HEARTFILIA'S POV
I sat in the back of the car on the road to my mother and father's house. I was quiet-but intensely restless. It felt as though every turn of the wheels on the road produced an ache at the very core of my chest. Something heavy kept obstructing me-anger, fear, resentment… all three combined. I didn't know how to breathe properly, especially since the night at Jharied's parents' house kept replaying in my mind.
The moment I stepped out in front of the gate, I wanted to turn back. But I had to talk with them. I needed answers.
I clutched tightly at my bag as the car slowly drove towards the big gate of our house. I didn't know whether I was angry or scared. Maybe both. Maybe I really was a bad daughter, or maybe the person I was supposed to call "father" was just too cruel.
The moment the car door closed, that familiar sight immediately greeted me: a huge house, a pristine garden, an expensive door. but without warmth to possibly hide the truth that this was never truly my home.
I walked down the hall and into the living room. Papa was there, seated on the couch, drinking coffee. None of the staff even looked at me. Everyone here was trained to avoid me. It was always this way.
"Papa," I called out calmly, but I could feel the tremor in my voice.
He glanced at me briefly before returning to the newspaper he was holding. "Oh, Heartfilia. What is it this time?"
I forced myself to breathe. "Papa, this is not what we agreed upon. Our agreement was. I would only pretend to be Jharied's wife. That agreement didn't include me—" I swallowed hard. "—giving up my virginity."
He raised an eyebrow slightly. "And what is the problem with that? You are his wife in everyone's eyes. Wouldn't it be more convincing if—"
My jaw clenched. "Papa!" My voice was too loud. "That is not what you promised! Don't you ever consider how I feel? I never consented to that!"
He dropped his newspaper onto the table and I straightened my posture. "Heartfilia," he called my name coldly, "don't talk to me as if you don't know what you got yourself into." He added. I took a deep breath before replying.
"I didn't get myself into it!" I shouted back, unable to stop myself. "I didn't want this! Didn't you even. didn't you ever think that I am your daughter, too? That I have feelings?"
"Control yourself, Heartfilia," he said coldly. "You are not here to complain. You are doing this for our family. For the business. For your sister."
My whole body went cold. "But couldn't you. just for once. think about what will happen to me? About how I feel? Papa…"
"I have done everything!" My voice cracked. "I am continuing the pretense even though I don't want to. But I can't—"
"You don't have a choice! You are not the center of the world," he answered, without the slightest hesitation. "And you cannot destroy the plan just because of your drama. You won't consent? Then fine—you can go back abroad. I will send you back right now."
I froze where I stood.
That was the deepest wound he could inflict on me. He didn't need to shout—one threat from him, and I felt it.
"Papa…" I muttered softly.
"You also have no right to stay here in the Philippines with your sister. And you know that. If you don't want to follow the agreement, you will go back to your old life—far away, all alone."
That was what shut me up.
I wanted to scream; I wanted to lose control.
But how could I, when he held the one thing that mattered most to me?
Most importantly, he also held the life of Mama, my mother, the one who raised me when he wasn't around. She was the leash my father used around my neck. She was the reason I couldn't run, why I couldn't choose.
"If you don't continue with the pretense," Papa said firmly, "you know I can stop the treatment for your mother. One phone call, Filia, don't test me."
My throat tightened, and it felt like I was drowning in my own tears that refused to fall.
"Papa. why does it have to be like this?" I asked softly. "Why can't I choose myself, just for once?"
He came up to me. He stood before me, and he looked at me more as if I were a product, rather than his child.
"Because you are not what is important here," he replied.
"What matters is our name. Our legacy. So if there is something you need to do," He nodded, his gaze cold. ".do it. All they want is a child. Now, go back to your husband."
Anger burned within my heart. It was no longer the anger that softens with tears. It was no longer the resentment that melts away.
This was anger turning solid.
Anger that came with a promise.
Anger that carried future revenge.
I didn't say anything more. I just couldn't utter those words: Goodbye. I simply walked out of the house, quietly, as if my voice had been taken from me.
It wasn't until I got into the car that I took a deep breath. But not to calm down, it was just to stay alive for a little while longer, to keep from going mad under the weight I was carrying.
He only further proved how selfish he was, how little he thought of my feelings, and how much he wanted to control my life.
I had no choice but to go back to Jharied's house. My steps felt heavy as the car pulled out of the gate. I didn't know if I was a bad daughter… or if my father was just a truly bad man.
____
Upon arriving at Jharied's house, I thought nothing else could make my heart leap. But the moment that I walked through the door.
He was the first thing I saw.
Jharied sat in the living room, leaning back, but obviously waiting for some time. His head was bowed, but when the door opened, his eyes shot up.
"Filia," he called out, his tone low. "Where have you been?"
I didn't answer him.
I couldn't.
Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know where to put myself.
All the pain from my father. I felt like dumping it onto Jharied, but I shouldn't.
All of the anger I harbored towards the world, he appeared to be the easiest person to lash out on.
"Filia," he stood up, walking closer. "I've been waiting for—"
I walked straight for the room. I didn't look at him. I didn't stop, even when I noticed he seemed surprised. I ignored the way his voice rose, or his attempt to grab my arm.
Once inside the room, I immediately closed the door—and locked it.
A knock was heard.
"Filia? What's wrong?" Jharied asked from outside. "Talk to me."
But I didn't answer.
I couldn't answer.
If I spoke now, I might shatter. All the things I'd been holding in could burst out. I might tell him that I didn't want this any longer, that I didn't want to be confined to this house, this life, this role that was forced upon me.
That because of one man, my world had shrunk.
Because of one signature, my freedom was gone.
That out of fear, my father sold my own body and my future.
I lay down on the bed, hugging a pillow as my breathing got heavy with the unbearable weight. I didn't know how many minutes or hours were passed by, staring blankly at the wall.
I really had no other choice.
I couldn't disobey my father.
But if I did. Mama would be in danger.
And I couldn't stand to lose her.
I had already turned my back on so much—family, life, rights, dreams—just to be a sacrifice in the plan of my father and brother, and now I bear the burden of my own body; the pain is driving me insane.
I then heard Jharied's voice outside the door again.
"Filia…" It was softer now. "Just. open the door. Please."
I closed my eyes. I can't. Not yet! I don't know when I'll be able to do so. But for now, all I can do. is breathe. And wait.
And pretend that I can still manage.