I blinked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, barely breathing, as if the air itself had turned against me.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Not the peaceful type. The other kind. The kind that hums with pressure. The kind that dares you to crack.
Nasa unit ako. Hindi sa bahay namin.
Which was weird because even if this condo was supposed to be my escape, minsan pakiramdam ko mas malapit pa 'to sa impyerno kaysa sa bahay ng mga Zobel.
Tumagilid ako sa kama.
The sheets were still rumpled from last last night.
I didn’t remember falling asleep.
All i remembered was replaying that moment over and over again—the headlines, the video, my dad’s voice sa phone.
That tone.
“You’ve humiliated this family.”
Seven words.
That's all it took para burahin lahat ng effort ko sa loob ng labingwalong taon.
I sat up. I didn’t cry.
Hindi dahil matatag ako.
I just didn’t have anything left in me to spill.
—
By 6:20 AM, nasa loob na ako ng sasakyan ko. Hair tied back in a low, tight bun. No makeup. Just chapstick and moisturizer—bare minimum para hindi ako magmukhang multo.
Pero kahit anong apply, I still looked like something from a horror film.
Dark undereyes. Chapped lips. Eyes that looked like they forgot how to sparkle.
Pagdating ko sa training grounds, wala pang masyadong tao. The arena lights were on, casting long shadows across the gravel. Maaga pa. No one was expecting me.
Which was exactly why i came.
I parked. Didn’t wait for anyone to greet me. Didn’t nod at the assistant trainer.
Tumuloy ako diretso sa stables.
I found my horse in stall 12.
My girl.
She neighed when she saw me—like she knew.
“Hey,” I whispered, brushing her mane gently. “Sorry, I’ve been gone.”
Nilapit ko ang noo ko sa kanya. And for a second, just one small second, I felt safe.
Because my horse never judged.
She didn’t care that i trended on Twitter last week.
She didn’t care na may isang TikTok na 3.2 million views na tinawag akong “spoiled elite trash who can’t ride without Daddy’s money.”
She didn’t care that the last time i was in this arena, I fell. Hard.
All she cared about was that i held the reins steady and spoke to her gently.
I saddled her myself.
No assistant.
No drama.
Just me and her.
By 6:45 AM, nasa loob na kami ng main arena.
And that’s when it hit me.
This was the first time in weeks that i felt in control.
Walang camera.
Walang PR team breathing down my neck.
Just hooves on dirt and silence.
And god, I needed that silence.
I started slow. Dressage patterns muna. Warming up both our bodies, finding our rhythm again. My thighs ached within minutes—not from weakness, but from absence.
Ang tagal ko nang hindi nag-give ng ganitong focus. Not since the last time i won.
Not since I got pulled out of Europe in the middle of training and was forced to “lay low.”
Fucking joke.
I didn’t train to lay low.
I trained to win.
Lateral movements.
Half-pass.
Pirouettes.
Eira responded like she was built for it.
Which, technically, she was.
But it wasn’t until i pushed her into a fast gallop across the long diagonal that i started feeling something again.
Not peace. But purpose.
Yung tipong kahit hindi ka okay, at least may ginagawa kang tama.
Sweat clung to the back of my neck.
My breathing synced with her strides and for a moment—just one fucking moment—I thought:
I could survive this.
Maybe.
Then i heard the voice.
Cold. Calculated.
Clipped.
"Good. At least hindi pa tuluyang nabubura ang dignidad ng pamilya natin."
Eira slowed on her own, sensing the tension in my grip.
I pulled her into a halt.
Didn’t even need to look.
I knew that voice anywhere.
He was standing outside the fence, in his navy blazer and crisp white shirt. One hand in his pocket. The other holding his phone, probably reading the latest market update or texting his assistant about another charity gala he’d pretend to care about.
Tatay.
Zobel Banking Group’s God.
And my personal executioner.
I slid off Eira wordlessly.
Patted her side.
Then walked to the edge of the arena.
Not to greet him.
To face him.
He looked me up and down, the way one inspects an item they almost threw out but decided to keep.
“You’ll compete in Italy next month. The Bernini Invitational. Sponsors are already aware. Press release comes out Friday.”
I didn’t blink.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t react.
“You’ll win,” he added, as if i had a choice.
“Or?” I finally said.
He raised an eyebrow.
Like i’d just misbehaved.
“Or don’t come back.”
There it was.
The ultimatum.
Same one he always gave me, in different packaging.
Fall in line or disappear.
I licked my lips slowly, tasting the dust.
And then i did what i always did.
I said nothing.
Because if i said what i really wanted to say—if i screamed, I don’t want to ride for your damn legacy! I want to ride for me!—he’d just replace me with someone better.
He always had backups.
The daughter of a senator in Pasig. The rich girl from Davao. The one from Spain who could probably replace me in one phone call.
So i shut up.
He turned and left without another word, the sound of his leather shoes fading into gravel.
And just like that, the silence returned.
Only this time, it wasn’t comforting.
It felt like suffocation.