Ruthless Whispers: Broken Vows

Chapter 7: The Woman With My Face

“Celine.”

She said my name like she gave it to me.

Like it was hers first.

Like I borrowed it and forgot to return it.

I did not move. Could not move. My hand was still in Alastair’s. Warm. Real. Anchoring me to the floor of BPI Cebu Division while my whole life tilted sideways.

Alastair went still beside me. Not CEO still. Not cold still. Wary still. The kind of still that happens right before a man decides if he is going to talk or walk away.

Because standing by the bank lobby doors, in a white dress and pearls and a smile that did not reach her eyes, was Celina Santos.

With an A.

The woman from the photo.

The woman from the audit report.

The woman Alastair married me to replace.

Alive.

For one second, nobody breathed.

The bank manager looked from me to Celina to Alastair like she was watching a live tele-novela. The security guard’s hand went to his radio but did not press it. Marco, who was waiting by the car outside, suddenly appeared in the glass doors. He did not come in. He just watched.

Celina took a step forward. Her heels did not click. They whispered. Expensive. Quiet. Like her.

“You look tired, Celine,” she said. Her voice was soft. Sweet. The kind of voice that gave you candy before it asked for your secrets. “Marriage does that to a woman. Especially when it is built on lies.”

Alastair let go of my hand. Not to leave me. To step half in front of me. Not blocking. Just close. Like a wall I could choose to hide behind or stand beside.

“You are supposed to be in Manila,” he said. No question. Just fact.

Celina tilted her head. Studied him. Like he was a painting she used to own. “Am I. Funny. I heard the same about you. That you were supposed to be in Tokyo. And yet, here we are. All in Cebu. All in the same bank. Small world.”

Her eyes slid to me. Past Alastair. Not through him. To me. “And you. My goodness. You really do look like me. Ernesto said you would. He said it was uncanny. But photos do not do you justice. You have his eyes. The Montemayor eyes. Did he tell you that. Did your husband tell you that you married your own blood.”

Something in me snapped.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Galit.

“We are not blood,” I said. Loud. The bank echoed. “And you do not get to say my name like you know me. You do not know me. You know nothing about me.”

Celina’s smile did not drop. It sharpened. “I know enough. I know you married him without asking why. I know you signed a contract without reading part two. I know you are wearing my dress. My pearls. My life.”

“This is not your life,” I said. “This is mine. You left. Five years ago. You took whatever he gave you and you left. So do not come back now and act like you own it.”

“Took,” Celina said. She tasted the word. “Yes. I took it. Half a billion. To disappear. To let you have him. To let you have the name. To let you have the house. You are welcome, Celine. You should be thanking me.”

The air went out of the room.

Half a billion.

To disappear.

To let me have him.

I turned to Alastair. Slow.

“You paid her,” I said. Not a question.

He did not answer.

He did not have to.

His face said it.

Guilt.

“You paid her to leave,” I said. Louder. “You paid her half a billion. And then you married me. A month later. Because I looked like her. Because I was cheaper. Because I was free.”

“Celine,” Alastair said.

“Do not,” I said. I stepped back. Away from him. “Do not Celine me. You bought her. Then you bought me. Is that it. Is that all I am to you. A replacement. A cheaper version. A deal.”

“It is not like that,” Alastair said. His voice was low. Careful. Like he was talking to a bomb.

“Then what is it like,” I said. “Tell me. Because she is standing there smiling. Because she took your money. Because you gave it. And now you are here. With me. Holding my hand. Like I should be grateful.”

Alastair looked at Celina.

And for the first time since I met him, I saw it.

Rage.

Not cold rage. Not CEO rage.

Real rage.

The kind that burns.

“You took the money,” he said to Celina. Voice quiet. Too quiet. “You said you would leave. You said you would never come back. You said you would never use your face again. That was the deal, Celina. That was the only deal that mattered. You broke it.”

“I changed my mind,” Celina said. Shrugged. Like it was nothing. Like half a billion was nothing. Like my life was nothing. “The board found me. They offered more. And now I am here. To collect. From you. Or from her.”

She looked at me.

“And you,” she said. “You should be mad at him. Not me. I am just the woman he paid to go away. He is the man who thought he could buy a wife. Twice.”

My hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

From galit.

At her.

At him.

At me.

For believing.

For trusting.

For staying.

“You took the money,” I said to Celina. My voice was shaking. “You took it and you left. You left girls like me behind. You left me behind. You knew what the board did. You knew what they wanted. And you took the money. And you ran. And now you come back. For more. You are not a victim, Celina. You are a dealer. You sold your face. You sold me. You sold all of us.”

Celina’s smile finally dropped.

“Watch your mouth,” she said.

“Or what,” I said. I stepped toward her. Marco moved by the door. Alastair grabbed my arm. Not hard. Just enough to stop me.

“Celine,” Alastair said.

“No,” I said. I ripped my arm away. “You do not get to touch me. You do not get to stop me. You do not get to protect me. Not anymore. You bought her. You bought me. What is next, Alastair. Who else did you buy. What else did you pay for. My father. My Lola. Me.”

“I did not buy you,” Alastair said. His voice broke. Just a little. Just enough to hear it. “I protected you. That is different.”

“Is it,” I said. “Because from where I stand, it looks the same. Money. A contract. A woman who looks like her. A man who pays. That is not protection. That is purchase. And I am done being purchased.”

The bank was silent.

The manager was by the wall. Pretending to not listen.

The security guard was looking at the floor.

Marco was inside now. By the door. Watching Celina. Watching Alastair. Watching me.

Celina clapped. Once. Slow.

“Well,” she said. “This is fun. I thought I would have to work harder. But you are doing it for me. You are tearing each other apart. Just like the board wanted. Just like I wanted. Thank you, Celine. You are smarter than you look.”

“Shut up,” I said. To her. “Just shut up. You took half a billion and you left. You do not get to come back and play victim. You do not get to play hero. You do not get to play anything. You are nothing. You are a ghost. And ghosts do not talk.”

Celina’s eyes went cold.

“You do not know anything,” she said. “You do not know what I did for you. You do not know what he did to me. You do not know what the board did to all of us. So sit down, little girl. And let the adults talk.”

“I am not a little girl,” I said. “And I am not sitting down. Not for you. Not for him. Not for anyone. Not anymore.”

Alastair stepped between us.

“Enough,” he said. To Celina. Voice steel. “You said what you came to say. You got your reaction. Now leave. Before I forget that I do not hurt women.”

“You already did,” Celina said. “Five years ago. When you chose her over me. When you paid me to die. When you married her to erase me. You hurt me, Alastair. And now I am here to return it.”

She looked at me.

“Ask him,” she said. “Ask him what he did on May 13. Ask him who he buried. Ask him why he really crossed out part two of the deal. Ask him why he cannot look at you when I say your father’s name.”

“Get out,” Alastair said. Louder now.

“Make me,” Celina said.

Alastair moved.

Fast.

He grabbed Celina’s arm. Not hard. But enough.

“Do not touch me,” Celina said.

“Then leave,” Alastair said.

Marco was there in two seconds.

He took Celina’s other arm.

“Ma’am,” Marco said. Polite. Cold. “Time to go.”

Celina looked at me. One last time.

“You will thank me,” she said. “When you find out what he did. When you find out what you are. When you find out why you were two years old and on a list. You will thank me.”

Then Marco led her out.

The doors closed.

Quiet.

Final.

Like the last page of a contract we were done reading.

The bank manager exhaled. “Mr. Montemayor. Do you need.”

“Leave,” Alastair said. Not mean. Just done. “Everyone. Out.”

The manager left. The security guard left.

Just me and him.

In the bank lobby.

With the audit file on the floor.

With half a billion between us.

With my father’s name in the air.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

And I was so angry I could not breathe.

“You paid her,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“You married me because I looked like her,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“You lied,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

No excuses.

No explanations.

Just yes.

“Why,” I said.

He looked at me.

Then at the floor.

Then at the bank doors where Celina walked out.

And he turned around.

And walked away.

Not to me.

To the manager’s office.

He closed the door.

Left me standing there.

With the audit file on the floor.

With my, why hanging in the air.

With no answer.

I stood there for ten seconds.

Then I picked up the audit file.

And I walked out.

He did not stop me.

He did not follow.

He just let me go.

And that silence was louder than any yes.

I got to the car.

Marco was there.

He opened the door.

“Ma’am,” Marco said. “Sir said.”

“I do not care what he said,” I said. “Take me to Busay. Now. Or I walk.”

Marco looked at the bank.

At the closed office door where Alastair was.

Then at me.

And he nodded.

We drove in silence.

All the way to Busay.

To the land.

To the cement.

To the empty.

I got out.

And sat on the ground.

Alone.

No Alastair.

No Celina.

No Marco.

Just me.

And his silence.

And my question.

Why?