I froze.
Right there in the middle of my sunlit living room, where the air was still and the silence almost holy, I stared at the glowing screen of my phone like it was something haunted.
BUENAVENTURA HEIR LORENZO JUAQUIN BUENAVENTURA IS NOW ENGAGED TO ZOBEL HEIRESS MARGARETTE ZOBEL.
I blinked.
Again.
And again.
But the headline stayed.
The photo, fucking hell! the photo—burned into my retinas like acid. Lorenzo, in a tailored navy suit, eyes soft, hand wrapped around hers. And her that fucking Margarette—wearing that smirk, her diamond ring perfectly displayed as if the entire press release was a goddamn Chanel ad.
My hands were shaking.
No. No. No, no, no, no—
I didn't even realize i was crying until the drops hit the back of my hand.
I couldn't breathe.
My knees buckled slightly, the world spinning too fast, too loud, too cruel.
This wasn't happening.
This couldn't be happening.
This wasn't how it ends.
Not after everything.
Not after the nights we held each other in silence, the shared dreams, the late-night drives, the whispered promises.
We never had a label.
But i thought we had uu and that's what he promised.
The next thing i knew, I was out the door, car keys clenched in my fist so tightly i could feel the metal digging into my palm.
The city was a blur.
Horns.
Traffic lights.
The weight of my name meant nothing now.
I was just another girl chasing after something she thought was real.
I slammed my fist against the elevator button in Lorenzo's building.
Tenth floor.
His floor.
I didn't wait.
I banged on his door—hard, desperate, rapid.
"Lorenzo! Lorenzo, open your fucking door!"
Doorbell.
Knocks.
More doorbell.
My voice cracked as i yelled his name again and again, the tears blurring everything now.
"Please," I whispered.
Nothing.
The hallway lights buzzed above me.
I heard murmurs from neighbors peeking through their peepholes, someone from the corner unit even opened their door.
"Is she okay?"
"Isn't that Atasha Imperial?"
"She looks crazy—"
I didn't care.
"LORENZO!" My fists were sore from knocking. My voice was raw from screaming.
I crumpled to my knees on his welcome mat, sobbing like a child.
He wasn't there.
Grand Circuit.
The one place he always ran to when the world got too loud.
When he needed speed to silence the noise.
I drove like a madwoman.
I don't even remember how i got there. I just remember the guards trying to stop me and me shoving past them.
"Where the hell is he?!"
One of the pit crew looked up, startled. "Ma'am—"
"Don't 'ma'am' me! Where is Lorenzo?!" I was yelling, shaking, unhinged.
A mechanic looked over. "We haven't seen him today—"
"Don't lie to me!"
I was losing it.
My voice was bouncing off the metal walls, my heels clacking on concrete like a scream. No one would meet my eyes.
Like they all knew.
Like they were all in on it.
"Just give me the address of the Buenaventura Mansion!" I shouted, voice breaking.
They looked at each other.
"I'm begging you—just give me the address," I said again, this time quieter, almost a whisper. "Please…"
Silence.
Until someone, an older staff member, maybe in his 50s walked up and placed a piece of paper in my hand.
Pity was all over his face.
I drove through the gates of hell.
No, literally.
It was gated, it was hell, and the guards were the demons telling me i didn't belong.
"I need to see Lorenzo!" I screamed as i got out of my car.
They blocked me.
"You can't be here, Ma'am—"
"GET HIM OUT HERE! RIGHT NOW!"
I pushed.
They pushed back.
I kicked the metal gate.
My voice was hoarse.
My palms bled from clawing at the fence.
"LORENZO!"
It started to drizzle.
Just my luck.
Or maybe God was just trying to match the pathetic state i was in.
Then—
A car pulled into the driveway. Black. Sleek. His.
I turned.
And there he was.
Getting out of the car like nothing was wrong. Like the world wasn't falling apart.
Like he didn't just shatter me into a thousand unfixable pieces.
"Lorenzo!" I ran to him.
He opened his arms.
And i threw myself into them.
The sob i let out wasn't human.
It tore from somewhere deep inside my chest, somewhere i didn't know pain could live.
His arms wrapped around me tightly.
I could feel his heart beating against mine.
But i was too far gone.
I started hitting his chest with my fists, weak but wild.
"Tell me! Tell me it's not true!" I screamed into his shirt. "Tell me it's a prank or a fucking misunderstanding!"
Silence.
He didn't say anything.
So i pulled back.
Looked into his eyes.
They were red.
He was crying.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The wind was knocked out of me.
"I'm sorry," he said again, like it was enough.
I laughed.
It was sharp.
Ugly. Broken.
"Sabagay," I said, voice trembling. "We didn't have a label, right? No label. No rules. No obligations. No right."
He tried to reach for me again.
I stepped back.
"Don't."
He flinched.
"You could've told me. You could've looked me in the eyes and said, 'Atasha, this is goodbye.' Not this. Not this circus. Not this public fucking announcement."
"Margarette—she—my parents arranged—"
"Stop."
I didn't need the details.
Not when the damage was already done.
I turned and walked to my car.
He was yelling my name, but i didn't stop.
I got in.
Slammed the door.
Tears blurred my vision as i stepped on the gas and drove. Fast. Reckless.
Like maybe if i went fast enough, I could outrun the hurt.
I kicked the front door open.
"Ma'am Atasha!" someone screamed.
I threw my bag across the room.
Vases shattered.
Paintings crashed from the walls.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"
I screamed until my throat gave out.
My knees gave out next.
And i sobbed into the marble floor like a girl who had lost everything, because i had.
Footsteps.
Gentle hands.
My mother's perfume.
She knelt beside me.
Held me.
"My baby, what happened?"
"Why not me?" I whispered.
My voice was barely audible.
"What, anak?"
"Why not me?" I asked again, louder this time.
I clawed at my chest, trying to dig the pain out. "Why… why not me?"
She didn't have an answer.
Because no one ever does.
My mother rocked me like a child.
Her arms wrapped around me tightly, but not tight enough to hold all the broken pieces together.
I cried until my eyes couldn't take it anymore.
Until the room started to spin.
And then everything went dark.
I woke up in my bed.
Dim lights. Soft sheets. Cold towel on my forehead.
My chest ached like i'd been stabbed.
I touched my face—swollen.
I remembered everything in a flash.
I sat up quickly, and pain shot through my head.
Someone was in the room.
My mom.
She looked up. Her face aged overnight.
"You fainted, sweetheart," she whispered.
"You weren't breathing properly… you scared me."
I looked away.
"What happened?" she asked. "Is this about Lorenzo?"
I let out a shaky breath.
"I love him," I whispered.
Her eyes softened.
"I know."
"No, you don't," I said, shaking my head. "You don't know what it's like to give someone everything… every version of yourself, every hour, every thought… and then watch him give his name—his name—to someone else."
She reached for my hand.
I didn't pull away.
"I didn't even ask for the title. I just wanted to be enough."
My voice cracked on the last word.
"But i wasn't," I whispered.
And that broke me all over again.
I didn't go out the next day.
Or the next.
The headlines were everywhere.
Social media was merciless.
People celebrated the engagement like it was a fairy tale.
Power couple.
Legacy marriage.
Two empires joining.
And me?
I was a footnote.
A question mark.
A ghost.
And now i was the one grieving in silence while they posed his bride-to-be.
I stood at the window.
It was raining again.
Somewhere in another world, Lorenzo was probably asleep beside her. Or maybe kissing her goodnight.
Maybe whispering the same things he once whispered to me.
"I thought he was different, I really thought he was the one. I let myself believe it this time—I let my walls down. I felt safe with him. Like finally, someone saw me… chose me. But maybe i was wrong. Maybe i've always been wrong. I thought i was only second-best to my parents... turns out, even with him, I wasn't the first. Was i ever even part of the options? Or was i just there—convenient, temporary, disposable?"
And maybe that was the worst lie i told myself.
Because he wasn't.
They never are.