Ruz's POV
The sun was setting outside the car window, casting long shadows across the street. Like the universe was trying too hard to distract us from what was coming.
Kairo was out there. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
Tomorrow was Liam's birthday. Tomorrow, Kairo will definitely trying to do something wrong.
Liam's house was protected now,guards at every entrance, cameras on every corner, alarms on every window. His mother had hired a private security team. Kuya had insisted. After the warehouse, no one was taking chances.
But protection wasn't the same as safety.
And safety wasn't the same as peace.
The car hummed beneath me, Adrian's driving smooth and controlled as always.
We were almost home when Adrian turned into the parking lot.
And stopped.
"What the hell?"
I looked up.
A car was parked in our usual spot. Not just any car, a Mercedes. Black. Sleek. Expensive one.
Adrian pulled into the nearest empty space and cut the engine. He stared at the Mercedes like it had personally insulted him.
"Whose car is this?" he asked.
I shrugged. "How would I know? Maybe Tito bought it for me. As a pre birthday present."
Adrian turned to look at me. His expression was flat. Unimpressed.
"Papa will buy practical things for you. Useful meaningful things. Not useless things."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what does that mean?"
"It means your face is useless, ."
"My face is not useless."
"Your face has no practical application."
"My face can make people uncomfortable."
"That's not a practical application. That's a personality flaw."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"You're hilarious," I said.
"I know."
"Let's go inside."
We got out of the car. I walked toward the front door. The Mercedes sat there, gleaming in the evening light, its windows tinted so dark I couldn't see inside.
I didn't like surprises.
Why did I have a feeling this was going to be a very big surprise?
The hallway was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that meant something was happening in the other room, and everyone was pretending to be calm while secretly panicking.
I heard voices Tita's soft laugh, Tito's deeper rumble, and another voice I didn't recognize. Male. Older. Familiar in a way that made my stomach clench.
I stepped into the living room.
And froze.
Business tycoon Rafael Mendoza sat on our couch.
He was dressed in a suit, his silver hair combed back, his posture straight and commanding.
My father.
Beside him sat a girl.
Michelle Mendoza.
Young. Maybe fifteen. Dark hair, bright eyes, a smile that took up her whole face. She was wearing a pastel dress that looked like it came from a boutique.
Tita sat across from them, her expression warm but guarded. Tito sat beside her, his hand resting on her knee. Kuya stood near the window, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
The Michelle looked up.
Saw me.
And screamed.
"RICHI!"
She launched herself off the couch and ran toward me so fast I barely had time to brace myself. Her arms wrapped around my waist, squeezing so tight I felt my ribs protest.
"I MISS YOU! I MISS YOU SO MUCH! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE HERE? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME VISIT? I WOULD HAVE COME EARLIER IF I KNEW….."
I hugged her back.
Because that was Michelle my Michi.
My half-sister.
The last time I saw her, I was eight years old and she was five. We had spent one afternoon together, one single afternoon before papa whisked her away to another country, another life, another world.
We had kept in touch. Texts. Video calls. Birthday wishes and holiday greetings.
But we hadn't seen each other in ten years.
"I miss you too, Michii," I said, my voice quieter than hers. "How are you?"
She pulled back, her eyes shining. "I'm good! I'm great! I'm here! Look at you, you're so tall! And your hair and your eyebrow…..wait….what happened to your eyebrow?"
"I had an accident."
"With what?"
"A trimmer."
She looked confused. Then she shrugged. "It looks… cool. Very villainous energy. I like it."
Behind me, Adrian cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Maybe I'm not important anymore. I think I should leave."
Michelle's head snapped toward him.
"ADRI!"
She launched herself at him next, wrapping her arms around his neck. Adrian stumbled back, caught off guard, his arms flailing before he finally hugged her back.
"I miss you too, Adri," she said into his shoulder. "Even if you never text me back. Even if you leave me to read for three days."
Adrian shot me a look over her head.
I shrugged.
"You're on your own," I said.
"Traitor," he mouthed.
Papa stood up from the couch.
He was tall. Imposing. The kind of man who filled a room without trying, who commanded attention without speaking, who made people want to impress him and fear him in equal measure.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
Neither of us spoke.
Then
How have you been?" he asked.
"Fine."
"School?"
"Fine."
"Your aunt and uncle? They're taking good care of you?"
"Fine."
He looked at me.
"You keep saying fine."
"Because things are fine."
"Your face says otherwise."
"My face is fine too."
"You have a bruise on your face and arms, that's not fine."
"I got it from saving a friend."
"From what?"
"From people who wanted to hurt him."
"People?" His voice sharpened. "What people? How many? Where?"
I didn't answer.
"Richelle…."
"I said I'm fine."
"You're not answering my questions."
"Because they're not your business."
"You're my daughter."
"I'm not"
Quit for a moment
Then he turne to tita and tito
"That's how you raised my daughter, like this? She's being disrespectful to her own father and arguing back with me."
The moment I lost control of my emotions and the words spilled out.
"Don't you dare say anything against them. When you left me and walked away, they were the ones who stayed by my side. When I woke up screaming in the middle of the night out of fear, they were there to calm me down, not you. When I felt stuck or lost, they were the ones who gave me courage and cheered me on, not you. You have no right to say any of those things about them."
The hallway was quiet for a moment.
I looked at tita. At her gentle eyes, her worried expression.
I looked at Tito. The way his jaw was set, the way he was trying to be strong for everyone even though I could see the tension in his shoulders.
I looked at Kuya. At his crossed arms, his steady gaze, the slight nod he gave me that said I'm here. I'm not leaving. Whatever happens, I'm here.
Then I looked at my father.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
"No," I said.
His expression flickered. "Ruz…"
"I said no. My voice is cold now. Hard. The way I had trained it to be. "Don't explain. Don't apologize. Don't tell me you had reasons. I don't care about your reasons. I care that you weren't there."
The room went quiet.
Tita started to say something. Tito stopped her.
Michelle moved closer to me. Not touching just there. Present. A reminder that I wasn't alone.
.
Papa's jaw tightened. "I understand you're angry."
"You don't understand anything."
"You're right."
That stopped me.
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're right. I don't understand. I wasn't there. I didn't see what you went through. I didn't protect you when you needed me. I made choices that hurt you, and I have to live with that."
He paused.
"But I'm here now. And I want to try."
I stared at him.
"I want to go to my room," I said.
"Ruz…."
"I want to go to my room," I repeated. "Now."
Tita stood up. "Of course. Adrian, can you….."
"I'll go with her," Adrian said.
I walked toward the stairs.
I didn't look back.
The door closed behind me.
I stood in the middle of my room, staring at nothing. I feel everything at a time, the anger, the hurt, the confusion all. The tiny, traitorous part of me that wanted to believe him, that wanted to give him a chance, that still remembered being ten years old and waiting for him to come back.
Adrian stood by the door. He didn't say anything.
He knew better.
"The nerve," I said finally. "The absolute nerve. He disappears for years. He leaves me with Lola while he goes to another country and builds a new life. And now he shows up like nothing happened and wants to talk?"
Adrian didn't answer.
"He wants to talk," I repeated. "Like we're old friends catching up over coffee. Like he didn't miss my entire childhood. Like he didn't…"
My voice cracked.
Adrian moved then. Crossed the room in three steps and pulled me into a hug. Not a gentle hug, a firm one. The kind that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone.
I didn't cry.
I wanted to.
But I didn't.
"What do I do?" I asked.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't decide yet."
I pulled back. And looked at him.
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just never listen."
I snorted. "That's not wisdom. That's sarcasm."
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
He almost smiled. "You gonna be okay?"
"No."
"Good. Honesty is the first step."
I sat down on my bed. He sat beside me.
We stayed like that for a while.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Tito's voice: "Ruz? Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. His arms were crossed. His expression was not angry, not disappointed. Just… tired.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No."
"Good. Honesty is the first step."
I looked at Adrian. "You two are the same person."
Adrian shrugged. "He taught me everything I know."
"Unfortunately," Tito added.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Tito walked over and sat on the other side of me. I was sandwiched between two people who loved me, and somehow that made the anger feel smaller.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do," Tito said. "That's not my job. My job is to love you, support you and catch you when you fall."
He paused.
"But I will tell you this,your father loves you. He's made mistakes, big ones, but still he is your father and he loves you. And he's trying."
"He should have tried sooner."
"Yes, he should."
"He should have been there."
" You're right, he should ."
"He should have…."
"I know," Tito said. "I know."
I was quiet for a moment.
"He wants me to live with him," I said.
Adrian stiffened beside me.
Tito's expression didn't change. "I know."
"He told you?"
"Before you came in. He asked us. Wanted to know what we thought."
"And?"
Tito looked at me. "We told him it wasn't our decision. It's yours."
I stared at the wall.
"I don't want to live with him."
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It can be."
"He's my father."
"And you're our daughter," Tito said. "Adopted or not, blood or not, you're ours. That doesn't change if you go live with him. That doesn't change if you stay here. You will always be ours."
I looked at him.
At his kind eyes, his gentle smile, the way he had never once made me feel like a burden or a mistake or an obligation.
"I love you," I said.
He blinked. Surprised.
"I love you too," he said. "Now go talk to your father. He's been waiting in the hallway for ten minutes."
I turned.
The door was slightly open.
Papa stood in the hallway, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed.
He had heard everything.
He sat on the chair near my desk.
I sat on my bed.
Adrian had left with Tito reluctantly, with a look that said call me if you need me and now it was just the two of us.
Father and daughter.
Strangers who shared blood.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You already said that."
"I'll say it again. I'm sorry. For leaving. For not being there. For not fighting harder to keep you."
I didn't answer.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.
"When your mother disappeared… I didn't know what to do. I was lost. Angry. Scared. I couldn't protect her. I couldn't save her. And I was afraid that if I stayed, I would fail you too."
"So you left." My voice was flat. "You left me with Lola."
"I thought you would be safe there. Protected. Loved."
"I was loved. I was also called a burden. Unwanted. A mistake. By relatives who whispered loud enough for me to hear."
His face went pale.
"Every day," I continued. "Every single day. 'Poor child. No mother. No father. What will become of her?' 'She's difficult. She's troubled. She's not really one of us.'"
He stood up. I walked to the window. Stared out at the darkening sky.
"I didn't know," he said.
"You didn't ask."
"I….."
"You didn't call, didn't visit, didn't write. You didn't do anything except send money and pretend that was enough."
He turned to face me.
"You're right."
"I know."
"You're right about all of it. I was a coward. I was selfish. I told myself I was protecting you, but really I was protecting myself. From the guilt. From the grief. From the reminder of everything I had lost."
He walked back to the chair. Sat down heavily.
"I can't change the past," he said. "I can't go back and be the father you needed. I can't undo the years I missed. But I can try to be better. Starting now. Starting today."
I looked at him.
"Why now?" I asked. "Why not yesterday? Why not last year? Why not any of the years before?"
"Because your grandfather died."
I blinked.
"What? When?"
"He died last month. Eduardo Mendoza. My father. Your grandfather."
I stared at him.
"He made a will before he died," Papa continued. "And in that will… he left something for you."
"For me?"
"He accepted you as his first grandchild. He made you his heir. He named you the future CEO of Mendoza Enterprise."
The words didn't make sense.
I shook my head. "That's not possible. He didn't know me. He never met me."
"He saw you."
"When?"
"The business meeting. 5 months ago. The one you attended with Azmain when his arm was fractured maybe. Mendoza Enterprise was one of the rival companies."
I went cold.
"I didn't…"
"You didn't know. He didn't tell anyone. He just… watched. And he saw something in you."
The room felt smaller.
"He saw the way you think. The way you strategize. The way you stepped in, without invitation, without fear. He saw the way you turned a losing deal into a victory. And he decided that you were the one."
I stood up.
Walked to the window.
Stared out at the same dark sky he had been staring at.
"Why didn't he tell me?" I asked.
"He was going to. But somthing stoped him, i asked him to bring you to him but he stoped me too, then he ran out of time."
My hands were shaking.
"What stoped him?"
"I dont know? He didn't tell me, Whenever i asked he just told me that he want's learn somthing about you."
"About me?"
"He left a note for you," papa said. "I found it with his will. After his death. When he saw you at that meeting, he learned who you were. He was angry at me. Furious. For keeping you away. For hiding you."
He pulled an envelope from his jacket.
"He wanted you to have this."
I took it.
The envelope was heavy. Cream colored paper, thick and expensive. My name was written on the front in handwriting that was old and shaky and determined.
Ruzelle Richelle Mendoza.
I didn't open it.
Not yet.
"What else?" I asked.
Papa hesitated. "When you turn eighteen… in two months… you'll need to come to Makati. Meet with the lawyers. Accept the inheritance. Accept your rights."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the company goes to someone else. Someone who doesn't deserve it. Someone who will destroy everything your great grandfather built."
I turned to look at him.
"You're not telling me everything."
He met my eyes.
"No," he said. "I'm not. There are things I can't explain yet. Things I'm still trying to understand, try to process, I promise you, I will tell you everything. Soon."
I looked at the envelope in my hands.
"Two months," I said.
"Two months."
"I'll think about it."
He nodded. Stood up. Walked to the door.
"Richelle."
I looked at him.
"I am sorry," he said. "For everything."
And he left.
I sat on my bed.
The envelope was in my hands.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I opened it.
The paper inside was old. Yellowed at the edges. The handwriting was shaky from age or maybe something else.
My dearest Richelle,
If you are reading this, I am gone. I'm sorry I never got to tell you these things in person. I'm sorry I never got to know you the way I wanted to.
I saw you once. At a business meeting. You were there with your brother Azmain Cruz.You didn't know who I was. You didn't know I was watching.
But I saw you.
I saw the way you walked into that room like you owned it. The way you spoke without fear, without hesitation, without asking for permission. The way you dismantled those men with nothing but words and strategy and a smile that didn't reach your eyes.
You reminded me of myself. When I was young. Before the world made me hard. Before business became war and family became an obligation.
I learned that day you were my granddaughter. My son's daughter. The one he never told me about. The one he hid from me.
I was angry at him. I am still angry at him. For keeping you away. For denying me the chance to know you.
But I am also grateful.
Because if he had told me about you, I would have been forced to choose. Between my pride and my love. Between the life I built and the family I abandoned.
I don't know what I would have chosen.
But I know what I'm choosing now.
You.
You are my heir. My legacy. The future of everything my father built.
Not because you're blood. Not because you're family. But because you're you.
The girl who walks into rooms like she owns them. The girl who fights for what she believes in. The girl who doesn't break when the world tries to break her.
I believe in you, Richelle.
I believe in you more than I have ever believed in anyone.
Don't let anyone tell you that you don't belong.
Don't let anyone tell you that you're not enough.
Don't let anyone tell you that you can't.
Because you can.
You will.
And I will be watching.
With love,
Your grandfather,
Eduardo Mendoza
P.S. — I know about the blood. I know about the trauma. I know about the things you didn't want to tell any one, who close to you, who you don't want to lose. I know what earned in your those 8 years after your mom's disappeared. I learned evrything after when i learned that you are my granddaughter, i was curious about you, so i start to learnde about you, then I found out what you are really.
I just wan't you to know that your mom is still alive, safe and sound, but i dont know where she is, I left some clue about your mom with my will, i hope you find her as soon as possible.
The past is not done with you yet.
Be careful, my Queen.
I read the letter three times.
Then I folded it carefully and placed it on my desk.
My hands were shaking.
How he know about my past
How he sure that mama is still alive.
How he…..
He knew. He knew everything, everything about me.
And he never told anyone.
He took the secrets to his grave.
And now I had to find the answers myself.
I stood up and walked downstairs.
The living room was quiet. Tita and Tito sat on the couch, talking softly. Kuya stood by the window. Adrian leaned against the wall near the stairs, his arms crossed, watching me.
Papa sat in the same chair. Michelle was curled up beside him, half asleep, her head on his shoulder.
Everyone looked at me.
"I'll come with you," I said. "After my exams."
Papa's eyes widened. "Really?"
" But, I have conditions."
"Name them."
"I'm not leaving my family. Tita, Tito, Kuya, Adrian they're my family. I will stay with them sometimes."
"Agreed."
"I want to know everything. About my mother.About lolo, about everything, No more secrets."
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Agreed."
"I want to meet the lawyers before my birthday. I want to read the will myself. I want to understand what I'm inheriting before I inherit it."
"Agreed."
"And I want you to apologize to Tita and Tito. For yelling at them. For questioning how they raised me. For implying that they did anything wrong."
He turned to look at Tita and Tito.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was out of line. You've raised an incredible daughter. I'm grateful to you. I owe you both more than I can ever repay."
Tita nodded. Tito's expression softened.
"Apology accepted," Tito said.
Papa turned back to me.
"Is that everything?"
"For now."
He stood up. Walked toward me.
"Thank you," he said. "I know this isn't easy. I know I don't deserve this chance. But thank you."
I didn't say anything.
I didn't hug him.
But I didn't step away either.
Papa and Michelle left an hour later.
Michelle hugged me tightly before she went, promising to text every day, to call every night, to visit as soon as possible.
She ran to the car, climbed inside, and waved through the window as they drove away.
I stood in the doorway, watching until the taillights disappeared around the corner.
Adrian appeared beside me.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Want to talk about it?"
"A lot."
" Is there anything to be worried?"
I looked at him.
"Maybe" I said.
We stood there for a while.
Brother and sister.
Survivors.
Watching the dark.
And waiting for whatever came next.