Unseen

DISCLAIMER: This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events, places, or incidents is purely coincidental. This work contains explicit s****l content, strong language, and mature themes intended for adult readers. It is recommended for audiences 18 years of age and older. All characters depicted in s****l situations are consenting adults. The scenarios, dynamics, and behaviors portrayed are fictional and created solely for narrative purposes; they do not reflect or promote real-life practices or expectations. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Prologue Mart One glows in the morning like a small world sealed in glass. Its doors breathe open and shut with a mechanical sigh, and every time the cool air brushes against my skin, I feel myself slipping into the rhythm of another long day. The scanner hums beneath my fingertips, steady and unchanging, as though it knows exactly who I am and who I will always be. I stand behind the counter with my hair pulled back, the stray strands brushing my cheek like small rebellions. My uniform fits neatly, my smile even more so. People come and go carrying parts of their lives in paper bags, and I hand their purchases back as though passing pieces of something I will never touch. I try to move gently, gracefully, as if softness could keep the world from bruising me further. The cold in this place settles deeper than the skin. It fills the spaces inside me where tiredness likes to hide. I have grown used to it, or maybe I have simply learned not to resist. It is strange how a person can stand in the same place every day yet still feel as though she is drifting. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the register screen. Always the same girl looking back. Calm. Quiet. A little frayed at the edges. It is a face trained to give nothing away, shaped by years of swallowing disappointment before it could turn sharp. I wonder if anyone can see the faint hunger beneath it, the longing tucked away so carefully it has almost forgotten how to breathe. Once, long ago, I dreamed in lines and roofs and windows. Little homes drawn in my notebooks, bright with gardens and staircases that curled like ribbons. Dreams filled with light. Dreams I believed could be real. They now sleep inside an old envelope at the bottom of my bag, softened not by time but by the way I keep touching them just to remind myself they existed. When my shift ends, I step outside with my bag clutched against me. The sunlight feels warm enough to thaw something beneath my ribs. Laoag moves with its own kind of music: the rumble of jeepneys, the distant laughter of students, the easy call of vendors along the street. I walk through it quietly, letting the noise wash over me like a tide I no longer fight. As I approach the school gates, something shifts inside me. A faint stirring, too delicate to name. It feels like the air holding its breath. Like the moment before rain touches the earth. A soft tremor I sense more than understand. I pause. For a heartbeat, the world tilts, not with fear but with a quiet awareness. As though the life I know is thinning at the edges, ready to change shape without asking permission. I tell myself it is nothing. A passing feeling. A ripple in a day like any other. Yet as I walk through the gates, my bag heavy with books and forgotten dreams, a strange warmth flickers beneath my ribs. It is small. Barely there. But it glows with a stubbornness that surprises me. Perhaps it is foolishness. Perhaps a hope that should have wilted under the weight of years. Yet a small part of me wonders, in a place too quiet for anyone else to hear, if the world still holds something for me. Something wider than duty, gentler than silence, lighter than the exhaustion that has shaped so much of my days. Or perhaps someone made of a different kind of strength. Someone who might see me. Someone who might pull open the door I have never been able to escape through on my own. Something that feels like rescue. I breathe in, slow and steady, and step into the familiar hallway. The light is the same as yesterday, but something beneath my ribs stirs as though recognizing a future I cannot yet name. I press a hand over my chest, where that fragile hope tucks itself away, trembling like a small bird that has only begun to imagine the sky. Chapter OneSimon Jimenez always said mountains had a different kind of silence. Not the empty kind, but the kind that listened back. A silence with teeth. And that morning, he walked into the penthouse conference room carrying that silence with him, settling into the air like a warning or a promise. People often mistook his quiet for softness, but at six foot one with the kind of dark, carved features that made boardrooms straighten up, Simon was anything but safe. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been tailored directly onto him, he moved with the calm confidence of a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to dominate a room. His eyes carried a sharpness that came from years of navigating power, wealth, and the heavy expectation of being born into a dynasty. The Jimenez blood gave him privilege. His own ambition, though? That was what gave him teeth. He could’ve coasted on inheritance and still been one of the richest men in the Philippines, but Simon wasn’t interested in being rich. He wanted a seat in the trillionaire era. He wanted something so big it outran even the Jimenez shadow. And today, he brought proof. Andrew Lorenzo was already there, legs crossed, scrolling on his phone as if he weren’t the man behind Lares Development, a company that built skylines the way other people built IKEA shelves. Andrew carried the relaxed arrogance of a billionaire who didn’t care about anyone’s opinion, mostly because no one could afford to give him one. Simon placed a thick folder on the glass table. The thud echoed.“I found something,” he said, calm, like he wasn’t about to rewrite the northern economy. Andrew didn’t even look up. “You always find something. Usually expensive. Often illegal.” Simon smirked. “Relax. This one’s legal. Mostly.” Andrew finally glanced up with mild interest. “Alright, I’m listening. Impress me.” Simon opened the folder. Land surveys. Geological data. Aerial scans. Drone photos of a mountain so green it looked unreal. And at its center, the jewel, a wild, roaring waterfall system untouched by any developer’s greedy hands. “Barangay Madanunan,” Simon said. “Santa Agueda, Ilocos Norte.” Andrew’s brow rose. “Ilocos Norte? Your turf?” “Turf is generous.” Simon shrugged. “I’m just the middle child. Marco gets the empire. Alfonso gets the ad campaigns. I get… mountains.” Andrew laughed, low and amused. “Right. The tragic life of Simon Jimenez. Born into the wealthiest clan in the north. Son of the owners of Northphil Air, the airline that thinks it’s Cathay Pacific with longganisa. Truly heartbreaking.” Simon rolled his eyes, but there was a truth buried under the sarcasm. Northphil wasn’t his. The empire wasn’t his. Not by right, not by inheritance. And he refused to sit quietly in a gilded cage built by someone else’s success. “This,” Simon said, tapping the waterfall photo, “is mine.” Andrew sat forward, predator’s grin forming. “What exactly are you planning up there?” “A world class mountain resort,” Simon said. “Luxurious. Iconic. Not a recycled beach concept. Think Sagada and Switzerland had a child, then raised it with billionaire sensibilities.” Andrew whistled softly. “You’re thinking big.” “Nine hundred fifty billion big,” Simon corrected. “Integrated resort. Casino carved into the cliffside. Mountain villas. Skybridge. Helipad. Cable cars. Something the Philippines hasn’t even imagined yet.” Andrew leaned back, impressed. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious.” “But you’ll need partners. Serious ones.” “That’s why you’re here,” Simon said. “Lares takes the casino ridge and upper residences. PrimeRise handles the heavy structures. Ardent Lex for… the messy political ballet.” Andrew chuckled. “Madanunan is remote. Stubborn. Their landowners barricade for sport. You sure about this place?” Simon’s gaze softened on the photo. “It feels right. Like the land’s been waiting.” Andrew didn’t laugh. He understood instinct when it came from someone dangerous.“That’s destiny,” he murmured. He extended his hand.“Lares is in.” Simon clasped it with quiet certainty.“Welcome to the Madanunan Crown.” And somewhere in the mountains of Santa Agueda, fate shifted its weight.