I sat in a daze inside the restaurant Ranzel had chosen for our meeting. My mind was still reeling, playing back the encounter with Penelope and the others. I kept wondering about the "rank" they had mentioned. Based on what I'd heard, it sounded like a CEO or perhaps a Company President. Or maybe a Senior Director?
But those theories vanished the moment I looked down at the card Kieffer had given me.
CARSON SHIPPING INDUSTRIES
He didn't just work there; it was his family's empire. A quick search on my phone confirmed it: the Carson name was synonymous with one of the most prestigious shipping lines in the country.
The gap between our worlds felt like an ocean. Their circle was nothing like the one I shared with Felisse. They existed on a plane far above mine.
As I scrolled through the search results, I felt a mix of fascination and intimidation. Looking at the sheer scale of their operations, the business I "owned"—the bar—felt like a mere speck. I mocked myself, I spoke of it as if it were truly mine, but in the face of their legacy, it felt like playing pretend.
I let out a heavy sigh and took a sip of the water the waiter had left earlier. My train of thought was interrupted when Ranzel returned to the table. He had been away taking a call about a project his company was spearheading. Even now, I realized I didn't fully grasp what it was he actually did for a living.
When will this situation end? I wondered. I was slowly growing accustomed to the people here. I had to admit, I was beginning to genuinely love those I called friends in this world.
Ranzel began the meeting by introducing several brands that were supposedly "new arrivals" in the Philippines—names I had never heard of. He spoke with an air of expectation, as if assuming I would recognize these luxury labels instantly. I could do nothing but nod and agree, especially since he was showing me photos on a tablet that looked incredibly expensive.
"For Tequila, I've compiled ten brands. But I'll show you the bestseller first," he said, swiping across the sleek screen. "This is called Calamity. It's named like that because you'll feel like taking ten shots after having just one."
The gadget displayed a bottle of high-end liquor—slender-necked with a broad, elegant base.
"Do people really like this kind of drink?" I asked, taking the tablet from him to get a closer look. I scanned the ingredients, though I wouldn't know the right one from the wrong one. I suppose if it contained something toxic, I might have a comment, but otherwise, I was out of my depth.
"Some people enjoy hard drinks and want to go wild for the rest of the night. That's exactly why they frequent your bar, Sera," he explained.
I nodded. I couldn't argue with that. After all, why does anyone go to a bar? To get lost in the drink and have a good time.
"What about Highness? Shouldn't we include that? It seemed like a remarkable brand," I said, setting the tablet back down beside him.
"I didn't include it because I only just found out they're distributing here. Highness isn't limited to one department. They have Vodka, Beer, Rum, and Wine. Their versatility is what makes them so expensive and renowned," he explained just as the waiter arrived with our food.
I stared at the spread being laid out. It was a feast—and entirely meat-based. Not a fish or a vegetable in sight, save for the sprigs used as garnishes.
It hit me then: this was likely the first time I had ever eaten such an expensive meal. Even with wealthy friends in both worlds, I could never afford this on my own. And I refused to use the bar's earnings for personal luxuries.
We continued our business talk between bites, discussing which liquors needed restocking. It was slightly embarrassing that Ranzel had to consult my bar manager for the details instead of me, but it was for the best. I wouldn't have had the answers anyway.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my meal. It was from Penelope.
From: Penelope Dawson
Don't forget to text Mr. Carson before you finish your meeting. He's expecting it.
I grimaced and typed a reply, telling her it was fine and that Kiefer didn't need to send a driver. It felt intrusive and unnecessary; I wasn't a child who needed supervision. I might be the youngest at twenty-one, but I had learned to stand on my own two feet long ago.
Then, a message from an unknown number arrived.
From: +639346788947
Don't be shy, Ms. Dela Merced. It doesn't suit you. Just accept the ride unless you want someone to get in trouble. :D
I nearly choked on my food. I knew instantly it was Kieffer. I'd be in trouble? I was about to ask what he meant when another message popped up.
From: +639346788947
And that someone is 'me', I mean 'me.' :D
So, he was the one who would be in hot water if I didn't comply. I didn't argue further and saved his number, agreeing to the arrangement. I still couldn't justify why they were so insistent on me using Kieffer's driver just because I'd confirmed a whiskey recommendation.
"Who's that? Your face just went through four seasons in ten seconds," Ranzel noted, taking a sip of his wine. "Is someone bothering you?"
"No, no problem. I'm just sighing at Penelope's persistence. They're insisting that their driver shall escort me later." I shook my head and finished the last of the meat on my plate. Ranzel offered to take me himself, but I declined. I'd already said yes to Penelope, and it felt rude to cancel now.
I sent a quick update to Kiefer. He replied almost instantly.
From: Kieffer Carson
He's already there. Penelope told me where you were, so I sent him ahead.
I told Ranzel I had to go. He walked me to the exit, mentioning we should do a "taste test" whenever I felt up to it. As I was thanking him, I saw a familiar figure approaching.
Why do I keep running into people I know here? Is today my bad luck?
"Hey," Perseus said as he saw me. He walked calmly toward the entrance of the restaurant.
I gave him a small nod and a smile before turning to say goodbye to Ranzel. Ranzel hesitated, clearly wary of the stranger who had just approached me.
"And your name is?" Ranzel asked.
"I'm just a mere driver for Mr. Carson. You don't have to worry," Perseus answered boldly.
Despite the "driver" claim, he was dressed in a casual white polo shirt and denim shorts that hit just below the knee. But what caught our eyes were his shoes—Versace—and the silver Rolex glinting on his wrist as he ran a hand through his hair.
"A 'mere driver' with the latest Rolex model," Ranzel remarked sarcastically, shaking his head. It was obvious he didn't buy the story.
"A gip prom Master Kiper," Perseus replied in a deadpan tone, his face blank as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Ranzel let out a dry laugh, waved goodbye to me, and departed.
"We're taking a taxi to your bar," Perseus announced without preamble, already walking away.
This was Kieffer's "help"? I thought he was providing someone to assist me, not someone to just walk alongside me and provide such annoyance along the way.
"Some driver," I whispered, following behind him. "A driver with nothing to drive."
If only I had stayed firm in my refusal. But they were both so stubborn I had no choice. And yet, here I was, feeling ungrateful for the help I'd accepted.
"Stop complaining unless you want me to leave you here to walk the rest of the way alone," he said tersely, holding the door open.
A taxi was already waiting at the mall exit. I noticed several women turning their heads to look at Perseus as he answered his phone.
"Yes, I'm with her right now. So just shut the fuck up before I make your whole damn week a living hell, Kieffer," he snapped before sliding into the backseat with me.
I had expected him to sit in the front with the driver. It would have been less awkward. I wasn't comfortable with his presence, especially after his rudeness at the condo and that strange, unfinished conversation outside my unit.
He had tried to tell me something then, only to change his mind and walk away.
I heard Kieffer gasp on the other side of the line, "Is that the way you should treat your employer? Do not talk to me that way, or else no bonuses for you!" I heard Kieffer's muffled, teasing voice from it.
"Driver, my ass," Perseus muttered.
They bickered for most of the ride. It was probably for the best; if he hadn't been on the phone, the silence between us would have been suffocating. I wasn't the type to be cold to people—my father always taught me that if I wanted respect, I had to give it. He had no money to leave me, but he left me with his values.
When we arrived at the bar, Perseus opened the door for me and paid the driver. Despite his coldness, he knew how to treat a lady in small ways. I tried to pay my share, but he refused.
"Where did you park? Do you have the keys?" he asked, crossing his arms. The movement defined the muscles in his arms—he clearly spent time at the gym.
"Ensley?"
I blinked, startled. It was the first time he had used my name. In this world, he was the only one who called me Ensley.
"H-here." I handed him the keys and pointed to my car parked in front of the bar.
"Wait here. I'll bring it around," he said in that deep, resonant voice. I found it hard to look away from his back as he walked toward the car. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look at anything else.
He maneuvered the car smoothly and stopped in front of me. He stepped out to open the passenger door.
"I'll open the door for you."
He said it without a hint of emotion. No flirting, no hidden meaning. It was just... what he did. I gave a small smile and got in.
"Why are you smiling? What's funny?" he asked as he pulled out into the busy street.
"Nothing," I said, turning to look out the window.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a beautiful glow over the chaotic traffic. I wished my life could be like that—setting peacefully despite the mess of problems I faced.
"Why didn't you take this home when you had the chance? The car seems fine," he asked, his eyes darting between the road and me.
I turned to him and gave a small, sheepish smile. "Drunk," I admitted with a light laugh.
He looked disappointed in himself for asking. It was the obvious answer, after all. I couldn't tell him the real reason.
To break the silence, I turned on the radio. But the news report immediately caught my attention.
"...this afternoon, several packets of illegal drugs were found at the mansion of Mayor Gabriel Andres Salazar. Ledgers containing records of illegal transactions and embezzlement were also recovered..."
Salazar? Why does that name sound so familiar?
Perseus frowned, his attention shifting between the radio and the road. He turned up the volume.
"...Authorities are currently investigating Mayor Andres of Manila as the primary suspect..."
Wasn't the Mayor of Manila the father of Raven is Perseus' client? This was a massive blow. Drugs and embezzlement? This was a heavy case for any lawyer to handle.
Perseus massaged his temples as his phone rang again.
"Raven," he answered via his wireless earpiece. I couldn't hear the other side over the road noise, but I leaned in, desperate for information.
"Just stay calm. Do not release any statement. I'll be right there; I just have one quick stop," he said calmly as he steered the car into my condo's basement parking lot.
"I cannot bring her. She is not involved in this case," he said, his breathing becoming heavy with frustration. His gaze is casually looking at me and on the road. "You won't die, Mr. Salazar, if I don't bring the girl—"
His jaw tightened. Raven had hung up on him.
"This is the hard part of being a lawyer," he muttered irritably as he opened my door. "Stubborn clients."
He practically pulled me into the elevator. We stood in silence, his hand still firmly gripping my wrist. My heart was racing, though I couldn't say why. He stared at me with those dark, intense eyes. Feeling self-conscious, I looked away, focusing on his furrowed brows.
"Whatever happens, do not open your door. Do not leave your unit. Understood?" he said solemnly, his arms crossed. "The last thing I ever want to hear is that something has already happened to you."
I nodded instinctively, not even fully processing his warning.
"Come on. I'll walk you to your door."
xxx
That was the final scene before I was jolted back into reality. Yet, I couldn't find any peace. My mind was a storm of worry—now that the story was hurtling toward such a massive conflict, how would it ripple back to me? Even if I convinced myself that I had no blood relation to the suspect, that I was merely an outsider looking in, I couldn't shake the heavy, sinking feeling in my gut. Something felt fundamentally wrong about the case, and I knew with a terrifying certainty that it would be the only thing anyone talked about the moment I stepped back into that world.
I wonder what he was doing. I hope he's okay.
I wrung out the last of the laundry, squeezing the fabric until the water ran clear and free of suds. I draped the pieces over the clothesline one by one. I had been rinsing them directly under the open tap, letting the water run steady; it was always a struggle to rinse in a basin, where the soap just seemed to cling to the clothes no matter how many times you dunked them.
I was mid-motion when the sound of a car pulling up made me freeze. I watched as my friends piled out of a familiar vehicle—it was Sage's car, evident as she was the last to step out after finding a place to park.
As they started to gather, their voices rising in excitement, I hurried toward them to cut them off. I signaled for them to stay silent, my heart racing. My mother was inside, and the last thing I needed was for their noise to draw her attention. She already found ways to be irritated by me even when I was silent; I could only imagine how she'd react to a group that sounded like they'd swallowed microphones.
"My mom's inside. Keep it down or she'll kick you out," I warned, wiping my wet hands on my shorts.
They approached me for the usual cheek-kisses. I tried to pull away, feeling sweaty and unkempt, but they didn't seem to mind.
"We just came to pick you up. Just to hang out," Xael said, looking around our yard.
Our yard was filled with plants, and the low wooden fence didn't offer much privacy. I could see the neighbors peeking, their eyes full of gossip. To them, my wealthy friends looked like aliens from another planet.
"I can't. I have so much to do, and my mom won't let me leave until the laundry is done. Plus, I have my shift at the milk tea shop later," I explained.
"Let's just take it to a laundromat!" Berna suggested.
I gestured to the clothes I was already rinsing. "I'm almost done. I just need to dry them."
"I'll put them in our dryer! They'll be ready in minutes," Sage added. They wanted to head to her house.
I tried to tell them my mother wouldn't change her mind, no matter how much I begged.
"What's all that noise?" my mother's voice boomed from inside.
We all froze as my mother emerged. She walked toward us with a heavy, purposeful gait, her eyebrows knit so tightly in anger they nearly met in the middle. Seeing her approach like that, I was paralyzed, unsure of how to even look at my friends. Beside me, they were just as still—breath held, words failing them—uncertain of what to say or do as the tension drew closer.
"Who are these people, Ensley?" she asked, pointing a finger at my friends.
If only I could hide my friends right then and there, I would have. I'd have let the earth swallow them whole just to keep them out of her sight. I was terrified of what she might do or say to them. Knowing my mother, she was capable of the most unpredictable things when she was in this state.
"They're my friends from the university, Ma," I said respectfully, keeping my eyes on her.
"Really? So, they're rich then?"
At that moment, a predatory glint sparked in my mother's eyes. It was a look I knew all too well—the only thing that could ever truly command her attention or temper her mood was the scent of wealth. To her, money wasn't just a resource; it was the only thing that mattered.
I stood there, paralyzed and silent, acutely aware of my friends' shifting energy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the lines of frustration deepening on Xael's and Sage's faces. Berna, meanwhile, looked like she wanted to shrink into the ground, shifting restlessly as a wave of secondhand embarrassment washed over her.
My heart sank. If my guests were already this mortified, imagine the shame burning through me. How was I supposed to face them when my own mother was treating their presence like a financial opportunity?
"Why are you here, girls?" my mother asked, a chilling, fake smile on her lips. She thought she was hiding her true nature, but it seeped through every crack of that grin.
"We came to pick up Ensley, Ma'am. We're going to Sage's house," Xael said, gesturing to Sage, who was now watching my mother closely.
They already knew exactly what kind of person my mother was. Because of that, her sudden outburst didn't come as a surprise to them. It was uncomfortable, certainly, but it wasn't shocking. They had known the truth for a long time; I had long since opened up to them about the deep-seated problems within my family—especially the volatile relationship I had with my mother.
"Is that so? Do you have a hundred bucks to spare?" she asked, holding out an open palm. She even wiped it on her clothes first, as if preparing to receive the cash.
I was horrified. She was trying to shake down my friends? Wasn't it enough that I gave her almost everything I earned, even knowing she'd just gamble it away?
My chest tightened. She treated me like a commodity—something to be used and discarded once the money ran out.
"For what, Ma'am?" Berna asked.
"To buy my daughter's time. You can even buy her permanently if you want; I'm selling cheap. But for now, I still need her here," she smirked, trying to make it as a joke, completely unfazed by the cruelty of her words.
Tears pricked my eyes. I struggled to keep my breathing steady. Berna rubbed my back, sensing my pain.
How could she be so cruel?
Sage and the others remained silent, clearly biting their tongues. I knew it would only make things worse if they fought with her. I loved them all, and I couldn't bear to see my friends have to defend me against my own mother.
"Ma, please. That's embarrassing. They don't carry that kind of money," I said as calmly as I could, though my hands were shaking with a mix of rage and self-pity.
I couldn't fight her. I loved her too much, a result of a lifelong hunger for a mother's affection that was never truly there.
"They look like they have a hundred bucks to spare. What's a little money compared to what they spend every day?" she argued, her words cutting deep.
She was pushing everyone to the limit.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we won't be paying you. Your daughter isn't an object whose time can be bought," Sage said, her voice firm and unwavering.
My mother raised an eyebrow, stunned by Sage's defiance. I knew an outburst was coming, and I didn't have the strength to stop it.
"Oh, really? Then get out. You're wasting her time. If you hadn't shown up, she'd be done with the laundry by now." She turned her back on us. "Get rid of them, Ensley! Or I'll douse them in sewer water!" she screamed from inside the house.
When I looked at my friends, they were all looking at me with pity, as if they were the ones who should be sorry. I broke down in their arms as they pulled me into a group hug. They whispered words of comfort, trying to ease the ache in my chest.
My friends were my only sanctuary. I didn't know what I would do if I ever lost one of them.