The late morning sun filtered through the gilded windows of The Manila Hotel, casting a golden hue over its classic interiors. The hotel had hosted presidents, royalty and dignitaries—but today, its grandeur bore witness to a different kind of meeting: one that would determine the future of Philippine fashion.
Inside the exclusive Champagne Room, Liam Rivera sat silently—back straight, eyes focused on the hand-cut crystal glass before him. Beside him, Ricci Dawnielle Yulo-Rivera tapped her manicured nails lightly on the table, her icy gaze fixed on the door.
"You're tense," Liam murmured, not looking at her.
"I'm focused," Ricci replied, crossing one leg over the other with calculated elegance. "Alexa del Rio isn't just a candidate—she's a gamble. And you know how I hate losing."
Just then, the door opened. Alexa del Rio entered—elegant in an ivory jumpsuit, her sleek ponytail swinging with every step. In her early thirties, she exuded grit and grace. As the founder of Hugs & Hers, a rising brand from Laguna, she had built her name on minimalist yet meaningful designs.
"Sorry I'm late," Alexa said coolly. "Traffic was a nightmare from Sta. Rosa."
"No worries," Liam offered his signature half-smile, rising to shake her hand. "We're glad you could make it."
Ricci remained seated, lifting a brow. "Let's get to the point, shall we?"
Alexa sat down and opened a slim folder. "You invited me here to talk partnership. But let me be honest—I didn't come to be absorbed. I came with a proposal that could shake this industry."
Liam leaned forward, intrigued. "Go on."
"Rebrand," Alexa said, sliding a mock-up across the table. "Rivera Clothing & Co. is legacy, yes—but legacy is heavy. It doesn't speak to the digital market. It doesn't connect with Gen Z moms or their TikTok-loving preteen daughters."
Ricci frowned. "We've lasted this long without trendy rebrands."
"And that's why you're stagnant," Alexa shot back, locking eyes with her. "Hugs & Hers may be local, but we know the pulse of the market. Partner with us. Co-own the name. Launch it nationally under the Rivera network—but use my narrative and branding strategy."
Silence fell.
Then Liam, ever composed, broke it with a quiet but firm, "Let's pilot it. One collection. We measure the numbers—if it works, we scale."
Ricci shot him a look, but Liam didn't flinch. This was more than business. This was legacy at stake.
Meanwhile, two floors down at Café Ilang-Ilang, Wendy Naredo-Reyes sat nervously beside Jace Raymund Reyes, sipping a glass of calamansi juice. The brunch buffet looked divine, but she had no appetite.
"He's here," Jace whispered, as a stout man with salt-and-pepper hair entered, flanked by two assistants.
Gustavo, Pradesh's long-time friend and global business consultant, wore a sharp Calisto Design mandarin-collared jacket—clean lines, gold-threaded hems. Wendy narrowed her eyes. Calisto? But that's supposed to be exclusive to Rivera's archive collections…
"Mr. Gustavo," Wendy stood as he approached. "Welcome to Manila."
"Ah, Miss Wendy!" Gustavo beamed, extending a firm hand. "And Mr. Reyes—good to finally meet you both."
They sat down. His voice was gravelly, yet warm. "I'm here on behalf of Pradesh Luxur's expansion to Chicago and Martinique. We need a localized supply chain with global ambition. That's where you come in."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "Us?"
"You know the market. You know the culture. You have taste," Gustavo replied, pulling out plans. "And most importantly, you understand struggle. We don't need designers who wear suits on yachts. We need visionaries."
As they leaned over the documents, Gustavo added, "We're also planning a major campaign—sponsorships for Binibining Pilipinas. We want Wendy's Fit to be the official swimwear and casual wear brand for the candidates."
Wendy blinked. "That's… huge."
He nodded. "The world must see Filipino beauty designed by Filipino grit."
But not everyone was celebrating.
A week later, back in the city, a bomb dropped: Rivera Clothing & Co. had filed a lawsuit—not against Pradesh Luxur, but against Wendy personally. The complaint cited intellectual theft, breach of trade ethics and branding sabotage.
Filed before the Regional Trial Court in Pasay, the case was anchored on Intellectual Property Rights Infringement under the Intellectual Property Code of the Philippines (RA 8293). Ricci Dawnielle Yulo–Rivera—cold, calculated, relentless—backed it with everything she had.
They submitted marketing materials, logo comparisons, design sheets and internal emails. Most damning were Non-Disclosure Agreements (NDA) signed by Wendy years ago, and testimonies from two former Rivera employees.
The evening rain slammed hard against the condo's windows. Jace paced the living room, barefoot and tense, his phone clenched in one hand.
"They're going for you, Wen," he said, voice breaking. "Not Pradesh. Not the brand. You. This is personal."
Wendy sat motionless on the couch, the legal summons open on her lap like a wound. Her hands trembled, but her face was composed.
"They're trying to scare me," she murmured. "Humiliate me."
"But why you? After everything you gave them? You bled for that company."
"Because I left," she whispered. "Because Liam didn't stop me. And maybe…" her voice faltered, "…maybe Ricci needs to win. No matter the cost."
He sat beside her, gripping her hands. "You didn't steal anything. Every design in Wendy's Fit—every line, every stitch—you built that from scratch. Right here. With Post-its on the wall, fabrics on the kitchen table, and me forcing you to eat ramen at 3 a.m."
"I know," she said. "But truth doesn't always win. Power does."
Then Wendy stood.
"Let them come," she said, voice steady. "I won't break just because Ricci Yulo says I should."
Within 48 hours, Wendy's legal team—led by Atty. Maricel R. Dela Peña—filed a counter-affidavit. Their approach was strategic: challenge the originality of the contested Rivera designs, prove independent creation and argue fair use. Most of the designs in question were made after Wendy's resignation, outside the NDA's scope.
"Wendy is not a thief," Atty. Dela Peña told reporters outside Pasay RTC. "She's a creator. And creators should not be punished for building something new from their own vision."
She also filed for mediation. Ricci's team declined.
Ricci's counsel, Atty. Gerardo Zulueta, a shark in a pinstripe suit, told the press:
"We are prepared to prove Ms. Reyes violated the trust given to her by the Rivera family. She walked away with more than experience—she walked away with trade secrets and design assets."
The media couldn't get enough.
Headlines exploded:
David vs. Goliath: Wendy Naredo's Bold Legal Battle!Fashion Civil War: Rivera vs. Former ProtégéFrom Dressmaker to Defendant: Wendy's War Begins
Online, hashtags trended: #JusticeForWendy, #DesignWithoutFear, #RiveraRevenge.
Wendy didn't flinch. She showed up to hearings in understated, powerful pieces from Wendy's Fit—clothes that spoke louder than statements.
In the middle of the storm, she led her brand's first commercial shoot. Her team suggested hiring a model.
"No," she said. "I need them to see my face. Not a mannequin. A maker."
Under harsh lights, she stood tall in a simple linen dress—one she had stitched herself before the chaos began.
The cameras rolled.
"Fashion is not a privilege," she said, looking straight into the lens. "It's a language. And every woman deserves to speak it."
Silence followed. The director, eyes wet, finally whispered, "Cut."
Behind her, Jace clapped softly.
"You just declared war," he said.
Wendy turned to him, fire in her eyes—not fear, but purpose.
"No," she said. "I just declared independence."
Two weeks later, the first court hearing began.
The Regional Trial Court of Pasay, Branch 221, was packed. Media crews hovered outside. Bloggers live-tweeted. Former Rivera interns came just to watch history unfold.
Wendy sat straight-backed at the defense table, flanked by her legal counsel, Atty. Maricel Dela Peña, and two junior associates. Across the aisle, Ricci entered in all black—structured, elegant, unreadable. At her side was Atty. Gerardo Zulueta, sharp-eyed and smug.
Judge Ignacio de los Reyes, an aging but formidable figure, took the bench.
"We are here today on the matter of Rivera Clothing & Co. versus Ma. Rowena Naredo-Reyes, civil case no. 24-12987," the clerk read, "for alleged violation of the Intellectual Property Code—R.A. 8293."
Ricci's team opened first.
"Your Honor," Atty. Zulueta said, presenting a series of printed boards, "this is not about fashion taste. This is about ownership. Here are photos of the Rivera Summer 2023 collection, designed under Ms. Reyes's supervision. And here…" He flipped to the next board, "…are pieces from Wendy's Fit. Same cut. Same embroidery motif. Same branding palette."
He turned to the judge.
"She walked away with Rivera's language. And rewrote it under her name."
Ricci's eyes never left Wendy—cold, calculating. She didn't even blink.
Then came the defense.
Atty. Dela Peña stood with calm resolve.
"Your Honor, we reject the claim that any intellectual property was misappropriated. We will prove that the designs in Wendy's Fit were independently created after her resignation, and that there is no direct derivative from any Rivera concept protected under R.A. 8293."
She handed over dated sketches, mood boards, and video clips of Wendy developing the designs in her condo—some with time stamps, others with Jace's voice in the background.
"We also present a sworn affidavit," she added, "from Pradesh Luxur's creative director, confirming the timeline of Ms. Reyes's work. And, Your Honor," she glanced at Ricci, "we request the court to note Rivera Clothing & Co.'s refusal to enter mediation."
But Ricci wasn't done.
Before the court adjourned, she made a move.
Atty. Zulueta called an unexpected witness.
The courtroom buzzed.
Wendy's eyes widened as Arnulfo Rivera—Liam's father and CEO emeritus of Rivera Clothing & Co.—entered the courtroom with the help of a cane.
Wendy froze. Jace cursed under his breath. Atty. Dela Peña clenched her pen.
Arnulfo took the stand.
"I may be retired," he said, voice gravelly, "but I still have access to the company's archives. Ms. Reyes trained under us. We gave her opportunities. What she's done… it feels like betrayal."
But something felt wrong.
Wendy studied him. There was something off in his tone, his gaze. He avoided her eyes.
Atty. Zulueta pressed,
"Mr. Rivera, in your opinion, could Wendy's Fit exist without Rivera's foundation?"
Arnulfo hesitated.
Then said: "No."
The court murmured.
But just as the judge was about to dismiss the session, Atty. Dela Peña rose again.
"Your Honor, with your permission—we request the court to allow a rebuttal witness. One who has direct knowledge of Ms. Reyes's original design process before she even joined the Riveras."
"Who?" the judge asked.
The door opened.
Liam Rivera.
Gasps rippled across the room.
Ricci turned in her seat, jaw clenched.
Liam walked up slowly, a folder in hand. Dressed simply. No theatrics.
"I may be the last person anyone expected to speak today," he began. "But I was there… before Wendy joined Rivera Clothing & Co. Before any of this. She was already sketching. Already dreaming of something called Wendy's Fit. I still have her early drafts… on my iPad. Dated. Time-stamped."
He handed it to the bailiff.
"And I'm sorry, Dad," Liam looked at Arnulfo, "but you knew this, too."
Ricci looked as though she'd been slapped.
Liam turned to the judge.
"She didn't steal. She built. On her own. Even when no one believed she could."
Outside the courthouse, chaos.
Wendy stepped into the rain. Jace held the umbrella. Flashbulbs exploded. She said nothing. But her silence was loud.
Ricci, watching from the other car, stared at Liam like he was a traitor. But it didn't matter anymore.
Inside her bag, Wendy held the USB copy of the iPad evidence. This wasn't just survival.
Three months later.
The courtroom was quieter this time—press cameras banned by court order, but every seat was still filled. Tension thickened the air like humidity before a storm.
Wendy sat beside Atty. Dela Peña, her fingers laced tightly together in her lap. Jace was behind her, ever-present, ever-ready. Across the aisle, Ricci sat rigid in a high-necked blazer, unmoving. Arnulfo Rivera was wheeled in on a special chair, his hand visibly trembling, a nurse at his side.
Judge Ignacio de los Reyes cleared his throat and began reading the decision.
"This Court, after careful review of all submissions—testimonies, documentary evidence, counter-affidavits and rebuttals—finds the following…"
Wendy closed her eyes, her pulse pounding in her ears.
"…that there is insufficient evidence to establish intellectual property rights infringement under the standards of R.A. 8293, the Intellectual Property Code of the Philippines…"
Ricci's eyes narrowed.
"…that the complainant's arguments rest largely on superficial similarities, lacking concrete proof of derivative origin or theft…"
A low gasp from the audience.
"…that the respondent, Ma. Rowena Naredo Reyes, provided sufficient documentation to establish independent creation, post-employment development and—most crucially—the absence of a non-compete clause that would legally restrict her work in the fashion industry."
Wendy inhaled sharply.
"And therefore, the Court rules in favor of the defendant. The complaint is dismissed with prejudice."
Gasps. Applause. Stunned silence.
Wendy didn't react at first. Just a slow breath. Then a sob. Just one. Jace reached for her hand and she gripped it tightly.
The bailiff struck the gavel once—"Order!"—but the room had already erupted.
Ricci stood abruptly and stormed out. Her heels echoed sharply down the marble hallway, her silence louder than a scream.
But then—
A sound behind them.
A thud.
Wendy turned just in time to see Arnulfo Rivera clutch his chest. His face contorted in pain as he collapsed forward in his wheelchair.
"Nurse!" someone shouted.
"Dad!" Liam was already at his side, trying to help. Arnulfo gasped, reaching for his son's sleeve.
"I—I knew," he rasped. "I knew it wasn't hers to blame…"
"Stay with me," Liam said, panicked. "You'll be okay. Help is coming."
Paramedics rushed in and brought the older Rivera to Makati Medical Center. The courtroom emptied in chaos.
Wendy watched in stunned silence, shaken. The man who once offered her a future—who once told her she had "gold in her hands"—is suffering now.
The news broke: "Arnulfo Rivera, 71, Rivera Clothing & Co. CEO, Suffer Courtroom Collapse"
Some headlines paired it with Wendy's victory. Others speculated on the pressure from within the Rivera family. Ricci refused all statements.
But Wendy… she feel down.
Not for the man who testified against her, but for the man who once saw her talent before anyone else.
"Do you forgive him?" Jace asked gently.
Wendy stared at the flickering lamp posts glaring outside the window.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "But I want peace. For me. And maybe… for him too."
Three days later, Wendy's Fit tripled in sales.
TV5, ABS-CBN and GMA7 aired her commercial in full rotation.
Social media exploded with support, admiration and calls for industry change.
Wendy returned to work. Quietly. Focused.
The storm had passed.
But a new season had begun.