner did we stop moving than the weight of the day's constant rush crashed down on us.
"Here, have some juice," Kulas said, offering the glass. I gave him a small, grateful smile. The air-conditioning kept the shop cool, a small mercy that kept Ira's complaints about the heat at bay, leaving only the dull ring of the day's noise in our ears.
"Hey! Just for Ley?" Ira teased, swatting Kulas's arm as he passed. "Abusing your position already, are we? Where's mine?"
Kulas's parents owned the shop, which gave him the freedom to whip up treats without fear of being scolded. He was an only child—just like me. But that was where the similarity ended. His parents cherished him; mine saw me only as a means to settle the daily bills.
Kulas simply grimaced at her and began shaking another drink. He looked annoyed by her prodding, but he made the drink anyway. Watching them, a stranger might have mistaken them for a couple; they bickered incessantly but never failed to look out for one another.
"Seriously? Why is mine so small? It's mostly ice!" Ira complained, holding the glass up to the light.
"If you're jealous, keep it to yourself," Kulas retorted with a smirk, narrowly dodging a shaker lid she tossed at his head.
I watched them quietly while I ate my packed lunch. When the bickering finally died down, we gathered around a small square table—Ira across from me, and Kulas by my side.
"Ley, look at Honibee's latest update," Ira said, shoving her phone toward me. "It's so different from the UA arc. It's much more tense."
I stared at the screen, reading the latest plot points. The comments section was flooded with reactions to the scenes between me and Perseus. Most were kind, though a few were biting. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. These readers talked about the characters as if they were real—as if they truly existed.
If they knew we were real, would they be happy? Or would they hurl insults at me just like Queenie does?
"Can you write down Honibee's information for me?" I asked, handing Ira a pen and paper. I needed answers. For all the time I had spent searching for her social media, I had finally found a lead. Things were spiraling out of control in the story, and I was still walking in the dark.
"What for, Ley?" Kulas asked as he began gathering our used glasses. He was taking over the washing so I wouldn't have to.
"I just want to follow her. Her story is trending," I lied, unable to meet their eyes. They knew I only had a basic feature phone; I could only access the internet at a computer shop.
The kitchen timer buzzed, signaling the end of our reprieve. The rest of the shift passed in a blur of activity. By the time we finally locked up, Ira looked like she'd won the lottery just to be heading home.
"Off we go. Kulas, I see you're still insisting on having Ley all to yourself," Ira teased from her bicycle, her grin wide and knowing.
"We live in the same direction, Ira! It just makes sense to walk together," Kulas snapped back, his back to us as he double-checked the padlocks on the door.
"Lame excuse!" she yelled, pedaling away.
I stifled a laugh, watching Kulas's ears turn red. "Alright, that's enough. It's late, Ira, get home safely."
Once she was out of sight, Kulas and I began our walk in silence. He kept his hands behind his back, eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. Why are men like this? I wondered. Can they not look at the person they are talking to? My patience with most men was thin—especially after dealing with certain arrogant individuals—but with Kulas, it was different.
"How are you holding up?" he asked eventually.
"Managing," I replied with a faint smile. "And you? Is there... anyone you like?"
I wanted to change the subject. I didn't want to think about my mother, or the fact that she would trade my soul for a few pesos. I looked away, hiding the vulnerability in my eyes.
"There is someone," Kulas admitted.
I wiped my eyes quickly before he could see them shimmering. "Let me guess. Do I know her?"
My heart lightened at the thought. If he was happy, maybe I could be, too. It was a welcome distraction from the ache of my family life.
"Very well," he said, finally turning to look at me. His face was a mask of nerves and hope.
"It's Ira, isn't it!" I chirped. I had suspected it for a long time. They had a spark that was hard to ignore.
"No, Ley." He shook his head, looking disappointed.
Was I wrong? I had been so certain he was talking about Ira. If not her, then who? I couldn't think of anyone else. Aside from the two of us, I never saw Kulas with any other woman, and I hardly knew anyone else in his social circle.
"Then who? Ira is our only common friend."
"It's... it's you, Ley."
I froze mid-stride, and he came to a halt right along with me by the side of the road. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that it was me he was talking about. How could he possibly say he liked me? How did it even happen, when I had never shown him anything more than the simplest friendship?
"H-huh? Why me? Ira is undeniably much prettier than I am," I stammered, my response coming out awkward and strained. Even the smile I tried to force felt brittle. I quickly averted my gaze, fixing my eyes on the pavement as I forced my legs to start moving again.
"I'm not looking for a pretty face," he reasoned, his voice soft. "I'm looking for a beautiful soul."
"Ira is kind, too," I pushed, desperate to steer him away.
"She just teases me," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck—a nervous habit of his, just as looking away was mine.
We walked in silence for several minutes. I didn't know how to let him down gently.
"Ley, I'm serious," he insisted.
I took a deep breath. "Kulas, I don't feel that way about you. You're a wonderful friend, and I want to keep it that way. Please understand."
"I'm not forcing you," he said quietly. "I just wanted you to know."
A sudden shouting from the direction of my house cut the tension. My blood ran cold as I recognized the voices. I didn't wait; I ran. Kulas followed close behind.
My mother was in a heated screaming match with our neighbor, Aling Nely, while my father desperately tried to hold her back. The yard was already crowded with onlookers and local officials.
"I told you I'd pay you back!" my mother shrieked, pointing a finger at Aling Nely.
"You've said that to everyone in this neighborhood!" Aling Nely yelled back. "And then you have the nerve to come here and harass me?"
"Then don't ask for the money! And I wouldn't be here if you weren't spreading rumors!"
"Enough!" Aling Nely turned to the officials. "Take her to the station. I've had enough of her accusations."
I pushed through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs. Kulas was right behind me as the officials moved to take my mother away.
"My daughter is here!" my mother suddenly shouted, pointing at me like a sacrificial lamb. "She's the one with the job! Make her pay!"
The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Tears blurred my vision. Aling Nely's daughter looked me up and down with disdain, but I ignored her, moving straight to Aling Nely.
"Aling Nely, please," I sobbed, reaching for her hands. "Please don't take her."
"I'm sorry, Ley," Aling Nely said, her voice softening with pity. "But your mother needs to learn. For your sake and your father's, maybe it's better if she's away for a while."
I fell to my knees in the dirt, heedless of the grime. "Please. I'll pay for everything. Just don't put her in jail. I'm begging you."
My father tried to pull me up, whispering that he would find a way, but I wouldn't move. I was desperate.
"Dad, no... I don't want this. They're going to take Mom away," I sobbed into my father's arms as he pulled me into an embrace, my tears falling in an endless, heavy stream. He said nothing, offering only the quiet comfort of his touch as he stroked the back of my head. Every now and then, he would press a gentle, feather-light kiss to the top of my hair, trying to anchor me through the storm.
"Fine, then." Aling Nely sigh before talking. "You might as well leash your mother by the neck to keep her from wandering off," Aling Nely finally relented, though her voice carried the weight of a heavy compromise. "But let this be the last time, Ensley. Next time, do not expect any more of my patience."
A wave of relief washed over me. Her son had looked as though he were ready to protest, but even he could no longer meet my gaze, his defiance crumbling into a sullen silence.
"The nerve of her," my mother hissed under her breath the moment Aling Nely and her companions were out of earshot. "She's the one who looks more like a dog."
"You're pathetic," my mother hissed towards me as soon as we were out of earshot. "You look like a dog."
"Ofelia, be quiet!" my father snapped, still holding me as I shook with sobs.
My mother didn't even look at him. She looked at me with a cold, calculating gaze. "At least you're useful for something. You're good at begging."
That night, I felt completely drained. My mother, whom I had just saved from a cell, felt no gratitude—only contempt. My father stayed by my side, tending to me as if I were a broken child, while Kulas was hesitant to leave my side but eventually took his leave after making him to.
When I finally closed my eyes, exhausted by the grief, I woke up back in the world of the books.
I found myself in the basement parking lot of the condo, dressed in my exercise hoodie. As I walked toward the elevator, I saw two familiar figures. I pulled my hood lower, my heart skipping a beat.
"Why did you take that Mayor's case, Perseus?" Kiefer was complaining, rubbing his temples. "The guy is a snake."
"I didn't have a choice. I'm their family lawyer," Perseus replied calmly, his eyes fixed on the elevator floor indicator. He looked as impeccable as ever, his suitcase hanging from his wrist, hands tucked into his pockets.
"And if something happens to you?" Kiefer countered.
Perseus didn't answer. His gaze shifted to the side, catching sight of me. I froze, pulling my hood even further over my face to hide my tear-stained features. I could feel his stare—a heavy, intense weight that sent a shiver down my spine.
"You should go now," Perseus said suddenly, his voice directed at Kiefer, though his eyes never left me.
Startled by the sound of his voice, my gaze snapped toward them. That was when I saw his eyes—so deep that if you dared to look into them, you'd find they were fixed solely on me, never wavering. Within those depths, I couldn't decipher what he was feeling; there was a whirlwind of emotions hidden there, things I couldn't bring myself to believe he truly felt.
"What? We just got here!" Kiefer grumbled, but then he followed Perseus's gaze. "Ah. I see. Good luck, Romeo!" He chuckled and walked away with a wave.
The elevator chimed and opened. We stepped inside in total silence. He gestured for me to enter first, a silent command I didn't have the strength to refuse. For several floors, the only sound was the hum of the machine.
Then, he sighed. "Are you okay?"
His voice was deep, resonant—the kind of voice you could drown in. I swallowed hard, staring at the reflection in the polished elevator doors.
"Fine," I whispered.
"Are you sure?" he asked again. In the reflection of the elevator doors, I caught the look in his eyes—deep, yet somehow softening as if he were treading carefully with me. He made a slight movement as if he intended to step closer, but he caught himself, pulling back before he could bridge the gap between us. My heart and my pride were at war. Part of me wanted to scream, to tell him everything that had happened, but my mind held me back. I remained silent.
When the doors opened on our floor, I hurried out, wanting only to disappear into my unit. But his voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Do you want to drink beer with me in my unit? We can talk it out."
I turned back. He was standing there, hands still in his pockets. He licked his lower lip and ran a hand through his hair, looking away. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a faint flush on his cheeks.
His gaze returned to mine, heavy and expectant. I hesitated, my heart racing, before I finally turned and walked away.