The smell of longganisa and garlic rice should've meant comfort, but that morning, it only hung heavy in the air.
At the dining table, Marina poked at her food like it had personally offended her. Her eyes were red from crying, though she'd never admit it. Elena sat across from her, quietly eating, pretending not to notice the tension stretching between them like wire.
Cely moved between stove and table, too brisk, too quiet—her usual chatter replaced by the sound of utensils clinking against plates.
Cardo finally set his coffee down, the sound sharp enough to slice the silence. "This is nonsense," he said flatly. "You're sisters. You can't spend breakfast pretending the other one doesn't exist."
Neither girl looked up.
Marina crossed her arms. "Then maybe she shouldn't have—"
"Marina," Cardo cut her off, the warning in his tone enough to make her jaw snap shut.
Elena just kept her gaze on her plate, cutting her food into neat, mechanical bites. She wasn't in the mood to defend herself again. The argument from last night still echoed in her head—every word, every accusation.
Cely sighed, wiping her hands on a towel. "Can we just eat? We have a full day ahead."
They did. The restaurant needed restocking, the catering staff had early prep, and Elena had her review materials waiting upstairs. Still, the weight in the room didn't lift.
Cardo looked at both daughters again, softer this time. "You two will have plenty of chances to prove yourselves," he said. "Don't waste energy fighting over one night."
Marina's lips pressed tight, but she nodded once. Elena gave a faint hum of agreement.
The peace was fragile—held together by nothing more than their father's authority and the unspoken need to move on.
As they finished eating, Cely started gathering dishes. "Elena, go ahead and review after this. Marina, help me with the supplies later."
"Yes, Ma," they both said, nearly in unison. The brief overlap of their voices felt almost strange.
Elena rose first, her chair scraping lightly against the floor. She took one last sip of coffee, then headed upstairs without a word.
Elena headed upstairs, balancing her review notes and a mug of coffee that had already gone lukewarm. The moment her door shut, the house's noise dropped away, replaced by the familiar quiet of her study corner—piles of sketches, rulers, and a stack of review materials waiting to judge her focus.
She sat down, flipping open a manual, pen tapping lightly against the margin. For a few minutes, she tried to let her mind settle back into the language of design loads and structural integrity. It was easier to think about buildings—they didn't talk back, didn't misunderstand intentions, didn't glare across breakfast.
Below, faint sounds echoed through the house: clinking plates, murmured conversation, then the front door opening and shutting.
After washing the dishes, Cardo and Cely slipped on their aprons, ready to face another packed day at Casa Santiago. Marina trailed behind, her expression still half-sour but obedient. Cely handed her a hair tie and said, "If you're going to mope, at least do it while chopping onions."
By the time they reached the restaurant, the street was already alive with morning bustle. Their staff—two servers, a cook, and the cashier—looked visibly relieved when the owners walked in.
"Ang daming tao ngayon, Ma'am Cely!" one of them called from behind the counter.
Cely gave a brisk nod and moved straight to the kitchen. "Good. Let's keep it that way. Marina, help with the drinks. Your dad and I will handle the orders."
Back at home, Elena was none the wiser to the rush. Her highlighter hovered over a line of text she'd read three times without absorbing.
She exhaled, sinking back in her chair. It wasn't the formulas keeping her distracted. It was the image she couldn't seem to shake—Julian's calm voice under the music, his hand steady at her waist.
She shook her head once, firm, as if the thought itself was a loose wire she could snip. "Focus, Elena," she muttered, forcing her pen to move again.
But focus didn't come easily that morning. Not after the night that had rearranged more than just her family's mood.
At the Starlight Media Productions headquarters, the hum of Monday deadlines filled the halls—clicking keyboards, the low thrum of printers, the faint sound of someone's coffee machine giving up on life. Inside his glass-walled office, Julian De Vera, Executive Producer, sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, a pen poised above a report he hadn't written a single line on.
His other hand held his phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
The photo there wasn't one he'd taken—but one someone else posted from last night's party: a wide shot of the ballroom, lights golden and soft, and in the center, him and Elena Santiago mid-dance.
He should've been reviewing the new production proposal from the Manila team, but instead, he was wondering if she was awake by now. Probably studying, he thought. She had that focused kind of face, the kind that said I'll finish this first before you can even think of distracting me.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he caught himself.
"Wow," came a voice from the door. "I didn't know our mighty Executive Producer stares at his phone like a lovesick intern."
Julian didn't have to look up. "Good morning to you too, Gabriel."
Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grin wide. "Morning, my ass. It's almost noon. You've been in here all morning ignoring calls and emails. Adrian said to tell you to at least pretend you're working."
Julian set his phone face-down on the desk. "I was working."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "On what, exactly? Your crush's aura?"
Julian sighed but didn't deny it fast enough—so Gabriel's grin widened.
"Unbelievable," Gabriel said, walking closer. "You dance with her once and suddenly the great Julian De Vera can't stop smiling at his phone."
Julian gave him a look, but it lacked real bite. "You're exaggerating."
"Oh, I am—but not by much. You've got that same look Adrian had when Sophia agreed to go out with him."
He paused. "So, what's her deal anyway? Elena Santiago, right? The one whose family catered the party?"
Julian nodded slowly. "Yeah. She... didn't seem like she wanted attention. I think she was surprised I asked."
Gabriel smirked. "Well, you did skip her sister and half the women there to get to her. You can't blame her for being shocked."
Julian just leaned back, his voice turning quieter, thoughtful. "She didn't even want to stand at first. I had to convince her."
"Oh? How'd you do that?"
Julian allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Trade secret."
Gabriel groaned. "You're hopeless."
Julian didn't argue. Instead, he reached for his phone again, thumb brushing the screen like muscle memory.
He'd never say it out loud—but something about Elena Santiago felt... grounding. Like she wasn't part of the noise his life was always wrapped in.
For the first time in a long while, Julian found himself distracted in a way he didn't mind.
Gabriel dropped himself into the chair across Julian's desk, spinning it slightly like he owned the place. "You're really gone, huh? The Executive Producer who can bulldoze through board meetings now can't even finish a report because a girl smiled at him."
Julian exhaled through his nose. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I?" Gabriel tilted his head. "You've been zoning out since last night. Even when we went to check the catering tables, you were watching her like she was part of a scene you were editing."
Julian's mouth twitched. "Maybe I just appreciate good craftsmanship. Her dumplings were—"
"Oh please," Gabriel cut in. "If this was about food, you'd be drooling over the bopis too."
Julian's laugh came low and short. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculous is you forgetting your 11 a.m. meeting because you're busy scrolling through tagged photos. You know who sent me a message this morning?" Gabriel held up his phone dramatically. "My mom. She said—and I quote—'That girl who danced with Julian looked sweet. Finally, someone normal.'"
Julian groaned. "Why is your mom even watching party videos?"
"It's Laguna. Everyone's bored and nosy," Gabriel said, shrugging. "So? You going to text her?"
Julian looked at his phone, expression steady but eyes betraying a flicker of hesitation. "She's probably busy. She's reviewing for her board exam."
Gabriel grinned. "That's your excuse for doing nothing?"
"No," Julian said, voice quieter now. "That's my reason for waiting."
Gabriel paused, catching the tone shift—then leaned back with a half-smile that was equal parts amused and impressed. "Damn. You're serious."
Julian didn't answer right away. He just looked past Gabriel, out the window, to the skyline of Laguna blurred by late-morning haze. "I don't know. It's just... she didn't look at me like everyone else does. Not because of the company, or the name. Just... like I was a person sitting beside her. That's new."
Gabriel whistled low. "You've officially lost it. But, alright, I'll give it to you—at least your midlife crisis has taste."
Julian finally cracked a real smile. "Get out of my office."
Gabriel stood, mock bowing. "Sure thing, boss. But when you start naming dumplings after her, I'm telling everyone."
He left laughing, and Julian let the door click shut behind him. The room fell quiet again, save for the hum of the air conditioning.
Julian glanced at his phone one last time. No new notifications—but he smiled anyway.
Somehow, the silence didn't feel empty today.
Back at the Santiago residence, the quiet after dinner carried a strange weight. Plates had been cleared, the air smelled faintly of dish soap, but no one was reaching for the TV remote or making jokes like usual.
Mr. Santiago called his wife and daughters into the living room—his tone already tired. "Let's talk," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Elena sank into the far end of the sofa, still in her study clothes, a pencil smudge faint on her wrist. She'd spent the whole day reviewing; she barely had the energy to argue. Beside her, Marina sat stiff, arms crossed, jaw set. Mrs. Santiago perched beside her younger daughter like she was ready to defend before hearing anything.
Mr. Santiago sighed. "You two didn't say a single word to each other the whole day. What's happening?"
Elena kept quiet, her voice steady when she finally spoke. "There's nothing wrong, Dad. I was studying, Marina was at the restaurant. We just didn't cross paths."
That could've ended there—should've, even—but Marina's laugh came sharp and brittle.
"Nothing wrong?" she snapped. "You stole Julian from me."
Elena blinked. "What are you even talking about?"
"You know exactly what I mean!" Marina shot up from the couch, voice climbing. "You knew I liked him! I was the one who talked to him first! And then you—" she jabbed a finger at Elena— "you let him pick you like some innocent victim."
Elena's brows knit together. "Marina, he was the one who asked. What was I supposed to do? Say no to the birthday celebrant in front of everyone?"
"YES!" Marina yelled, pitch so sharp Elena covered one ear. "You should've said no! You always pretend you don't care, but somehow people always notice you! Why? You're not even that pretty!"
That one landed heavier than Marina meant it to. Their mother flinched slightly; Mr. Santiago's shoulders stiffened. Elena stood, eyes burning—not teary, just furious.
"Enough," she said quietly. "You think the world revolves around you, Marina. You always do. You can't stand it when someone else gets attention. What does that even mean—'no one should like me first'? That's insane."
Marina's eyes flashed, but before she could retort, Elena's hand moved on instinct.
A sharp slap cut through the room.
It wasn't loud—but it froze everyone.
Elena's voice shook, not from fear, but restraint. "It's not my fault Julian's interested in me. You don't get to decide that, Marina. Grow up."
Mrs. Santiago gasped, standing between them instantly, one arm across Marina's shoulders. "Elena! You shouldn't have done that! She's your younger sister!"
"Then tell her to stop acting like a spoiled brat," Elena said, chest rising and falling.
"Elena, watch your tone," Mrs. Santiago snapped. "You know Marina's just emotional. You could've handled it better."
Mr. Santiago finally spoke, voice calm but weary. "That's enough, both of you. This isn't helping."
He didn't scold Marina directly, but he didn't correct her either—and that silence spoke louder than anything.
Elena exhaled slowly, eyes on the floor. "Right. Of course."
Elena exhaled slowly, her voice firm now—controlled, but edged with something raw.
"You know what? I'm done being treated like I don't exist just because Marina wants the spotlight. I deserve to be seen, too. For once."
That hung in the air like something no one expected her to say.
Mrs. Santiago's face tightened; Marina's eyes widened, caught between anger and disbelief. Mr. Santiago looked like he wanted to speak but didn't know where to start.
Elena nodded slightly, almost to herself. "Yeah. I deserve that, too."
She turned toward the stairs, her voice clipped. "Next time, don't call it a family meeting if I'm the only one who gets blamed."
And before anyone could stop her, she went upstairs—footsteps sharp against the wood, leaving the three of them in an awkward, brittle quiet.
Mrs. Santiago turned to her husband, tone sharp with accusation. "You should've said something. She shouldn't talk back like that."
Mr. Santiago just sighed. "Maybe. But Marina started it, Cely. You know she did."
Marina's lips trembled, but she said nothing. Her mom just hugged her tighter, whispering something that sounded more like protection than correction.
Upstairs, behind her closed door, Elena sat on her bed—breathing slow, jaw tight. She wasn't sure if she was angrier or just tired. Maybe both.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Why does it feel like this?
Julian De Vera had been the first person in a long time to notice her—not for being "the elder daughter," not for being "the other Santiago sister," but for something she did. Her cooking. Her presence. Her.
And yet here she was, crouched on the floor of her own room, feeling like she'd stolen something she wasn't supposed to touch.
Clara's words from last night floated back: Whatever happens tonight, you did great. You deserve the spotlight and attention.
It had sounded like a joke at the time. A kind friend's pep talk. But now it stung because Clara had been right—and because Elena didn't know how to believe it.
Her family had trained her to give things up quietly, to make room for Marina. If Marina wanted the bigger slice, the louder praise, the center seat, Elena had learned to step aside. Years of it. Even tonight, her first impulse had been to refuse Julian's hand to avoid making a scene.
She curled her fingers into the rug. Do I really not deserve it?
The question landed heavier than the answer.
Elena stared at the ceiling, eyes dry but throat tight. It wasn't about Julian entirely—it was about the quiet belief drilled into her bones: that if something made her happy, it must belong to someone else first.
But maybe Clara was right. Maybe not this time.
She exhaled, a shaky sound that wasn't quite a sigh. "For once," she whispered, more to herself than anyone, "I want to keep something without feeling guilty."
Her room stayed silent, but for the first time all night, that silence didn't feel like defeat—it felt like a small, defiant space she'd carved for herself.
Elena was still sitting on her bed, lights dim, when her phone buzzed softly beside her.
Clara 💅 calling...
She hesitated before answering, then swiped. "Hey."
Clara's voice came through immediately, light but edged with concern. "I figured you wouldn't be asleep yet. You okay?"
Elena gave a small, humorless laugh. "Define okay."
"That bad?"
Elena let out a long breath. "Family meeting after dinner. Marina accused me of stealing Julian from her. My mom took her side. Dad just sat there. I—" she paused, voice tightening, "I slapped her."
"Oof," Clara said, not judgmental, just honest. "Yeah, that sounds... intense."
"I didn't mean to. It just—she kept saying things. That I'm not pretty enough, that I shouldn't be noticed first. Like I don't deserve to be liked by anyone."
There was a quiet stretch, the kind where Clara didn't rush to fill the space. Then:
"El, you know that's not true, right? You do deserve it. Every bit of it. You've been in the background for so long that people forgot you can shine, too."
Elena blinked hard, looking at the faint reflection of herself in the dark window. "It's the first time someone's actually... interested. And I already feel like I've done something wrong."
"Because your family made you think being chosen means stealing from someone else," Clara said simply. "That's not on you. That's their mess, not yours."
Elena was quiet. "I know. It just hurts hearing it from them."
"I get it," Clara said, softer now. "But you handled yourself better than most would. Honestly, I'd have thrown something."
That earned the faintest laugh from Elena, the kind that unknotted the air just a bit.
Then Clara's tone lifted, casual and teasing, like flipping a switch. "Anyway, since we're talking about Julian..."
"Oh no," Elena murmured. "What now?"
"I saw Gabriel this morning at the mall," Clara said, mock-gasping. "With Julian. Guess who looked like a zombie holding a shopping bag?"
Elena frowned, half-amused. "Julian?"
"Bingo. Gabriel said he dragged him out to unwind. Apparently, your boy's been 'too quiet and distracted since the party.' Wonder why?"
"Clara..." Elena warned, but her voice was already lighter.
"Don't Clara me," her friend teased. "Look, if this guy's thinking about you that much, don't run from it. For once, someone saw you first. That's rare, and you deserve to feel what that's like."
Elena lay back on her pillow, a tiny smile flickering despite everything. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Clara said. "And if you doubt it again, remember: he had a room full of women and still went straight to you. End of story."
Elena laughed quietly, the sound gentler now. "Thanks, Clara."
"Anytime. Now go sleep. You've got a future architect brain to rest and a guy apparently losing sleep over you."
"Good night, drama queen."
"Good night, dumpling queen," Clara shot back before hanging up.
Elena stared at the ceiling, still smiling faintly. The ache in her chest hadn't vanished, but it had loosened. Maybe this time, being seen wasn't something she needed to apologize for.