I washed my hands after helping Ira dry the cutlery. We had closed late tonight; the weekend rush had been relentless, leaving us all exhausted. In the corner of the kitchen, Ira and Kulas were still bickering. Earlier, Kulas had cornered me to insist that everything Ira said was a lie, offering a string of frantic excuses that I had met with nothing but tired nods.
I checked my phone as I sat down. There was nothing—not a single message from my parents. It was late, yet it seemed they couldn't care less whether I made it home or not. With a sigh, I stood up and smoothed my clothes, glancing at the two of them as they finished shuttering the kitchen.
"It's your birthday and that's all the celebration we get? You're pathetic, Kulas!" Ira teased, her laughter echoing as we stepped out of the shop.
Kulas followed us, his brow furrowed in mock irritation. I couldn't help but shake my head at their antics. I thought they'd be finished by now, but the night was young for them.
"I'm not the one holding the purse strings, Ira! It's my parents!" Kulas grumbled, scratching the back of his neck in frustration.
"Don't be so grumpy. I'll celebrate with you if you want," I added, offering him a playful grin.
Kulas's face turned a deep crimson, and he quickly averted his gaze. "Go home already, Ira! I'm walking Ley back!"
Ira let out a boisterous laugh as she hopped onto her bike. She lived nearby, though her path veered in the opposite direction. "Watch it, Kulas! Don't you go taking her to the wrong house. That's a sin!" she hollered, pedaling away into the night.
"Unbelievable," Kulas muttered, shaking his head before starting the trek toward my place.
I had to double my pace to keep up with him. He seemed to be in a hurry—likely anxious to get home and spend what remained of his birthday with his family. Before long, we reached the front of my house. The structure was swathed in shadow; the lights were out, and a heavy silence hung over the property. It was obvious my parents weren't home—or if they were, they were brooding in the dark.
I turned to Kulas, who was looking down at his feet again, clearly struggling to find words. He stood up straight, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets.
"I'll head inside now," I said softly, gesturing toward the dark house. Where are they?
"Right. I'll head out then. Just... go inside first so I know you're safe," he replied, still refusing to meet my eyes.
I smiled and nodded, turning to walk toward the door. But as I stepped inside, the silence was shattered by a sudden, violent eruption of voices. My parents were there after all.
"You spent my gambling money on drinks?!" my mother shrieked, her face inches from my father's. "How am I supposed to get into the game tomorrow morning?!"
"For your information, woman, I didn't drink that money away! And it wasn't yours to begin with!" my father roared back, his fists clenched at his sides. "I saw you pilfering from your daughter's wallet earlier, Ofelia! Don't you dare try to layer your lies on top of mine!"
"That's my money, Fernan! Whatever that girl earns belongs to me by right—I'm the one who brought her into this world!"
I closed my eyes for a brief second. I never asked to be brought into a home like this, I thought. A home where every conversation was a transaction and every breath was a battle over centavos. I cleared my throat loudly to announce my presence.
"I'm home."
The tension snapped. My mother turned to me with a predatory smirk, while my father's expression merely deepened into a scowl.
"Oh, you're back!" My mother rushed over, dropping a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Can you replace the money your father stole from me?"
"You mean the money you stole from your own daughter?" my father countered. They locked eyes again, sparks of pure vitriol flying between them.
"Let it go, Dad," I sighed. "I'll be getting my wages soon anyway. It's fine if Mom takes a little from my wallet every now and then." It wasn't fine—that was my savings for school projects and emergencies—but I was too tired to fight. "Just... please don't spend it all on gambling, Mom. It might come back to haunt us."
My mother's eyes flashed with irritation. "Be quiet, Serafina. I gave birth to you. You have no right to tell me what to do with my life."
"She's just worried, Ofelia—" my father began, but I cut him off before the cycle started again.
"Whatever you say, Mom," I said, patting my father's arm to tell him it wasn't worth it.
I turned away from them, drained by the weight of the day and the constant labor of playing peacemaker. My head throbbed. I retreated to our cramped bathroom to splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the small, cracked mirror. Tears pricked my eyes. I felt like I was the only adult in this house.
I'm too young for this, I thought. I don't deserve this.
I took a shaky breath, grabbed my towel, and took a quick bath to wash away the grime of the shop and the bitterness of the encounter. Afterward, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up, praying for sleep to take me. I needed to be ready for whatever tomorrow threw at me.
As the darkness of the room pulled me under, my consciousness began to drift...
"So, will you be wearing that silver piece? Are you sure Miss Dela Merced won't freak out if you borrow her expensive jewelry?"
The voice was flamboyant and high-pitched.
"Oh, she won't mind! She has heaps of this stuff!" a girl's voice giggled.
"And so do you!" another chimed in, followed by the sound of a playful slap.
My eyes snapped open. The familiar faces of the "story" world were hovering over me. The room was in chaos—designer clothes, glittering jewels, and makeup palettes were strewn everywhere. I was back.
I rubbed my temples as I sat up, realizing I was dressed in a delicate, beige-toned lace lingerie—a far cry from the oversized t-shirt I had worn to bed in my other life.
Stacey, Felisse, and Penelope rushed to my side, all talking at once. I looked at them with such profound confusion that they eventually fell silent, waiting for me to settle.
"What is going on? Why are you all in a frenzy?" I asked, trying to find my bearings.
"We're going out," Penelope stated calmly, crossing her arms. "And you are going to ask Attorney Perseus to join us."
Stacey and Felisse beamed at me, their eyes sparkling with mischief.
"No way! Why would I do that?!" I protested, nearly falling off the bed in my haste to move away.
The three of them exchanged looks of utter bewilderment. Was it really that strange for me to refuse? I had told them repeatedly I wasn't interested in the man. He was arrogant and cold, regardless of how much money he had.
"We let you nap for Pete's sake because you said you were exhausted from that other party!" Stacey said, pulling me to my feet. "And don't you forget—you're the one who planned this whole night!"
Before I could argue, they were on me, prepping me for an outing I apparently designed. Stacey took over from Penelope, who had been applying my lipstick. Penelope stepped aside, pulling a sleek, expensive smartphone from a small black bag. She looked focused, like she was waiting for a high-stakes call to connect.
The room went quiet as she put the phone on speaker.
"Hello?" a deep, baritone voice answered. My heart skipped. Stacey and Felisse started giggling like schoolgirls, squeezing me between them on the bed.
"Attorney Perseus Villamor speaking," the voice added.
Penelope didn't miss a beat. "Ah, yes. Attorney, do you have a moment? Miss Dela Merced here has something to tell you." She thrust the phone into my hand while the other two shoved me forward.
"Go ahead," Perseus said. "I'm in the middle of a meeting, so I can only spare a couple of minutes."
My heart hammered against my ribs. What was I supposed to say? I took the phone with trembling hands, trying to find a voice that didn't betray my nerves.
"Hello?" I managed.
"Yes, Ms. Dela Merced? Is there something I can do for you?" His voice was flat, devoid of any interest. He sounded bored, as if speaking to me was a chore.
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Can we talk in person? Just for a moment. I'm out with my friends, maybe we could meet up?" I chewed on my lower lip, my eyes darting around the room at my friends, who were watching me with bated breath. My heart was racing at the thought of him rejecting me in front of them.
"I see. Demanding a personal meeting... I take it this is a serious matter," he said, his tone turning professional.
"We could meet at my bar," I suggested weakly.
"I'm sorry, but have you forgotten that I'm currently in a meeting?" he replied, sounding genuinely irritated. "With a client, I might add."
My friends winced. It sounded like a 'no.'
"Fine," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Just send me the details of where you are. We'll come to you once you're done. We'll adjust."
Please, just play along, I thought. If I don't pull this off, these girls will never let me hear the end of it.
"Very well, Ms. Dela Merced," he said, his voice thick and resonant.
The line went dead before I could say another word. He really didn't have a second to waste. Stacey and Felisse burst into cheers, jumping around the room because I had actually convinced him to meet.
A moment later, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
From: Atty. VillamorSpiral Restaurant, Sofitel Philippine Plaza Manila.
"Well, look at that! He sent it straight to you," Stacey teased, nudging me. "He could have sent it to Penelope since we used her phone, but no... he wanted you to have it."
Spiral Restaurant. I'd heard of it—expensive and elite. Just thinking about the bill made my head ache.
"I'm the one who made the deal, so of course he sent it to me," I countered, though secretly I wondered how he even had my number registered.
We headed down to the parking lot of my condo. It seemed this was the group's unofficial headquarters. We piled into Penelope's car, and she navigated the thirty-five-minute drive to the Sofitel. I spent the journey staring out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white.
When we arrived, I stepped out and stretched. I was wearing a fitted white turtleneck crop top and rust-gold high-waisted trousers that flared at the bottom, partially hiding my white platform heels. We were greeted by the staff and led inside. Penelope had already made a reservation the moment Perseus's text arrived—she was always ten steps ahead.
The restaurant was breathtaking, the tables laid out with heavy, gleaming cutlery. My friends suddenly nudged me, pointing toward a well-built man in formal attire standing a short distance away. He was speaking to an older gentleman. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw and his dark, commanding brows.
When his companion left, his eyes immediately locked onto mine. That intense, nerve-wracking gaze was back.
"What are you standing there for?" he asked, shifting his weight to one foot. He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he watched me.
My friends practically shoved me toward him. Penelope just stood back with a knowing smile. I felt the eyes of the other patrons on us; we probably looked like a bunch of teenagers trying to force a blind date.
Perseus let out a long, weary sigh once my friends retreated to their own table. He sat down, leaving me standing there. He gestured toward the empty chair across from him.
I sat, the soft cushion of the chair offering little comfort.
"So, is there a problem with your bar? Or are you here for a different kind of consultation?" he asked abruptly. No greeting, no offer of a drink.
"Uh, no. I'm not here for that," I said with a nervous smile. His dark eyes seemed to darken even further at my response. His thick brows knit together.
"Well," he said, swirling a glass of white wine with his right hand. "Are you looking for legal advice then?"
He was being intentionally difficult. He clearly had no interest in being here unless it involved his work. When I didn't answer immediately, he stood up and reached for his brown leather suitcase. He stretched his neck, his free hand rubbing the back of his head as if he were shaking off a long day.
"If this isn't about my profession, then I'm afraid I have to turn you down, Ms. Dela Merced," he said, walking toward me. I couldn't look up; I kept my eyes fixed on the table. "As you can see, I am a busy man."
He adjusted his suit jacket. "I hope you don't mind me leaving, since you clearly have nothing to talk about." He checked his watch, as if he had somewhere much more important to be.
I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat felt tight.
"Have a nice evening, Ms. Dela Merced," he dropped the words coldly before walking away, leaving me speechless in my seat.
My day just couldn't be much better.