His Forbidden Heiress: Tempting the Devil

Chapter 5

The photograph lay on her desk long after midnight, its edges curling under the weight of her stare. Sixteen-year-old Selena, sunlight in her hair, Damien’s arm brushing against hers like a promise never spoken aloud.

She hated that her hand trembled. Bwisit. Hindi dapat ako nanghihina sa ganito.

By morning, the photograph was sealed inside a drawer, but the ghost of it followed her into the courthouse.

“Smile, Ms. Alcaraz!” the reporters shouted, cameras flashing.

“Are you afraid the Governor will reveal more about your past?”

“Is it true you once had ties to the Vergara family?”

Selena’s jaw tightened. So it begins.

Across the marble steps, Damien emerged from his car, flanked by aides and bodyguards. His barong glowed pristine white under the sun, as if he hadn’t spent the night orchestrating yet another attack. The crowd swarmed him, microphones thrust forward.

“Governor, what do you say about Ms. Alcaraz's personal connection to your family?”

Damien paused just long enough for the silence to coil tight. Then he smiled—soft, measured, devastating.

“Selena is a fine lawyer,” he said smoothly, “but perhaps too close to this case. Old ties make us blind. And in this trial, we cannot afford blindness.”

Gasps rippled. Ayun na. Hindi niya tinanggi, pero ginamit pa laban sa’kin. He hadn’t denied their past—he’d sharpened it into a blade.

Selena’s pulse hammered, but she kept her face neutral. If he wanted war, she’d give him one. Sige, Damien. Subukan mo ako.

Inside the courtroom, the tension crackled. Every word of her opening argument, every flick of his gaze as he countered, became part of their silent duel.

But outside, the headlines wrote themselves.

Governor Suggests Prosecutor’s Bias.

Forbidden Past Between Vergara and Alcaraz?

Courtroom or Love Affair?

By the time Selena returned to her office, the phones were ringing off the hook. Her father’s voice thundered down the line: “What have you done, Selena? He’ll ruin you before you even get to trial.”

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, staring out at the city. She could feel Damien’s shadow everywhere—in the cameras, in the whispers, in the gnawing ache at the base of her ribs.

He’s winning the war of perception, she admitted silently. But the war wasn’t over.

She pulled the drawer open, staring once more at that photograph. Her sixteen-year-old self smiled back, unaware of the storm she had invited.

“Fine, Damien,” she whispered, voice steady as steel. “You want the past? Then I’ll give you the truth you’ve been running from.”

Her phone buzzed. A message, untraceable.

Dinner. Tonight. Alone. Or I show them everything. – D

Selena’s lips parted, her breath caught somewhere between fury and anticipation.

Damien Vergara wasn’t just tempting the devil out of her.

He was daring her to dance with him in the fire.

The restaurant was discreet, tucked in the heart of San Felipe’s old district, where Spanish balconies still leaned low over cobblestone streets. No flashing cameras here, no microphones shoved in her face. Just candlelight, shadows, and the faint murmur of a string quartet.

Selena arrived in silence, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. The maître d’ led her to a secluded corner—of course Damien had reserved the best, the kind of privacy money and power demanded.

He was already there.

Damien sat with the confidence of a man who owned the room. His barong had been replaced by a tailored black suit, his tie loosened just enough to blur the line between formal and intimate. When he looked up at her, the faintest smile curved his lips—mocking, welcoming, dangerous.

“Selena,” he drawled, rising to his feet. “You came.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, sliding into her chair with icy precision. “I’m here because you threatened me.”

He chuckled low, settling back across from her. “Threatened? I merely… reminded you of the truth. People deserve to know how deeply our history runs.”

The waiter approached, pouring red wine. Selena didn’t touch hers. Damien, of course, raised his glass as if it were a toast to her defiance.

“You’ve always had a way of twisting words,” she said, her tone clipped. “First in court, now with the press. How much longer before you bury the truth completely?”

His gaze lingered on her, dark and unreadable. “And you’ve always had a way of running from what you feel. Tell me, Selena—do you really think this trial is about justice? Or is it about punishing me for what happened between us?”

Her pulse stumbled, but she kept her expression cool. “This is about the law, Damien. About corruption, about the people you’ve exploited. Don’t pretend it’s about us.”

But his smile told her he didn’t believe her. Worse—part of her wasn’t sure she believed herself.

The waiter delivered their first course, a delicate arrangement of oysters and lemon. Selena reached for her fork, but Damien’s voice cut through the quiet, low and deliberate.

“Do you remember the last time we shared a meal?”

Her hand froze. Memory slammed into her—sixteen years old, sneaking into the Vergara hacienda kitchen, the two of them stealing food and laughter before the world came crashing down.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Why not?” His eyes burned across the table. “The past never dies, Selena. It lives here, between us, every time you look at me and pretend you don’t feel it.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the courtroom and the cameras and the headlines disappeared. There was only Damien, his voice wrapping around her like smoke, and the dangerous truth she refused to admit.

But then she set her fork down with a sharp click. “Kung tinawag mo lang ako dito para maglaro ng ganyan, aalis na ako.”

In an instant, his hand shot out, fingers curling around hers. Firm, warm, unyielding. The contact jolted through her like fire.

“No,” Damien said softly, his eyes locked on hers. “I called you here because war is exhausting. And I think you want to remember, just as much as I do, what it’s like when we stop fighting.”

Her heart thrashed against her ribs. Every instinct screamed to pull away. Umalis ka na, Selena. But she didn’t.

Not yet.

The candles flickered between them, shadows dancing sa mesa na para bang may sariling sikreto. Selena gripped her glass tighter, trying to steady her breathing.

“Alam mo, Damien,” she said, voice laced with steel, “ang husay mo talagang gawing laruan ang katotohanan. Sa korte, sa media, pati sa Senado—lahat kaya mong paikutin. At ang masakit, naniniwala sila.”

Damien’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “At ikaw naman, Selena, mahusay sa pag-angkin ng martyrdom. Ikaw ang babaeng palaging nakikipaglaban para sa ‘tama,’ kahit ang kapalit ay ang pagkawasak ng lahat ng itinayo ko. Hindi ka ba napapagod?”

“Mas pipiliin ko pang mapagod kesa maging katulad mo,” she spat. “Mas mabuti nang maging banal kaysa sa demonyo na nakadamit ng seda.”

His laugh rolled low, a wicked hum in the candlelight. “Nakakasakit ka.”

“Hindi,” she shot back, leaning forward. “Wala nang makakasakit sa’yo. Untouchable ka, Damien. At iyon ang nakakatakot.”

Damien tilted his head, his eyes sharp as a blade. “Untouchable? No. You only think so dahil hindi mo na ako hinawakan ulit. Pero tingnan mo—ngayon pa lang, nanginginig ka na.”

Her chest tightened. “Tigilan mo ako.”

“Bakit?” he murmured, voice soft but merciless. “Kasi totoo? Kasi kahit ilang beses mong ulitin sa sarili mo na wala akong hawak sayo, your body betrays you? Kita ko, Selena. Kita ko lahat.”

Her grip on her napkin faltered. She hated it—how one touch of his words unraveled her composure.

Damien leaned closer, ang init ng hininga niya halos dumampi sa tenga niya. “Ang galing mo maglaro ng reyna sa publiko, pero dito…” His gaze dropped to her trembling hands. “Dito, ikaw lang ang babaeng minsang nagmahal sa akin sa dilim, akala walang makakaalam.”

“Hindi mo ako pag-aari,” Selena forced out, her voice trembling with fury. “Hindi noon. Hindi ngayon. Hindi kailanman.”

“Sabihin mo pa ulit,” he whispered, a faint smirk on his lips. “Baka maniwala ako.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating. The waiter returned with their main course, but the food sat untouched, halos wala silang gana. Every word after—about policies, reforms, batas—was just another blade, sharpened with double meaning.

Nang aksidenteng tumama ang binti niya sa ilalim ng mesa, Damien’s eyes darkened. “Careful,” he murmured, so quietly it almost felt like a caress. “Baka isipin ko na inaakit mo ako.”

Her fork clattered against the plate, hands betraying her. “Ikaw ang mayabang,” she hissed. “You twist everything. You always did.”

“And yet…” he leaned back, slow and deliberate, his gaze devouring her. “And yet you’re still here, having dinner with me.”

By dessert, Selena couldn’t even look at the flan placed before her. Damien, of course, relished his, every spoonful a taunt.

Finally, he spoke, voice deceptively soft. “Alam mo kung bakit ko pinili ang lugar na ‘to?”

“Dahil discreet. Walang camera. Walang audience,” she answered coldly.

He shook his head. “No. Dahil dito minsang dinala ng tatay ko ang pamilya mo. Naalala mo ba? Bata pa tayo. Dito ka unang tumawa nang walang takot. Dito ka unang nagkwento ng mga pangarap mo.”

Her heart twisted, the memory stabbing through her armor.

“Wag mong gawing armas ang alaala,” she said sharply, her voice nearly breaking.

Damien’s smirk was softer this time. “Hindi ko kailangang gawing armas, Selena. Kasi kahit itanggi mo, dala-dala mo pa rin.”

She shoved her chair back, the scrape loud against the tiled floor. “Tapos na ‘to.”

But before she could leave, Damien stood as well, his shadow falling over her. His voice was low, intimate, dangerous.

“Umalis ka man ngayon, Selena… sa panaginip mo, babalik ako. Gusto mo man o hindi.”

And as she strode away, chin high, every click of her heels echoing her defiance, her hands trembled when she finally lit a cigarette outside.

Because damn him—tama siya.