By midday, the hacienda no longer felt like home.
The gates, once quiet, now looked like a marketplace. Reporters set up tents. Tripods and cables stretched across the gravel road. Vans hummed with generators, their satellite dishes pointed skyward. Drones buzzed overhead, filming sweeping shots of the mansion and its vast orchards.
"Miss Rodriguez!" one anchorwoman called brightly, already on live broadcast. "Behind me is Hacienda Rodriguez, rumored to be the source of the miraculous fruits healing the sick across Luzon. We are waiting for the young heiress herself to address the nation."
Her voice carried through the television in the living room, echoing through Bianca's ears even inside her own home.
Lydia shook her head in disbelief. "They're treating you like a… like a spectacle."
Paolo tugged her sleeve. "Nanay, why are there so many strangers? Will they take our home?"
Lydia hugged him close, whispering reassurances she barely believed.
---
Outside, the villagers gathered too—neighbors, townsfolk, even old acquaintances who had once ignored the hacienda. Some cheered Bianca's name, clapping as though she were a saint. Others muttered under their breath, envy sharpening their eyes.
"Must be nice," one man scoffed. "All that land, all that power, suddenly handed to her."
A woman replied, "If she really cared, she'd give the fruits for free, not sell them at all."
Bianca overheard these words from the veranda, each one landing like a pebble against her chest. Gratitude, resentment, reverence, suspicion—it all swirled together into a storm she couldn't control.
---
Lara marched up to her with determination. "B, you can't hide anymore. They'll twist the story if you don't speak for yourself."
Bianca's throat went dry. "Speak? To all of them? I don't even know what to say."
"Then tell the truth," Lara urged. "Tell them you're not a saint, not a scammer—you're just… you. And you're trying your best."
Bianca hesitated. Cameras, microphones, thousands of watching eyes—it was everything she hated. Yet deep down, she knew Lara was right.
The world had come knocking. If she didn't answer, someone else would answer for her.
---
That evening, under the setting sun, Bianca stepped out to the fountain where the crowd waited. The orange glow lit her provincial dress, the heirloom pendant glimmering faintly against her chest.
Cameras whirred. Reporters hushed the crowd. Even the villagers fell silent.
Bianca took a breath, her heart pounding.
"I am Bianca Rodriguez," she began softly. "This hacienda was left to me by my late great-grandfather, whom I loved dearly. When I came here, I only wanted a simple life. I wanted to plant, to raise animals, to find peace."
Her voice grew steadier. "I never claimed to be a healer. I never promised miracles. All I did was share fruits. If those fruits brought hope… then I am grateful. But I am no saint. I am just a farmer, trying to live honestly."
The crowd shifted uneasily, whispers rippling.
Bianca raised her chin, a spark of steel in her gaze. "To those who want to buy everything I grow and make me rich—you are not welcome. This land is not for greed. To those who want to control what I do—you have no right. This land belongs to my family, and to the caretakers who protect it. If you truly want to share in its blessings, then you must respect it, not exploit it."
A hush fell. For the first time, the journalists weren't shouting questions. They were listening.
Behind her, Kaloy's tail flicked with satisfaction. Even the orchard seemed to glow faintly in approval, leaves shimmering under twilight.
---
But just as Bianca felt relief, a new sound cut through the quiet—an anchor's polished voice from a nearby television, broadcasting live from Manila.
"Breaking news: The Department of Health has announced it will launch a formal investigation into the so-called 'Miracle Fruits' of Hacienda Rodriguez. Officials are expected to visit in the coming days. The question remains—are these fruits medicine… or myth?"
The words struck like a blow.
Bianca's stomach knotted. Journalists cheered at the announcement, scribbling notes, cameras zooming closer.
And in the orchard shadows, the mysterious man tightened his grip on a concealed blade. He had warned himself not to interfere so soon, but with government eyes now fixed on the hacienda, he knew the storm Bianca feared was only beginning.
Bianca stood tall, even as dread clawed at her chest.
Peace, she realized, was gone. The hacienda was no longer just hers. It had become a battlefield—and she was at its center.
---
End of Chapter 31