The afternoon sun spilled through the glass walls of the building, bathing the corridor in gold. Shareholders passed me with light steps, conversations rising and falling around me, but the warmth never reached my skin.
Then the meeting room door clicked shut. The sound was thin, but in the sudden silence of the hallway, it felt as final as a gavel.
Rejected.
Again.
I loosened my grip on the folder in my hands, only then realizing how tightly I had been holding it. The cold in my chest spread slowly, the same familiar chill that always came before fear. My mind ran ahead of me, rehearsing words I would never be allowed to finish.
What will I tell him?
And more terrifying—will he even listen?
"Ms. Lillian."
I flinched.
My secretary stood a few steps away; her polite smile is already tense. "Sir Lucian is asking for you in his office."
The noise faded. The hallway seemed to narrow and even the sunlight felt too heavy. I nodded, my feet moving before my thoughts could stop them.
By the time I stood in front of my uncle's door, my hands were shaking so badly I had to curl them into fists. My body refused to move, as if stepping inside would seal something irreversible and refusing was not an option.
The door closed behind me with a soft and final click. It was quiet, yet loud enough to echo inside my skull. There will be no escape.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him: it was slow and measured, worse than shouting.
I kept my eyes on the floor, my fingers tightly clasped together. My breathing was shallow—so shallow that my chest barely rose.
"So... the project." he said. His voice was calm, but calm was never safe.
The blow came without warning.
Pain exploded across my face as my body slammed sideways. My shoulder crashed into the doorframe, and something sharp bit into my skin. I gasped, air tearing from my lungs, but I did not scream. Screaming never helped. It only made things worse.
"I'm... sorry." I whispered. My hands trembled violently as every explanation I had prepared dissolved into nothing.
He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back until my neck burned. "Sorry doesn't fix anything." He said softly, his face inches from mine. When he released me, my legs gave out. I collapsed to the floor, curling inward to shield what little of me still felt like mine.
His hand lifted again.
But then, a knock stopped him.
"Sir, the board is ready," his secretary, Mr. Fernandez, announced from the other side of the door. A man who had seen me like this countless times. A man who had learned how not to see.
My uncle adjusted his suit, smoothing invisible wrinkles, restoring the mask of a righteous man.
"Useless!" he said, casting me a glance filled with disgust.
Then he left.
I stayed on the floor, staring at nothing...
Feeling nothing.
***
Polished wood, and cold air, with the smell of flowers meant to soften death. I stood between two coffins.
My parents' coffins.
The glossy surface reflected a girl, once known has the brightest smile in any room. Now with lips pale, parted slightly, as if waiting for permission to breathe.
People whispered my name around me, soft voices, careful tones, as if volume alone could break me.
"Lillian."
"Poor child."
"She's too young..."
I didn't cry.
I had already cried everything out in a hospital room, when I woke up from a coma and my aunt told me my parents were gone. My body survived the accident, but my heart did not.
I was only in sixth grade that time. Too young to understand death, yet old enough to carry guilt like a second heartbeat.
If I didn't insist to leave for carnival that day...
Then maybe, they are still alive...
Those thoughts followed me through years.
•••
Staring at a huge door I didn't recognize, a hand slipped into mine.
"You'll be fine." My uncle whispered.
I believed him.
Their house greeted me with silence.
It was large, spotless, and hollow. My footsteps echoed too loudly, so I learned to walk carefully.
Tita Isabel welcomed me with open arms; her smile is gentle and sincere. Then Kuya Liam, my cousin followed, his laughter filling the room before his voice ever did. For a while, they softened the edges of that house, and that made me believed life could still be kind.
But time steals what keeps you breathing.
I was already on 8th grade when Kuya Liam left for Europe to continue college, and the day he did, something fragile inside me cracked.
But still, I held on.
Tita is still here.
At first, my uncle's cruelty hid behind words: high expectations, harsh criticism, and disappointment over small mistakes. Then his words became hands.
He was careful. He knew where to hit, only where the bruises could be hidden. Until then, long sleeves became my armor, and silence becomes my language.
It stayed that way until the night after my high school graduation. Tita insisted on helping me unzip my dress when her hands froze.
Bruises—marks I hadn't even known were there.
That night, she searched my body, fear breaking across her face. I tried to lie, but years of hidden pain spoke louder than words.
"I let it slide when you did it to me!" She screamed at him, "because you begged for Liam's sake, you promised me!"
"She's lying!" He said coldly.
"She's hurt!"
Tita Isabel planned to divorce him.
For the first time, I saw hope. A future. An escape.
But hope is fragile and mine died with her on a car crash.
Beatings, shame, endless criticism, and years of guilt that has been looping endlessly in my mind.
My life became a cage... a hell.
I tried to escape.
But there is no escape from a man who owns the world you live in.
So, I survived the only way I knew how...
Silence.
***
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. There reflects a woman dressed in navy blue, sleeves pulled carefully over bruises. A woman who looked composed enough to fool the world.
Another event. Another performance.
It was almost 7 pm when we arrived. The moment I stepped inside, light swallowed me whole. Crystal chandeliers spilling gold from the ceiling like frozen constellations.
The room breathed wealth. Not loud, not desperate but controlled. Every laugh was measured, and every handshake was calculated. Powerful men stood in small circles, their smiles sharp and practiced, with eyes already weighing profits and losses. Politicians blended seamlessly among them, with masks of charm carefully arranged, and smooth voices enough to convince and deceive in the same breath.
This was not a gathering.
It was a battlefield dressed as elegance.
We sat in the front row, but Tito Lucian didn't sit next to me. Instead, he anchored himself to Mr. Sarmiento. The pharmaceutical titan whose name was synonymous with Philippine old money. Uncle had spent months stalking him like a hunter, desperate to pull him into the company as a shareholder. I watched them from the corner of my eye, grateful for the distance. As long as he was busy seducing a billionaire into a business deal, his hands were not on me.
Right on time, the lights dimmed and the auctioneer stepped forward. The auction starts.
One painting replaced another. Beauty was traded for numbers, applause echoing hollow against marble walls. Prices climbed. Smiles sharpened. I stopped counting when the figures lost meaning and the room began to blur into a parade of wealth and practiced admiration.
Then the final item appeared.
A necklace.
Its diamond pendant had been carved into the shape of a white lily, petals frozen mid-bloom, light caught and held as if the stone itself were breathing. The auctioneer's voice softened, almost reverent, as he spoke of its rarity. One of a kind. Never to be replicated.
Silence held the room for half a heartbeat... then it shattered.
Numbers rose. Voices overlapped. Calm dissolved into competition, with ambition flickering in their polished eyes. I leaned back in my seat, boredom creeping in despite the spectacle. It was all the same, possession disguised as appreciation, so I barely listened.
Until...
"May I?"
I turned.
A man stood beside me, tall and composed, elegance clinging to him as naturally as breath. A black coat framed his broad shoulders, his dark hair neatly parted, revealing his sharp brows and intense brown eyes.
It was Isaac.
My college classmate. The one who sat three rows ahead, who never spoke unless necessary, whose presence had always been impossible to ignore and impossible to reach.
He gestured to the empty seat beside me.
I hesitated only a second before nodding, then faced forward again, my pulse suddenly went too loud.
The bidding continued, but the room had shifted. I felt it, like the air tightening between us.
"Quiet, but resilient." he said softly, breaking the silence.
I froze.
"Delicate, yet unbreakable." he continued while his gaze still fixed on the stage.
Then he turned to me.
"Reminds me of someone like you."
The words settled deep, unexpected, and heavy. I swallowed, my throat tight, surprised by the way something so simple could unravel me so completely.
I put back my gaze in front.
"You seem very invested in the auction," he said, amusement lacing his voice.
I stayed silent, I feel like there's a lump in my throat that stopped me from speaking.
"I wouldn't mind a hello," he added. "Even a glance."
"Sorry." I finally said. Giving him a quick and polite glance.
He chuckled.
I frown.
And for a moment, once again silence settled between us.
"What do you want?" I asked, the question breaking through my practiced composure.
"You."
The word was a strike.
I turned sharply, only to find him smiling out of tease.
"You're not my type." I scoffed and stood up, so abrupt that my chair nearly toppled. My uncle's warning gaze at once found me: a cold, physical weight on the back of my neck.
I need some air.
Without looking back, I left.
I pushed through the glass doors leading to the darkened balcony. The night air was a shock of cold against my heated skin. I gripped the stone railing, gasping for a breath that didn't feel like ash.
"That wasn't very polite."
I didn't turn. I began to walk away as my heels clicking rapidly against the marble.
"I'm offering you a deal."
I stopped, still facing my back, but I could hear the silence of the night rushing back in to fill the space between us.
"Or should I say... an open door." He said softly.
I looked down at my right arm, where the navy silk of my sleeve hid the yellowing bruise from this morning's "lesson."
An open door?
I hadn't seen one of those since the night Tita Isabel died. Since then, every exit had been bolted shut, and every window was painted over.
I heard his footsteps move towards me. He didn't touch me, but the warmth of him was a physical weight against my back, shielding me from the wind that whipped across the terrace.
"I just need a wife." he said, his voice dropping to a vibration that I felt in my own chest. "Nothing real."
A wife?
A role to play?
I was already an actress. I had been performing the "dutiful niece" for years.
"Three years," he continued. "Then you're free."
Hope stirred my mind.
Three years of a lie to buy a lifetime of freedom?
"So..."
I heard him take another step closer to me.
He leaned, close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my ear.
"Lillian Imara Atienza..." he whispered.
"Will you marry me?"