Chapter 17
723 Words
The invitation said “celebration.” But in this world, celebration just meant a show, and I was the main event.
The Foundation's Gala for the Youth Initiative usually draws a lot of press, but this year, every camera focused on one person—Zyra Elisse Villarosa. The woman who stayed. The woman who was pregnant. The woman didn’t apologize.
They expected me to handle damage control. To be careful and corporate. Instead, I arrived in a fitted ivory gown that hugged my bump. My hair was slicked back, my eyes lined sharply, and my chin was held high.
Rafael walked beside me, calm on the outside but tense. I felt his grip tighten.
“Smile,” I whispered as camera flashes went off. “You look like you’re heading into a scandal.”
“I am,” he replied quietly. “With you.”
“Then show some pride.”
---
Inside, Ysabelle stood at the far end of the ballroom in a gown two shades too soft for her intentions. She had a champagne glass in hand and a smile that felt like a weapon.
She watched me like a hawk that thought it had already won. She could lurk all she wanted. I wasn't bluffing anymore.
---
We mingled among sponsors, donors, politicians, and CEOs. I shook hands, posed for photos, and smiled through questions that pretended to be polite.
“Was the pregnancy planned?”
“Will you be stepping down?”
“Is marriage on the horizon?”
I answered each one carefully, while inside I felt like I was barely holding it together.
Then we were called to the stage.
---
Rafael spoke first. His tone was steady and confident, helping to calm the room. When he handed me the mic, I paused for a moment. Then I stepped forward and said what no one expected.
“I know what tonight was supposed to be,” I started, my voice clear. A celebration. A distraction. A performance.”
The crowd murmured.
“But I’ve realized that pretending won’t stop the world from watching. Especially when you’re a woman—pregnant and seen as inconvenient.”
The room quieted.
“My name has appeared in headlines I didn’t write. My body has been discussed in meetings I wasn’t invited to. And my future has been questioned by those who didn’t help shape it.”
I scanned the room, looking at the board, the donors, and those who pretended to be friends.
“But I’m not here to ask for permission. Or forgiveness. I’m here to say—”
“I’m not stepping down.”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“And I’m not ashamed.”
Rafael’s eyes were on me, strong, surprised, and proud.
“Motherhood doesn’t erase leadership. Pregnancy doesn’t disqualify brilliance. It sharpens it.”
Applause began softly, then grew louder and more genuine.
“But don’t mistake applause for understanding,” I concluded. “Many of you still have much to learn.”
With that, I handed the mic back.
The room erupted in reaction. Not everyone clapped, but those who mattered did. Rafael stepped beside me and took my hand, quietly supporting me.
Later, as the crowd began to thin and reporters looked for easier stories, I walked toward the bar alone, looking for water and space. Instead, I found Ysabelle.
“Bold speech,” she said, her tone sweet but sharp. “Almost sounded sincere.”
“Still hurts, doesn’t it?” I replied. “That I’m still standing.”
She smiled, eyes glinting. “For now.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What? Waiting for me to fail?”
“No, darling,” she said, leaning in closer. “I’m waiting to see how long you can keep pretending this version of you is real.”
I saw her stare. “You mean the version that fights back?”
She didn’t respond because she had nothing else to say. Not tonight. Not anymore.
When I stepped outside for fresh air, Rafael was already waiting near the valet. He looked at me with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I will be,” I nodded.
He took my hand, not tightly but firm enough to say: I'm here. For the first time since all of this began, I believed him.
- Writer
