JANUARY 2026
LILLIAN
The rhythmic, metallic snick of my suitcase zipper felt deafening in the quiet apartment. My bedroom, once filled with the warmth of shared life, now echoed with the sterility of a hotel suite. I smoothed my hand over the cold leather handle of the bag, staring at the calendar on my vanity. Almost two months had passed since the annulment papers were filed, and a full month had drifted by since I walked out of Isaac's penthouse and resigned as the director of his company's fashion division.
January was nearly over; next week would be Liam's wedding. It would be my final performance in Manila before I boarded a plane to the Irish mist to vanish for good. No one knew about my departure except Isaac.
It had to be that way.
Tito Lucian owned the world I walked in; for years, his hands were the only law I knew. I had tried to run before, but I was always just a bird beating its wings against a cage he built. It was a miracle I had survived at all. And right now, this suitcase, this quiet room, this ticking clock—it was the only narrow gap in the bars I was ever going to get. I wouldn't miss it.
My eyes drifted to the bedside cabinet, catching on a neat stack of papers. There lay the documents for the annulment, the petition draft I had created three months ago, alongside the printed flight details to Ireland sent by Marco, Isaac's secretary.
Looking at them, my mind drifted to the day I received the notification of the annulment petition. Isaac had been standing on the balcony, his silhouette imposing and cold against the city skyline.
"Did you ever stay because you wanted to?"
The memory struck me with a sharp, familiar pang. For a fleeting second, that question stirred something reckless in my gut—a foolish urge to look back, to see if there was anything left alive in the ashes of us.
But my fingers tightened against the leather handle of my bag, the real, solid weight of it anchoring me. I looked around the pristine, empty bedroom. No photos on the walls. No stray clothes. Just the suffocating, silent mold Tito Lucian had cast for my life, and the heavy, humid Manila air pressing against the windowpane. I didn't want to breathe this air anymore. I needed the bite of Irish frost on my face, a blank slate where no one knew my name, and a room where the walls didn't feel like a trap closing in.
I pulled the zipper completely shut, locking the teeth into place.
My phone chimed, snapping me back to the present. A notification for the final fitting of the wedding gown. I was the maid of honor, and as the designer, I needed to ensure the bodice was perfect and the bridesmaids' dresses were flawless. I tapped out a quick confirmation to Cassie, then froze. In the chaos of my departure and my professional obligations, I had completely forgotten to buy a wedding gift.
I hailed a taxi to Megamall, in Ortigas. The vast, sterile halls of the shopping center felt like a maze. I wandered through luxury boutiques, staring at crystal vases and designer home goods, but nothing felt right. It was as if I were searching for a gift not just for the couple, but for the version of myself I was leaving behind.
Then I found this small bedside lamp.
I remembered the nights when Liam and Cassie would sit beside me, reading stories, singing lullabies whenever sleep refused to come. Through some of the darkest and most painful chapters of my life, somehow, they had been my light when everything else seemed to fall apart.
A lamp felt fitting. Simple, perhaps, but meaningful. A quiet reminder of the comfort and guidance they had given me when I needed it most.
I lost track of the hours until a glance at my watch sent me into a panic. I had to leave now to reach the studio for the fittings.
Clutching the lamp, I hurried to the counter, paid for it, and rushed out of the store.
I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for my ride to pull up, when a scene in the nearby alleyway caught my eye. Two teenagers were cornering a beggar woman, laughing at her. She looked elderly, her clothes layered in rags, mumbling to herself in a rhythm that sounded like a prayer or a curse. I turned away, telling myself to stay out of it. It wasn't my fight. Survival meant blending in, keeping my head down.
Then came the heavy, sickening thud of flesh hitting brick, followed by a sharp, choked cry.
The sound sliced straight through my defenses. My hand clamped down on the edge of the lamp box I was holding, the cardboard crumpling under my knuckles until the sharp edge bit into my palm. My breath hitched.
Suddenly, I wasn't on a city sidewalk anymore—I was back in Uncle Lucian's house, trapped against the kitchen counter, listening to the weight of his footsteps and the exact same suffocating sound of a blow landing on someone too weak to fight back. A cold, familiar panic flared in my chest, but right behind it came a wave of white-hot, uncontrollable fury. I couldn't just stand here and let the world repeat itself.
Before my survival instincts could talk me out of it, my feet were already moving. I pushed through the teenagers, my voice cold and commanding. They scattered like roaches.
"Magwayen," she murmured. Was it her name? It sounded more like a legend from a dusty textbook.
When her hand grasped my arm for support, she didn't just lean on me. She froze. Her eyes went wide, and her grip turned into a painful vice. She stared at the space behind me, her breathing turning erratic.
"The thread has been pulled," she whispered, her voice a serrated blade.
I tried to pull back, but she was unnaturally strong.
"Life is marked for the silence of the earth. It is a debt that cannot be paid, only diverted. The bond that was torn must be mended, or death will find its way when darkness devours the sun."
She was speaking in riddles, a haunting series of mysteries that felt like a physical weight pressing against my lungs. I was paralyzed, terrified by the intensity of her gaze. Then, just as suddenly as she had gripped me, she let out a shrill, mocking giggle.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small object, and pressed it into my palm.
"You must return to the moment the clock began to wind backward."
I looked down. It was a silver necklace with a pendant of a white lily bud. Crafted from a single piece of smooth white pearl, the long, tapered petals were seamlessly folded together, holding the flower's secrets tightly inside as it waited to bloom.
"When the petals unfold," she whispered, "so too shall his fate."
She shoved past me and began wandering into the crowd. I stood there, stunned, and then instinct took over. I took a few steps to follow her, intending to return the necklace, but my phone buzzed with the arrival of my car. When I turned back to the street, she was gone. The smog swallowed her.
I shoved the necklace in my coat's pocket and climbed into the car, my heart hammered a chaotic rhythm against my ribs.
The work was supposed to be my anchor, but that afternoon, it was a fragile dam holding back a flood. As I knelt on the hardwood floor of the studio, the heavy, ivory silk of Cassie's gown pooled around me like a tide. My hands moved with muscle memory, pinning the hem and adjusting the lace, but my mind was stuck in a loop of the old woman's rasping voice.
"I was thinking of having the reception hall draped in pink orchids," Cassie said, her head tilted as she looked at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Do you think that would clash with the bridesmaids' dresses, or should we go for something warmer?"
"It should be fine," I murmured, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
As I pinned the hem of the wedding gown, my focus remained shattered.
Debt. Silence. A mended bond. A blooming flower.
Was it a warning? A curse?
Then I reached for my small sewing kit I put in my coat's pocket, but my fingers brushed against the hard, cold object in my pocket. The white lily pendant. I pulled it out instinctively, staring at the pearl-like buds that refused to bloom. The woman's eyes, it was filled with terror I couldn't grasp—flashed behind my eyelids.
"Lillian? Are you okay?"
Cassie's voice pulled me back. She was looking down at me with concern, her brow furrowed beneath the delicate veil she was practicing with.
"You've been staring at that necklace for a full minute, and you haven't moved the pin in the hem," she noted, stepping off the pedestal to crouch beside me. "That's not like you. You're usually the most meticulous person in the room."
I quickly shoved the necklace back into my pocket, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm just exhausted," I lied, the excuse tasting like ash. "The launch of my new collection, the stress of the annulment... it's all catching up to me. My brain feels like it's been through a blender."
"You need to breathe," she said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You've been running yourself ragged for months. Once the wedding is over, go on hiatus. Go somewhere...a vacation. Just you."
I forced a brittle smile, pinning the fabric with a shaky hand. "Yes... That sounds perfect."
When the fitting ended and the bridesmaids finally trickled out, I stayed behind, pretending to organize my spools of thread. I pulled the necklace out again, holding it up to the light of the atelier. The pearls were smooth, clinical, and silent.
There was no magic here, I told myself. Only a confused, elderly woman who had happened to touch a nerve I didn't know I had.
———————————————————
The wedding day arrived with a relentless, sunny clarity that felt at odds with my internal dread. In the bridal suite, I helped Cassie with her veil. I noticed the tremor in her hands. She had been on edge since we arrived, her movements stiff.
Suddenly, she grabbed my hands, her expression apologetic. "Lillian, I have to tell you something. I'm so sorry."
I frowned. "What for?"
"Liam's best man. It was supposed to be Darwin, but he had an accident in Spain and cannot fly. We were so busy that we forgot to tell you that we replaced him with Isaac."
The world seemed to tilt. "Isaac? You asked Isaac to be the best man?"
"We made the decision months ago when you were still together," she pleaded. "I am so sorry. I know this is awkward."
I didn't answer. I just stood there, my reflection in the mirror looking like a stranger. I had come too far to back out now. I had to make this perfect for Liam and Cassie.
As the ceremony approached, the air in the dressing room grew heavy. The bridesmaids began to head toward the aisle. I stood in front of Liam who looked
uncharacteristically nervous, but my eyes were scanning the back of the venue for a silhouette I both dreaded and craved.
Isaac was not there.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over his number, which I still hadn't deleted. My pride screamed at me to put it away, to stay cold, but I hit the call.
One ring. Two. Three. Then Silence.
The ceremony was already moving. Three bridesmaids and groomsmen were about to walk down the aisle, then it was my turn.
I will walk out alone, I thought.
My head held high, pretending the emptiness beside me didn't feel like a physical void. I reached the end of the aisle and took my place, my heart sinking as the realization settled in.
He wasn't coming.
Then, just as the third bridesmaid and groomsmen walked down the aisle, a low, smooth, and devastatingly familiar voice cut through the air behind me.
"My apologies for the delay."