Sunlight peeked through sheer curtains as Kako stepped out of her bedroom, her silk robe trailing behind. She paused in the foyer, spotting Jamie, Anthony, and Stephanie assembled around the kitchen island. The aroma of toasted bread and scrambled eggs drifted through the air, but the centerpiece—a plate of Vienna sausages—seemed to weigh on the atmosphere.
"Bona," Kako called, voice soft yet brisk. The maid appeared from the pantry, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"What's for breakfast?" Kako asked wide-eyed.
Vienna sausages glistened on the plate.
"Vienna sausage, ma'am," Bona answered dutifully.
Kako sighed, her fingers brushing the smooth sausages before picking one up. She chewed deliberately, face folding into quiet grief. "I just remembered your father," she admitted, her voice thick. "I miss him every time I see this sausage."
Jamie exchanged worried glances with Stephanie. "What's wrong, Mom?" Jamie asked tentatively.
Kami softened, offering a small smile while swallowing. "Nothing—just nostalgia."
Before more could be said, Anthony hopped in between. "Mom, let's hurry to school—before breakfast talk gets weird."
Jamie hesitated. "Mom, I heard you're meeting Senator Marino today?"
"Indeed." Kako straightened, placing the last Vienna sausage on her plate. "I need allies."
"Can I come?" Jamie asked.
Kako considered her daughter's hopeful eyes. "You can," she said finally.
----
They passed through the marble columns of the Senate building, the air perfumed by polished wood and waxed floors. Kako and Jamie stepped into the reception area. Plush couches upholstered in deep crimson welcomed them, but the rest of the room remained empty.
Jamie sat stiffly, legs crossed, while Ako checked her phone—ticker updates, scheduling alerts, and one blinking email from Karl Marino's office.
A painting on the wall snagged her attention: it featured a bespectacled, cloaked figure seated at a dark desk. She turned, startled.
"Kako—Kako!" The painted figure's voice half-whispered (or so it seemed).
Kako froze, staring.
"Conrad?" she whispered. "Is—did you replace the painting?"
A gravelly echo floated from the canvas. "I am a fugitive, remember?"
Kako's pulse spiked. "Where are you—?" She looked around, then pressed her back against a chair. "This is dangerous!"
He replied with a crack of muted humor: "Unconventional, but necessary." The painted Conrad leaned forward. "How's the little team?"
Jamie's mouth fell open. Kako shot her daughter a warning glance.
"He's... speechless," Kako murmured.
Shhhh. "Senator Marino is still in session—but she assured support," Conrad continued. "Keep forging alliances. And push those lawyers. We need them ready before they jump us."
Kako nodded, straining to take it all in. "But, Conrad—where are you now?"
He leaned closer, tilting his head with mock panache. "Master of disguise." Painted eyes crinkled. "Ray's pride got him locked up. Don't let dad be a martyr."
"I will."
One last murmur from the canvas: "And... avoid dragging Innovare or Penthouse into this mockery." The brush's shadow resembled a wink.
-----
Across town, in a private dining room at a five-star hotel, Bernadette presided over a luncheon that felt more like a summit. A circular mahogany table held twelve impeccably dressed donors. The air was thick with expensive perfume, cologne, and tension.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said, voice smooth as silk. She raised her champagne flute. "We stand at a crossroads."
She glanced around the table, meeting each gaze. "Ray is disabled by circumstance. Bernard is nearly muted by scandal. But TOGETHER—we stand resilient. I am the Medrano heir."
She paused, the room hanging on her every breath.
One donor, a wire-thin gentleman in a bespoke suit, cleared his throat. "Ambitious. But aligning with Rabe Industries might be our only lifeline now."
Bernadette tilted her head. "A suitor—or a predator."
The same donor pressed forward. "Mayor Artavera recommended the partnership. Rabe's influence could secure access to rural votes—more than the Medranos win alone."
Bernadette pinched her brow. "We mustn't kneel to a thug just to stay afloat." She paused, voice firm. "We'll take Artavera's advice—carefully. But I will lead this family forward."
Tickets were snapped. Nod approvals exchanged. Nods. Abrupt break.
As they departed, Bernadette gathered her notes. "Let's reconvene tomorrow—with legal fees and campaign funds in place."
-----
Back at Narumi Corp, Kako paced through a marble hallway lined with towering ficus trees. Three lawyers surrounded her, arms folded.
"As part of our independent inquiry," she said sharply, "I want the European engineering team flown in. And I want full audit access to Pangitarium contracts."
The lead counsel nodded, notes hurriedly scribbled into a worn legal pad. "We'll direct subpoenas. There's enough evidence of irregular bidding. The engineer's dot-ting might work in your favor."
Kako closed her eyes briefly—an exhausted goddess. "Good. And I want a statement drafted, saying: 'We welcome any impartial inquiry.' No finger-pointing, no trade-press drama."
They nodded, relief spreading across their faces.
"In addition," she added, "start drafting a press release on Senator Marino's support. He's still influential—liaise with his office."
They hesitated. "Should we include that embarrassing sausage comment?"
Kako cracked a half-smile. "No. But mention nostalgia—yes. It humanizes."
They all laughed lightly.
Kako smoothed the front of her blouse, raked a finger through her hair. "I'm not building a fortress—I'm building a family."
---
Dinner's last traces lay scattered across the dining table—the glaze of curry rice; the wobble of nearly-empty glasses; stray veggie bits signaling conversation. Kako cleared the dishes as her children—Jamie, Anthony, and Stephanie—watched.
"I've decided," she announced quietly, voice steady yet carrying a tremor. "We will return to our old home in Nueva Citta del Pieve."
Jamie stiffened—fork halfway to her mouth. "But Mom, that place is still full of bullet holes. The explosion—"
"They've fixed it," Kako said firmly, brushing crumbs of resistance off the dinner table like polishing wood. "No more rubble. We can go home... in peace."
Silence followed, heavy and resigned. Stephanie fiddled with her fork; Anthony exhaled sharply, deflating.
"Kids," Kako began, softer now, "I know this past month... or two... has been one hell of a ride. But believe me—there are better days ahead."
A sudden ring from the intercom pierced the silence.
"Kaina, open the door." Kako's voice tightened. The door unlocked with a click.
Moments later, Bona peeked in, eyes wide. A tall woman in her late forties—sleek brown hair, flawless makeup, heels clicking assertively—stood poised in the foyer.
"Do we know you?" Bona asked, frowning. "You look like... sir Conrad."
"Gaga!" the woman scolded, the tone half-affectionate tease. "Of course, I'm Conrad."
Kako and the children emerged quietly into the foyer.
"Conrad?!" Kako whispered in shock.
The woman stepped forward, suppressed grin lighting her face. She held up a hand—the same posture as her husband's. "It's me—Auntie Connie."
"Conrad," How's... this—?"
She pressed a finger to her lips, a playful hush. Then, in full bravado, she presented herself again: flamboyant, dramatic, alive. "Auntie... Connie Narumi."
Kako eyes widened—did she laugh, or cry?
"Mom!" Jamie and her siblings rushed to stand by her side.
The woman raised a manicured hand, gently resting it on Kako's shoulder. "Oops—I might've overdone it."
Kako swayed, swirled—and collapsed into her daughter's arms.
"Mom!" Jamie cried, steadying her. Anthony jumped forward; Stephanie pressed a cool glass of water into her hand.
--
Kako awoke slowly on the sofa, soft sheets draped over her legs. Conrad—Auntie Connie—still in heels and the wig, sat nearby, the heels now dangling. The soft glow from the table lamp lit his profile.
"Conrad?" she asked, voice thick with both irritation and relief. "What. Day. Is. This? You weren't unfaithful... but have you turned into a drag queen?"
He flipped the wig from his scalp with a flourish. "Am I an idiot? Of course it's a disguise."
He stood and walked forward, removing the heels to reveal flats. "If I came as myself, you know they'd have called the NBI and demanded a bounty."
Kako blinked, half-laughing. "Okay—makes sense. How long do you plan to... perform?"
"Until I'm acquitted," he said simply. He crossed the room and sat beside her, touching her hand gently.
Stephanie appeared, leaning into Conrad's shoulder. "We missed you so much, Dad."
"I missed you too, sweetheart." He kissed her hair, eyes misting.
Kako watched Anthony stand at the door. She looked at him and sighed.
"Anthony's been skipping events," she said. "Jamie's going through... whatever that's called. And our darling youngest, you treat with all your charm."
"And I love them to pieces," Conrad said. He looked at his family with raw intensity. "Kids," he added gently, "I am innocent."
Anthony stared at his father. "Why hide, though?"
Conrad paused. "You really think prison is safe for me? Even if your friend Jose could help, there's always someone who can end me—inside those walls."
Anthony glanced to the window. "That must explain the ice cream truck outside."
Conrad rubbed his jaw. "Consider it... backup."
----
The TV flickered to life: the familiar marbled background of Kyoto. Fumio and Tamako—Kako's parents—appeared, neatly framed.
"Oto-sama," Kako greeted softly.
Tamako smiled, her presence soothing. Fumio's brows hardened.
"How is baby daughter? And who's that stunning woman beside you? Is she...?" He narrowed his eyes.
"She's Conrad," Kako said carefully. "My husband."
Fumio bristled. "That son of a bitch come out of the closet?"
Conrad held up a hand. "I'll put him in the closet if you want."
Kako placed a hand on Conrad's arm. "Father..."
Fumio's voice grew stern. "That drag queen fur fugitive of yours worries me. What about our grandchildren?"
"How can we help, oto-sama?" Kako asked, voice respectful yet stern.
Fumio softened slightly. "I want Jamie, Anthony, Stephanie to stay here—just for a time."
Kako's breath hitched. "You mean... relocate them?"
He nodded. "I can secure suitors—like your daughter Stephanie to Zaibatsu heir Yoshiki Takeda."
Conrad stood abruptly. "Dad! That's—listen..."
Kako held Conrad's wrist gently. "Father?"
Fumio watched Conrad. "They're part of the family. I'm considering that offer."
Conrad ground his teeth. "My daughters aren't trophies. And your portion of the Zaibatsu fortune is... minor."
Kako felt the tension spike. She bit her lip. "I'll think about it, Father."
Stephanie's voice trembled. "Mom..." Kako gently touched her shoulder.
"I said I'll think about it," she told her daughter before firmly turning the camera off.
-----
Bernard stood on the balcony, arms crossed, his face caught in moonlight. Bernardine leaned beside him, phone in hand.
"You okay, bro?" she asked quietly.
Bernard didn't respond at first—then shook his head. "I'm still thinking about Jamie." His voice cracked, and he flicked the glass railing with a finger.
"She's strong," Bernardine offered. "But your family... everyone is insane."
He sighed. "It hurts—letting go of the person you love because of laws I can't change."
"We'll get through this. Dad's innocent. Mr. Narumi's innocent." She reached out and squeezed his arm.
He nodded slowly. "I hope so."
Moonlight and turmoil wrapped the two siblings as the night deepened, leaving them to their riddles of love and loyalty in the darkness.
-----
Soft jazz drifted beneath crystal chandeliers in the Grand Sen Seng Hotel's private dining room. Velvet chairs and oak-paneling lent an air of old-world power to the space. At the far corner of the long mahogany table, Bernadette and Bernard sat under recessed lighting—faces sculpted into polite masks.
"Mom," Bernard whispered, tension in his voice. He tapped the table twice, sending ripples across the crisp linen.
Bernadette's posture was regal. She nodded without breaking her gaze. "We're meeting someone important."
The door opened. A man in his late sixties, with a full silver mustache and tailored suit, led a younger woman into the room. Her posture was refined, slender, dressed in cream silk. Her face was elegant—utterly composed.
"Atty. Medrano," the man said, voice smooth as polished wood. "It's a pleasure." He extended a hand, which Bernard shook carefully.
"Thank you, sir." Bernard straightened his blazer.
Turning to the young woman, he added, "And you are?"
"Alice Arellano," she replied softly, offering a polite smile.
Bernadette joined them. "Alice, this is my son, Bernard."
Alice nodded again, her gaze steady.
They were seated, the men opposite the women. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in crystal glasses.
"Bernadette, your proposal is... impressive," Don Mauro began, clearing his throat.
Bernadette inclined her head. "Thank you, Don Mauro."
Bernard leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Mom... why are we here?"
All eyes turned to Bernadette.
She spoke with quiet authority: "You're going to marry Alice."
The room echoed with that final note.
"What?!" Bernard's protest erupted, voice clipped. "I'm not—"
Bernadette interrupted with a calm firmness. "This isn't a singles' mixer. You are being introduced. Now—get to know her."
She delivered this in a tone that brooked no argument. Bernard rubbed his jaw, jaw clenched.
Alice looked between them, expression distant but kind.
Don Mauro cleared his throat. "Bernard, Alice is accomplished—studied law in the UK, fluent in four languages." He paused. "The Arellano name will complement the Medrano legacy."
Bernadette added: "It stabilizes trust. When your father is released, we stand stronger."
Bernard, eyes hurt, swallowed. "Mom..." he whispered. "This—this isn't me."
Bernadette's eyes were resolute. "Families must shift to survive."
Alice offered a gentle smile. "I hope we can... build something real."
Bernard met her gaze. His expression softened, but his heart twisted with regret.
----
The grand lobby of the Dusit Hotel was a thousand-panelled masterpiece of marble and light. Crystalline chandeliers reflected off the polished stone floors, casting fragmented rainbows across the guests mingling beneath. The soft murmur of conversation and clinking of glasses formed a gentle backdrop to glittering power.
Kako and her children — Jamie, Anthony, and Stephanie — arrived in hushed formation. Kako held a delicate silk scarf, partially covering her face; under the glare of public eyes, she felt more exposed than concealed. Nearby, Conrad emerged from an electric blue convertible, his transformation complete: a long brunette wig that cascaded past his shoulders, bold red lipstick, dramatic eyelash extensions, and a flowing rose-colored gown.
Kako pivoted to him, voice low but fierce. "Conrad, you shouldn't have come here."
He grinned, hand pressed to his heart. "Why not?" he replied with theatrical flourish. "Are you afraid people will mistake us for... a lesbian couple?"
Kanoj snapped out a whisper. "You son of a bitch."
His laughter was delicate, teasing. "Or are you jealous that your husband is prettier than you?"
Kako rolled her eyes and smirked, stepping back with graceful annoyance. "Oh please. I am Kako Shimizu—born beautiful. You? You look like some bar night hooker who has to bat her eyelashes at old men for saber rattling."
He tilted his chin, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, darling, that hate comes from the throat of envy."
Just as the tension reached a comedic peak, a man and a young gentleman approached. The older man looked to be in his early fifties: tall, regal, salt-and-pepper hair combed back, wearing a charcoal suit and an ornate lapel pin. His face radiated quiet authority. Beside him was a younger man — poised, lithe, athletic, dressed in a navy dinner jacket with subtle theatrical flair. His dark eyes swept in polite form before meeting Kako's and then glancing at Conrad.
The older man spoke: "Mrs. Kako Marino?"
She nodded, stepping forward with a measured curtsy. "Mr. Kaiden."
He returned the gesture lightly, his voice smooth. "A pleasure. And who is this beautiful lady?"
The younger man let his gaze linger on Conrad. Kako felt her cheeks heat, but trusted her husband. Conrad removed a delicate glove from his hand and offered it to the older gentleman.
"Connie Narumi," he said with artificial coyness. "My third cousin; Conrad's alter ego."
Kako's breath caught. She fought a smile and maintained composure.
Mr. Kaiden looked delighted. "Pleased to meet you, pretty lady."
He opened his arms toward the younger man. "By the way, this is Tetsuya, my son."
Tetsuya bent into a formal bow, suit creasing softly. "Madam Narumi," he said in a melodious voice. "I'm honored."
Conrad returned the bow. "Please, lead the way. Dinner awaits — and discussions."
----
They walked toward a private dining room, a stately space nestled just off the lobby. The long table was already set with porcelain china, gold-rimmed glassware, and polished silverware. The scent of lemongrass soup and jasmine rice drifted through the door.
Conrad slid into a seat opposite Kako, Jamie, Anthony, and Stephanie. Mr. Kaiden sat at the head, with Tetsuya to his right. Page-like servers offered tea and jasmine-infused water as guests settled.
Conrad leaned forward to Tetsuya, voice quiet yet performative. "So: heir of the Kaiden Group, yes?"
Tetsuya nodded, measuring his words. "Yes, sir. I'm honored to be here."
Conrad shifted to face Kako. "I believe Jamie and Tetsuya would—be a match, yes?"
Kako's eyebrows shot up; she didn't expect that remark to come from him. Jamie's breath caught, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.
Mr. Kaiden glanced between them. "Yes?" he prompted subtly.
Conrad gave a grin and a tilted head. "Of course. Life is connections."
Tetsuya refocused: "My hobbies... I love Formula One, tennis, and occasionally—socializing with Takeru Marino."
Conrad's eyes lit with mischief. "Takeru Marino is the top playboy in town. Let's hope you're not that."
The guest stiffened. "No... I promise."
Mr. Kaiden chuckled softly. "Former President has said good things."
Kako raised an eyebrow. "You know the former President?"
Conrad chimed in with a playful flourish: "Yes. He and Conrad are—kindred spirits. Lovers of country... and chaos."
Kako elbowed him under the table. "You have mistresses?" she whispered, clearly irked but fighting a smile.
Conrad raised a single finger and shook his head theatrically. "No! Family and country only."
Kako waved her hands. "Well—I thought he did have a mistress. I'd kill him."
Conrad feigned offense with a tilted eyebrow.
Kako cleared her throat. "Anyway... it would be very good for Jamie to get to know Mr. Kaiden."
Jamie opened her mouth to protest.
"Mom," she began softly. She looked at Conrad — no, Connie — for support.
Conrad pursed his lips, in character. "Yeah, Kako."
Kako leveled a firm look at "Connie." "Connie — if you don't shut your mouth, you know what I will do."
Conrad dropped his eyes to the place-setting, twirling his spoon. Jamie shifted uncomfortably.
----
Anthony and Stephanie watched quietly, eating their soup with polite elegance. Anthony whispered to Stephanie, both of them exchanging glances that said this entire charade felt fragile, precarious.
Jamie's plate remained nearly untouched. She traced the rim with her fork, eyes flickering between Conrad and Tetsuya. Her heart hammered at the suggestion of a match—but her eyes held sorrow.
Tetsuya offered Jamie a polite smile. Jamie managed a courteous nod, the distance between them filled with unsaid emotions.
Kako engaged Mr. Kaiden in soft political pleasantries: the hotel renovations, the upcoming typhoon season, local business trends. She laced her tone carefully — warm, pragmatic, but not too personal. Conrad, silent beside her, maintained delicate posture, occasional bright nods, the perfect complement.
Dinner progressed under smooth conversation. Tetsuya discussed his tenure study abroad, his love of tennis, and admiration for Jamie's documentary on environmental issues. Jamie listened, surprised at how genuine he seemed. Beneath the bravado, she detected sincerity.
------
The evening wound down. Plates cleared. Mr. Kaiden offered his card. "Contact me, please. We'll discuss Jamie and Tetsuya further—if she'd like."
Conrad raised an eyebrow, mouth turned playful. Kako inclined her head. Jamie accepted his card, voice gentle, "Thank you, sir."
They rose. Conrad swept a small bow. Kako stood firmly, dignified. Anthony and Stephanie on either side of their mother made respectful curtsies.
In the lobby, the hotel manager congratulated Kako on an elegant evening. Conrad adjusted the wig and whispered comic relief into Kako's ear: You should have seen how he looked at me.
Kako exhaled, overwhelmed by the polite theatre of power — and the quiet ache in her daughter's heart.
Jamie paused on the stairs, turning to face the large hotel windows. A cool breeze passed through swirling curtains, stirring her hair. She looked back at her mother, brother, sister... paused...and whispered: "What have we become?"
---
The elevator dinged softly as it opened onto the top floor of the Narumi residence. Jamie Narumi stormed in with a force that made the sliding doors tremble in their tracks. Her heels clicked across the marble floor before she hurled her handbag onto the white leather sofa with a sharp thump.
Her face was flushed, her eyes brimming with rage and disbelief. Her chest rose and fell rapidly under her cream blazer, as though her breath couldn't keep up with her fury.
Kako, seated in the open dining area, turned from her cup of tea. "Jamie—"
"Are you selling me?" Jamie snapped, her voice rising like a blade unsheathed. "To the highest bidder now? Was that dinner just a market stall?"
Kako stood slowly, setting her porcelain cup down with exaggerated calm. "I'm not selling you," she said flatly. "If you want answers, ask your father."
Jamie's jaw clenched. "He didn't! You did!" she shouted. "You arranged the dinner, you smiled through it, you sat there and smiled like—like—" She waved her arms, breath quivering. "Like this was a business deal! You're selfish!"
Before anyone could breathe, Kako stepped forward and slapped Jamie across the cheek. The sound echoed in the room like a gunshot. Stephanie gasped and rose from her chair, her fork falling onto her plate with a sharp clink.
"You don't talk to your mother like that!" Kako hissed, her voice a sharp crack of ice beneath heat. Her nostrils flared, eyes wild with that familiar Shimizu temper—the same one that had once cleared a boardroom with a single phrase.
Jamie stood frozen, hand to her cheek, the sting radiating outward like a sunburst. She didn't speak. She didn't cry.
She turned.
And walked out.
Stephanie stood frozen. "Mom..." she whispered, unable to form more words.
Conrad, who had been watching from the hallway, finally stepped forward. "Kako," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You shouldn't have done that."
"She pushed too far," Kako snapped, rubbing her temples. "They've all pushed too far."
"They're angry because they feel unheard," Conrad said, folding his arms. "And maybe if you had been here—"
Kako spun toward him. "Don't you dare."
Conrad raised his hands. "I'm just saying—"
"No. Say it all," she snapped, stepping closer. "Say it. Say it out loud. Say it's my fault."
"You left, Kako," he said evenly. "Maybe if you had stayed—"
"And why did I leave?" she barked. "Who was the reason I left in the first place? Who was the reason I had to go back to Kyoto? Who sent Charlie to Germany? Who sent Gabriella to Belgium?"
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. A single beat of the wall clock ticked through it.
Conrad's shoulders dropped. His voice was low. "Fine."
He walked past her, slowly, the air between them electric with years of unresolved hurt.
Kako stared at the empty hallway Jamie had disappeared into. Her chest heaved as she whispered to herself—not in anger now, but something deeper.
"Fine."
----
The Medrano residence glowed under the golden haze of sunset—its French windows catching the warm light like a relic from a grander, older Manila. But inside the ancestral house, the weight of recent events clung like humidity that no air conditioner could erase.
Bernard pushed open the carved wooden door and entered with slow, measured steps. His blazer hung off one shoulder, his collar half-untucked. He looked less like the groom-to-be of a political heiress and more like a soldier retreating from a battle he hadn't agreed to fight.
In the grand hallway, he passed framed photographs of Bernadette shaking hands with senators, of Ray cutting ribbons at health centers. His shoes echoed across the tiled floor like distant drums. But he didn't go into the main drawing room where his mother always waited with her bourbon and calculations.
Instead, he walked straight upstairs, turned left, and slammed his bedroom door shut.
Seconds later, the lock clicked.
Downstairs, Bernadette heard it. Her brow twitched, but she said nothing. She took another sip from her glass and stared into the darkening windows.
Upstairs, Bernard paced like a caged lion.
He tore off his blazer and threw it onto the bed. His tie followed, then his watch. He ran both hands through his hair and leaned his forehead against the edge of his closet. He didn't want to cry. He wanted to scream. To punch something. But the walls here were too thick for emotion to matter.
A gentle knock came at the door.
"...Bernard?" It was Bernardine. Her voice was soft but unflinching.
"Go away."
"I brought your favorite cookies."
He hesitated. The lock clicked open.
She slipped in, holding a small plate of oatmeal crisps and a bottle of soda. He took them silently, sat at the edge of his bed, and began munching like a man who hadn't eaten in hours.
Bernardine didn't press. She sat beside him, her body language relaxed but observant.
"I take it the meeting didn't go well," she said.
He gave a dry laugh. "Oh, it went perfectly. Don Mauro is thrilled. Alice smiled and nodded like she wasn't just shipped out of her villa for a business deal. Mom called me 'responsible.'"
Bernardine frowned. "That bad?"
He looked at her, eyes heavy. "They're really doing it, Bernie. They're tying me up like a ribbon on top of a deal sheet."
"Is she nice?"
He scoffed. "Alice? She's fine. Educated. Pretty, I guess. But she talks like her father's legal team is sitting behind her."
Bernardine leaned her head against his shoulder. "You really love Jamie, don't you?"
He paused. Swallowed. "More than anything."
She closed her eyes. "Then this is gonna suck."
They sat there, quiet in the growing dusk. The house creaked around them with age and politics.
"Do you think Dad knows?" Bernard asked suddenly.
Bernardine straightened. "He knew from the beginning."
"Why didn't he stop it?"
She shrugged. "Maybe because he's not here. Or maybe... he thinks it's the only way to protect you."
Bernard slumped forward. "Then we're all cowards."
Bernardine stood, brushing cookie crumbs from her lap. "Not cowards," she said. "Just born into the wrong script."
He looked up.
She pointed to his chest. "Rewrite it."
----
Nightfall draped over Manila like a velvet curtain. Outside the campus gates of Manila Metro University, the streetlamps flickered with soft orange halos, casting elongated shadows across the tiled walkways.
At the rear of the university parking complex—normally reserved for faculty and board members—a matte-black Hummer idled quietly beneath a flickering lamp. Bernard sat in the driver's seat, his arm slung over the wheel, fingers tapping rhythmically to the beat of his nerves.
His eyes flicked to the clock.
8:39 PM.
A soft knock came at the passenger window. He looked up.
Jamie stood there, wearing a hoodie and loose jeans, hair tied back, no makeup—almost unrecognizable from the girl forced into designer heels and soft-focus dinners. Her eyes, though—those amber-gray orbs—held the same glint of fire that haunted him every night.
He unlocked the door without a word.
She climbed in beside him, shutting the door gently behind her. Silence blanketed the space, thick with everything left unsaid.
Jamie leaned her head back against the seat, closed her eyes. "Thanks for coming."
"I'd wait all night," Bernard murmured.
The silence stretched.
Jamie turned to him. "It's really happening, isn't it? My mom and Mr. Kaiden already have ideas for engagement photos. They want cherry blossoms and sakura-themed calligraphy. Can you believe that?"
Bernard winced. "My mom has Alice's monogrammed napkins picked out. 'Medrano-Arellano'—they're calling it 'M.A. 2026.'"
Jamie gave a small laugh, one that caught in her throat.
"It feels like we're the only ones who care," she said, her voice cracking. "Everyone else is just... playing chess."
He looked at her, voice soft. "I've been losing sleep."
"I stopped sleeping altogether," she whispered.
Bernard reached across and took her hand. Her fingers trembled.
"I saw the photos of you and Tetsuya," he said, eyes downcast.
"I didn't even know it was a matchmaking dinner," Jamie replied. "Mom told me it was tea with her 'business contacts.' Then Connie showed up in that wig and I knew I was screwed."
Bernard chuckled under his breath. "I miss Connie."
Jamie looked at him sharply. "Don't say that like she's a real person."
"She kind of is now," he smirked. "Conrad's drag persona has more social finesse than my entire PR team."
They both laughed—quiet, desperate laughter.
Then the silence returned.
Jamie looked away. "I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending. This is tearing me up inside."
Bernard swallowed hard. "I know. I know it is."
He reached over and pulled her into an embrace. She didn't resist.
"I love you, Jamie," he whispered. "I'm with you. Even if we have to do this in the dark."
Jamie buried her face in his shoulder. "I hate hiding. I hate pretending this isn't happening. That we're just chess pieces moving because someone else wants to win."
He kissed her hair. "We'll find a way. Maybe not today. Maybe not soon. But one day."
She looked up at him.
"I wish we had run away," she said.
He gave a soft smile. "Then who would ruin their family legacy?"
She laughed again, gently this time.
Bernard leaned forward, his forehead pressing against hers.
"One more minute," she whispered. "Just one minute where it's real."
He closed his eyes. "One real minute."
They stayed like that, lips brushing, fingers tangled, hearts pressed close.
And then they parted—slowly, painfully—as if detaching from a dream.
Jamie stepped out of the car and walked into the dark campus. Bernard watched until she vanished from view, her silhouette swallowed by fluorescent shadows.
Inside the car, he didn't move.
Outside, a wind passed through the trees, rustling branches like applause for lovers who couldn't take a bow.
----
The Narumi penthouse was unusually quiet that night. Stephanie had fallen asleep on the couch mid-scroll, Anthony was in the gym muttering to himself while running sprints, and Kako was in the study, surrounded by three half-drunk cups of tea and a pile of case files bound in red ribbons. The smell of peppermint oil lingered in the air like a tired attempt at calm.
Bethany stood by the kitchen island, thumbing through her third hardboiled egg, when the doorbell rang.
She perked up.
It was almost midnight.
She padded barefoot toward the door, muttering, "If this is another delivery guy bringing me Thai food I didn't order again, I swear..."
When she opened the door, no one was there.
Just a manila envelope on the floor.
Bethany looked around—hallway empty, no elevator noise, nothing. She bent down slowly, picked up the envelope, and examined it. No stamp. No address. Just one word scrawled in red pen across the front:
NARUMI.
She shut the door softly, her stomach tightening with dread. "Uhm... Mrs. Kako?" she called.
Kako appeared almost instantly, her bun loosened from overwork, a pen still tucked behind her ear. "What is it?"
Bethany held up the envelope like it was ticking. "Someone just left this at the door."
Kako took it, eyebrows knitting together. She moved to the study and tore it open.
Inside: a USB drive.
Stephanie, now half-awake and drawn by the tension, wandered over. "What is it?"
"Let's find out," Kako muttered, slipping the drive into her laptop.
The screen flickered, then a grainy video loaded. Footage from what looked like a surveillance camera—angle slightly askew, time-stamped but unmarked. They saw a luxury hotel conference room. Three figures sat around a sleek round table.
Bethany leaned closer. "That's Mayor Artavera."
Stephanie's eyes narrowed. "That's Manuel Rabe. And..."
"That's Melanio," Kako finished, her voice a whisper.
In the footage, the audio cut in mid-sentence.
"...the city needs a new face. One that can shake out the deadwood," Rabe was saying, his tone oily, smooth.
"Conrad's a relic," Artavera replied. "Ray's worse. The moment you control the council, the rest falls like tiles."
Then Melanio chimed in. "Narumi's patents. The land rights. The Penthouse deal. Get rid of him, and we open the door to Innovare's full acquisition."
Bethany nearly dropped her egg. "Holy shit."
The footage ended there—abruptly.
Kako sat in stunned silence, her hands trembling.
Stephanie crossed her arms. "They're framing Dad and Ray."
Bethany whispered, "And they're planning to dismantle everything."
Kako stared at the dark screen. "They've already begun."