They thought winning would fix everything.
They thought being crowned the Big Winner would magically erase the headlines, the rumors, the hate. Like i was supposed to walk out of that stage, smiling, waving, thanking everyone with tears in my eyes, and suddenly... everything would feel okay.
It didn't.
I still felt hollow.
I still heard them.
Even after a week of guestings, magazine interviews, radio talk shows, and photo ops where everyone smiled at me like i was some redemption story, I knew what some of them were thinking.
"She fooled the public."
"She's playing the victim."
"She's just a good actress. That's what she does, right?"
They didn't say it out loud, but i could see it behind their eyes.
So here i am now.
Inside the car, wearing my oversized hoodie, a cap pulled low over my head, shades on.
Like some cliché celebrity disguise except i wasn't trying to hide from paparazzi.
I was trying to hide from myself. From everything that happened here.
"Sure ka ba talaga, anak?" Mama's voice cut through the quiet. She was seated beside me in the backseat, her hand resting lightly on top of mine. "You're really doing this?"
I didn't answer right away.
My eyes drifted outside the tinted window.
Manila looked extra grey today or maybe it was just me, Even the sky seemed tired. Like it needed rest, just like i did.
"Ma," I finally said, voice soft. "I need to breathe."
She looked at me, her eyes searching. "You are breathing."
"No. I mean... I need to breathe somewhere where people don't look at me like I'm a walking scandal," I said, pressing my back harder against the seat. "I know what they're thinking even if they're not saying it. Every smile. Every handshake. It always feels like they're waiting for me to mess up again."
Mom didn't say anything.
That was her thing.
When she's worried, she goes quiet. My mom, the banking queen of Makati, the woman who could shut down a boardroom with one glance, speechless when it came to her only daughter.
"Besides," I continued, trying to sound like i had it all figured out, "you and dad have business in Seoul. The condo's just there, right? You said it's used by Korean actors all the time. Maybe I'll feel invisible for once. No cameras. No people dissecting every breath i take. Just..." I paused. "Just quiet."
The driver turned on the signal light as we approached the private terminal.
This was it.
No turning back now.
I swallowed.
The truth was, I didn't even know what i was running from anymore.
Fame?
Shame?
Myself?
-
The condo in Seoul wasn't even cold.
It was sleek, minimalist, warm-toned. Big windows. City view. It screamed luxury, but in a quiet way like it didn't have to prove anything.
It was the exact opposite of me.
I dropped my luggage by the entrance and stood there for a full minute.
Not moving.
Just listening.
Nothing.
No one shouting my name.
No flashes.
No manager reminding me of the next commitment.
No questions.
No noise.
I exhaled for what felt like the first time in weeks.
I took off my cap. Then my hoodie. Set my bag on the couch. Walked barefoot across the polished floor.
It felt strange to exist in a place where no one knew who i was.
No one cared who i was.
I opened the fridge, fully stocked. Mom must've arranged it before i even arrived. Typical.
I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the kitchen counter.
My reflection stared back at me through the black glass of the oven door.
Same face.
Same girl.
Same eyes that were once splashed across headlines with words like:
"The Heiress Who Stole Someone's Boyfriend."
"Margaux Imperial: From Bank Princess to National Disgrace."
I blinked.
Looked away.
-
That night, i lay in bed wide awake.
Jetlag. Guilt. Or maybe just the silence finally catching up to me.
The soft hum of the city outside felt like a lullaby so different from the electric chaos of Manila. I stared at the ceiling, the thoughts in my head looping again like a bad playlist.
Did i really deserve to win?
Or did the public just feel sorry for me?
What if they made a mistake?
What if i was the mistake?
A notification popped up on my phone. Instagram.
@margauximperial just got tagged in 342 new posts.
I hesitated. But i tapped it anyway.
There she was me on TV, hugging Mia.
The confetti falling.
That moment i covered my face in disbelief.
"She proved everyone wrong."
"She deserves this."
"From most hated to most loved. Go, Margaux!"
But then, as always, the other side followed:
"Still doesn't change what she did."
"Big winner? Or big manipulator?"
"She only cried for the camera."
I shut my phone off.
I curled into myself, hugging a pillow.
And for the first time since i left that house, I let myself cry again.
-
Days passed.
I kept to myself.
Tried to build a routine.
Wake up. Stretch. Read. Sometimes cook, though i wasn't great at it. I burnt rice once. Who even burns rice? Apparently, I do.
But no one was watching, so it didn't matter.
No cameras.
No eyes waiting to catch a slip-up.
No whispers behind my back pretending to be support.
Just me.
Moving slowly.
Breathing quietly.
I checked social media once in a while, mostly out of habit. I never posted. I didn't reply to messages. I didn't even read the DMs anymore.
Sometimes, late at night, I'd scroll through tagged photos, not to see what people were saying, but to remind myself that all of it really happened.
That i had stood there, crying under a rain of confetti, holding that trophy like it meant something. Like i meant something.
But the moment i closed the app, it felt far away again.
Like none of it was real.
I didn't talk to anyone from the house.
Not Mia. Not Joshua. Not even Mariel.
Not because i hated them.
Because i didn't want to be remembered by anyone who saw me at my weakest. Not yet. Maybe never.
This version of me the one trying to live without applause or noise didn't know how to carry the past without crumbling under its weight.
And besides, what would i even say?
"Hey, I'm alive. Still breathing. Still figuring out who i am when no one's looking."
Who sends that kind of message?
-
One afternoon, I sat by the window with a cup of lukewarm tea. It was cloudy outside, the light soft and gray the kind of weather that makes you feel like the whole world's on pause.
For once, I didn't feel the urge to reach for my phone.
Didn't feel the need to explain myself.
Didn't care if people still talked.
If they were still waiting for me to fall again, they'd have to wait from a distance.
I wasn't giving them front-row seats anymore.
-
It rained that evening.
A soft drizzle at first, then heavier the kind of rain that wrapped around the glass like it wanted to pull the city into sleep.
My phone buzzed.
Dad.
He was the only person i never ignored.
"Doing okay, anak?" His voice was always calm. Steady.
"I'm trying," I said, curling deeper under the blanket.
He paused, then asked gently, "Are you lonely?"
That one hit different.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "But i think that's the point."
"What do you mean?"
"I used to think the noise meant i was somebody. That being everywhere, being talked about, whether good or bad that it gave me value."
"And now?"
"Now i'm just... a girl who ran away."
Silence.
But not the heavy kind.
The understanding kind.
"Maybe that's exactly who you needed to be," he said after a while. "Someone far from all the noise, so you could hear your own voice again."
I stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain hit the glass in rhythmic patterns.
It didn't fix anything.
But somehow, it made sense.
So i stayed.
One more week.
Then another.
And in that quiet with no audience, no headlines, no eyes to please i started to notice the girl i'd buried under all the noise.
She was quieter than i remembered.
But she was still there.
Maybe broken. Maybe healing.
But still here.
And for now... that was enough.