By the time i arrived home, it was already late.
I opened the door, and of course, there he was. Waiting.
"Claudia—"
I ignored him and walked straight to the bedroom.
"Claudia, can we talk?" His voice followed me.
I didn't stop. I shut the bedroom door behind me.
"I'm tired." That was all i said.
I pressed my forehead against the door, my heart pounding.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. My mind was spiraling.
Why does he keep following me?
A lump formed in my throat as a terrifying thought crept in.
Is he planning to divorce me?
It makes sense, doesn't it? He's been distant, cold. He barely looks at me the same way. What if he's already decided?
What if... now that he's earning enough, now that he has saved enough to pay off his sister's debts, he doesn't need me anymore?
I clenched my fists.
That's why he's following me. He's just waiting for the right moment to tell me.
Maybe he's guilty, maybe he doesn't want to hurt me, but in the end, he'll still leave.
A wave of panic hit me.
No. No, I won't let that happen.
I need to make him stay.
I need to avoid him, avoid the conversation, avoid anything that might push him to say those words.
—
It's been nearly a week since I last spoke to Raphael.
We've been avoiding each other like strangers at home, polite nods, no real eye contact. The air between us is so thick with things unsaid that I can barely breathe.
I'm terrified he'll finally say what I know is coming.
Divorce.
So instead of facing him today, I ran straight to work.
It wasn't just any day, either.
Today was the big shoot for Lueur Fragrance—Mr. Lim's brand.
He chose me as the new ambassador.
It's funny, in a cruel sort of way.
An actress with no sense of smell selling perfume.
But that's what i'm paid for. To sell illusions.
The studio was buzzing when i arrived, lights being adjusted, white backdrops gleaming, stylists flitting around with clipboards.
They fussed over my hair and makeup while I practiced the lines in my head.
"Lueur, because scent is memory."
Memory. Right.
I can't even remember what jasmine smells like.
I glanced at my reflection. Perfect hair. Flawless skin. Eyes that refused to look vulnerable.
That's what they expect.
Claudia Araneta. Unshakeable.
No one here knows how messy my life is.
No one knows Raphael is barely talking to me.
Or that when he does, his words are careful, measured, like he's afraid of setting me off.
I hate it.
Hate how much i want him to look at me like he used to.
We wrapped the first setup and i moved off set, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
My manager immediately intercepted me, her brow furrowed.
"Claudia."
I blinked. "What?"
She hesitated, dropping her voice. "There's someone here asking for you."
My heart stuttered.
Raphael.
I swallowed hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral.
"Who is it?" I asked anyway, playing dumb.
She sighed. "Your... friend."
I looked away, pretending to study my nails.
She knows. She's one of the only ones who does.
"It's complicated," I muttered.
She clicked her tongue. "You know you can't be seen with him. Not now. Not when your love team with Dustin is exploding. Fans eat that up."
"I know," I snapped a little too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Only she and Vanessa know.
No one else can.
Not the photographers, not the crew, not the public.
Raphael is my biggest secret.
Our marriage is the one thing i can't let anyone ruin, not the press, not my management, not the fans.
I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to be calm.
"Just tell him i'm busy," I finally said, my voice quiet.
She sighed. "Claudia."
I met her gaze, my mask firmly in place.
"Please."
She didn't argue. She just walked off to deal with it.
I exhaled shakily, turning away so no one would see my face crack.
Because the truth is, it's always me who notices how far we're drifting.
Me who lies awake wondering if he loves me.
Me who feels like i'm falling alone.
And him?
He just seems... indifferent.
Unmoved.
I picked up the script for the next scene, forcing myself to focus, even as my hands trembled just a little.
—
The last frame of the shoot finally wrapped as the crew erupted into quiet claps.
"Beautiful, Claudia. That last shot was perfect," the director beamed.
I smiled faintly, lips painted the perfect shade of rosewood, but my eyes were tired.
I thanked everyone, bowed slightly, then slipped into the dressing room. The moment the door closed, I let out a deep breath and kicked off my heels.
Another day pretending everything's fine.
My manager poked her head in. "Want me to call a car for you?"
I wiped off my lipstick and gave her a small shake of my head. "I'll handle it."
She gave me a look a half concern, half warning. "Be careful."
She didn't say his name. She didn't have to.
When i stepped out of the studio, I was met by the fading glow of golden hour. The lot was mostly empty now, quiet. The rush of production had died down.
But there he was.
Leaning against his car, arms crossed, eyes locked on mine the second I appeared.
Raphael.
My chest tightened.
Why is he still here?
I walked slowly toward him, not saying anything.
He opened the passenger door for me without a word.
I slid in.
He got in, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot.
No music. No talking. Just the quiet hum of the road and the tension between us, thick and unspoken.
I stared out the window, watching buildings blur into shadows. I didn't ask where we were going.
I already knew.
—
When we arrived at the building, I reached for the door handle, but before i could open it, Raphael's hand gently caught my wrist.
"Wait."
I paused, turning to him slowly.
He looked... different. Not mad. Not distant. Just tired. And sincere.
We stared at each other for a moment. Then, without saying a word, he stepped out, came around to my side, and opened the door.
And the second i stood—
He pulled me into him.
His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, one hand behind my head like he was afraid i'd slip away.
For a second, I stood frozen.
Then i sank into him, feeling the warmth of his chest, his steady heartbeat against mine.
"Raphael…" I whispered.
"I've been trying to talk to you," he murmured into my hair. "Every day this week. And you kept running."
"I thought…" I swallowed hard. "I thought you wanted to end this."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes searched mine, wounded but firm.
"End it?" he repeated. "Claudia, I've been chasing you down because I want the opposite."
I blinked, breath caught in my throat. "What do you mean?"
"I want us to stop pretending," he said softly.
"Stop hiding. Stop acting like this marriage is just some stupid arrangement."
My heart stopped.
He kept going.
"I don't want it to be fake anymore. I want us to try. For real."
My lips parted, but no words came out.
All this time, I thought he was pulling away.
But he was trying to come closer.
I was the one who kept locking the door.
"You want to make this real?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
"I do." His voice didn't shake. "I love you, Claudia."
And just like that, my knees gave in.
He caught me, arms tightening again.
"You don't have to answer now," he said, stroking my back. "But I needed you to hear it."
I nodded against his chest, tears slipping down my cheeks.
I had it all wrong.
He wasn't leaving.
He was choosing me.
Later that night, we lay side by side on the bed, not touching, but close.
No cameras. No crowds. No scripts.
Just me. Just him.
Just us.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence felt safe.