Perilous Sea || Homer Series

Chapter Ten

I was left dumbly bounded. Am I wrong?

Does love have to be this complicated just to be acknowledged?

Does he have a reason? Or is he just weaving together well-crafted excuses, designed to sound like something more?

"You seem lost in thought."

The voice pulled me from my haze. My eyes snapped to the figure leaning against a car, the streetlights casting a faint glow over her face.

"Crescent?"

She shrugged, casual, like she had all the time in the world. "Just dropped by. Numerald invited me."

I furrowed my brows. "You know him?"

"Yes."

Her gaze was unwavering, studying me in a way that made my skin prickle.

"I didn’t mean to eavesdrop," she added. "My car was parked beside his."

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. "Do you know him? I mean, Vein?"

Her lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t amusement—it was something else. Something unreadable. "Yes. I’ve been seeing him around for a while. His family was accused of larceny—I needed him to digest the case."

I blinked. "What?"

Vein’s family? Accused of theft? How had I never heard about this?

"How did that happen?" I asked, feeling a strange weight settle over me.

Crescent exhaled slowly, but instead of answering, she said something else entirely.

"You know, love is a universal word. It doesn’t have a single, defined meaning."

I frowned. "What?"

She looked at me, unbothered by my confusion. "They say love should be selfish, or that it should be selfless. But neither is true. Love is made of regrets, of pain, of sacrifices." She leaned against her car, her expression unreadable. "It’s in those emotions that we understand love, because only when we risk breaking ourselves do we truly grasp what it means to give away our heart."

My head hurt. "I don’t understand what you’re saying."

She tilted her head slightly. "He was right, you know—Vein. People hate what they can’t understand."

Her words twisted inside me, an unwelcome presence.

"Did you see the grief in his eyes?" she asked softly. "Or were you too angry to notice?"

I stiffened. "What grief?"

"The kind that is silent, the kind that is buried so deep it rots from the inside out. The kind that comes from choosing pain because you believe it will be worth it in the end."

I swallowed. "That doesn’t give him the right to hurt someone."

She nodded. "No, it doesn’t."

I exhaled sharply. "Then that’s it. That’s what I’m saying. He did her wrong, so whatever reason he has, it means nothing."

Crescent chuckled, but there was something bitter in it. "Are you sure, Cean? Because it sounds like you're saying sacrifice invalidates the feelings of the one making it."

I frowned. "What?"

Her voice was quieter now, but it carried a weight I couldn’t hold. "No one told him to sacrifice, but he did. Because love made him do the right thing that looks wrong to everyone else."

I hated that I hesitated.

Her words didn’t make sense, and yet—they did.

Crescent pushed off her car, giving me a long, knowing look.

"One day, you’ll understand."

I scoffed. "And if I don’t?"

She smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Then you’ll never know what it means to love someone beyond yourself."

I stood there, frozen, as she slid into her car.

Before she drove off, she rolled down the window and said something that would stay with me long after she was gone.

"Love doesn’t exist to be easy, Cean. It exists to be chosen."

Then she was gone.

Her words were like a dagger—quiet, piercing, impossible to ignore.

I clenched my fists.

Why does love always exist in the most grievous way?

After that conversation, I immediately went home.

"What’s the matter, Daddy?" I asked, my voice dull, almost mechanical.

I was lying on my bed when Manang Si knocked, saying that my father wanted to speak with me. And now, here I was—standing in his office, staring at the man I once thought could do no wrong.

He exhaled, rubbing his temples before meeting my gaze. "Do you remember the island I bought last year?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes. What about it?"

"I’m sending you there."

It was so casual, so simple—like he was merely suggesting I take a weekend trip, not exiling me.

"What?"

"I need you to design the island. The hotels, the infrastructure. I saw your plates last week, and I was very impressed."

I should feel something—pride, excitement, maybe even gratitude. But I felt nothing.

Just… nothing.

"Dad, I’m still a student. There are plenty of architects who can do better than me." My voice was firm, logical. He should hire someone qualified, someone reliable. Not me.

"I don’t care if they can do better, Cean. I want you to do it. I’ll send someone to assist you."

And there it was again—his way of deciding my life before I even had the chance to. No room for negotiation. No room for me.

I pressed my lips together. "I won’t meet your expectations."

"It’s not about that."

His voice softened, and for a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—something almost like warmth. "Cean, I will always be proud of you—"

I scoffed before I could stop myself. Proud? Since when?

"Stop, Dad. You didn’t ask me. Did you even give me a choice? No, you just decided—like you always do." I exhaled sharply and stood up. "I’ll pack my things."

"I’m doing this for you."

I stopped at the door and turned back to him. My expression was unreadable, but inside, I was screaming.

"No," I whispered. "You’re doing this for yourself."

His jaw tightened. "You’re my daughter, Oceanna. I care for you. One day, you’ll understand."

I laughed bitterly. "How could I, when you keep pulling me away from the things that make me, me?"

He sighed, as if I was exhausting him, as if I was the difficult one. "Nothing is easy in this world, princess. You have to become a strong-willed woman if you want to rule the untamed sea."

I stared at him, disbelief thick in my throat. "That’s insane."

"Now, pack your things. You’ll be staying there for a month."

"A month?"

"That’s final." His tone left no room for argument.

A shiver ran through me. There was no use fighting. My father was a wall, an immovable force, a man who mistook control for care.

I nodded, resigned, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Whatever excitement I once had about being home had turned into a mirage—a fleeting illusion that disappeared the second I reached for it.

I turned back to leave, gripping the door handle, but then—

"Cean."

His voice stopped me. I looked over my shoulder, my heart heavy.

"I love you."

The words hung in the air, empty, weightless. I looked away, nodding stiffly. I didn’t answer.

Words without action meant nothing.

I used to be a Daddy’s girl.

I used to run to him when I was hurt, when the world felt too heavy. And he would be there—his arms open, his voice gentle. He would listen. He would care.

But now?

I felt like I had lost him somewhere along the way.

Somewhere between growing up and growing apart.

I held onto his words for so long. He promised me he would always be there. That he would never let me go. That I would always have his support.

But he lied.

The first time was when I was twelve. I begged him to talk to Aunt Jules, to fix what was broken. I told myself he loved me too much to let me go.

But he did.

That day, he never came to see me. Never even tried. I waited, hoping—praying—he would fight for me.

He never did.

And I hated him for it.

He left me hanging, dangling on the edge of his broken promises, and now, all these years later, he was still breaking me.

Tears stung my eyes as I closed my bedroom door behind me.

I sniffled, pressing a hand over my mouth, but it didn’t stop the ache in my chest.

I love him. I love him so much.

And that’s the problem.

Because the more I love him, the more it hurts.

I couldn't accept it. I couldn’t accept that he was okay without me for five years, while I spent every night feeling lonelier than the last.

He never fought for me. He never asked if I was okay.

And now, here he was—pretending like none of that mattered. Pretending like he still had the right to tell me what to do.

I looked around my room, at the life I was supposed to have here, and realized the truth.

This house wasn’t home anymore.

Nothing was.

Because this surname ruined us.

I inhaled sharply, forcing the tears back as I reached for my suitcase.

I needed to pack.

I needed a distraction.

Before this grief swallowed me whole.

I'll call Lexine later to inform her. I think we'll have to change our plans since she has other errands to run, too.

I packed a lot of clothes—including bikinis. If I get bored, I’ll swim. The sound of the waves is soothing, almost like they can quiet the storm inside me. Maybe it'll feel better someday.

Our island still doesn't have a name. It’s unknown. Just like me.

After finishing my packing, I took a bath. I let the warm water swallow me as I sank deeper into the bathtub, exhaustion pressing against my skin. My eyelids grew heavy, and I was teetering on the edge of sleep when my phone started ringing.

I groaned but didn’t open my eyes as I answered.

"Hmm?"

Silence.

Seconds passed, but no one spoke.

I forced my heavy lids open and glanced at the screen. My breath caught the moment I saw the name flashing on it.

Wyatt.

My heart clenched. It’s been... a while.

I hesitated before speaking. "Wyatt?"

"Cean," he uttered, his voice low, familiar—like a distant memory creeping back in.

I bit my lip.

"Do… do you need anything?" I asked, my voice unsure.

Nothing.

Just silence again.

My fingers curled around the phone. Why call if he wasn’t going to say anything?

I sighed, putting the call on speaker as I leaned back into the water.

"How are you?" I tried again.

"Are you in the bathroom?" he asked instead.

My forehead wrinkled. How does he know that?

My eyes darted around the room. My heartbeat picked up. Is there a camera here?

"How did you know?" I whispered in panic.

I heard him exhale sharply. "I can hear the echo, Cean. Why would you answer someone's call in the bathroom?" His voice was edged with irritation.

I rolled my eyes. "What? I'm in the bathtub—"

"I didn't ask, Cean." His voice was firm, almost scolding. "And don't say things like that when you're talking to a guy. It’s not proper."

A slow smile curved my lips. He’s annoyed.

"You’re so grumpy, aren't you?" I teased.

Silence.

I frowned and looked at my phone. Was he mad?

I licked my lips. "I'm sorry. I thought it was Lexine, so I answered without looking." I hesitated. "By the way, why did you call?"

"Next time, check the caller ID first, hmm?"

I found myself nodding even though he couldn’t see me.

"Okay, I will."

But he still didn’t answer my question.

Why did he call?

I picked at my nails, the silence between us stretching.

"How are you?" I asked again.

"Fine. You?"

"Fine too, I guess?"

"Are you really?" He scoffed. "You're such a liar."

I chuckled softly. Some things never change.

My smile faded.

"I haven’t seen you in months." My voice was barely above a whisper.

I stopped fiddling with my hands and grabbed my phone, pressing it to my ear.

"Are you busy?" he asked.

I hesitated. "I think so? I’ll be going somewhere."

"Where?"

I hummed, my voice dipping. "Somewhere far."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, as if he already knew the answer, he said, "You don’t want to go."

A lump formed in my throat. "I never had a choice."

I never did. It was always their choice.

"I’ll be there."

I blinked. Huh?

Did I hear that right?

"What do you mean?"

"I will be with you."

I sat up, the water sloshing against the tub. "On the island?"

"Yes."

My heart twisted. Did they plan this?

Was that why he called?

Suddenly, my eyes burned. Why am I being so emotional lately?

I swallowed, my voice barely steady. "Is that so? Is that why you called? Did they force you?"

I exhaled sharply. "You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Wyatt. You can refuse."

"Cean—"

"It’s okay," I cut him off, my throat tightening. "I’m gonna rest now. I’ll talk to my father. You don’t have to come."

Before he could respond, I ended the call.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed again.

I clenched my jaw and turned it off.

I don’t know why I hate this.

But I do.Later, when I finally calmed down, I turned my phone back on.

Twelve missed calls.

Three texts.

From him.

I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the messages.

Then, without thinking, I called Lexine instead.

I needed a distraction.

Before I let myself feel again.

"Lexine?"

Was she already asleep?

"Hello? Are you there?" Her voice was husky, groggy. I must have woken her up.

"I just wanted to inform you about something," I said.

"Is it urgent, Cean? It must be," she groaned, half-awake.

I chuckled. "Not really, but… I’ll be leaving for a month. I need to handle something somewhere."

"A month?" Her voice sharpened. "That’s long. I’ll be gone for a few weeks, but not months. Where are you going?"

I sighed. "Dad wants me in Palawan. Remember our island there? He wants me to design it."

"Wait—Palawan?" She suddenly sounded excited. "I’ll follow you after I get back from San Francisco!"

I frowned. "I’m not sure we’ll have time to enjoy ourselves there, Lexine. I’ll be busy."

She scoffed. "I’m not a child, Cean. And don’t act like you won’t have a single rest day. So please?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I’ll let Dad know. Just keep me updated, okay?"

This spoiled brat always had a way of getting what she wanted. She wouldn’t stop until she heard me say "okay."

She yawned. "You ruined my beauty sleep. That’s your price."

I smirked. "Then go back to sleep. Adios, Lexine." I hung up before she could protest.

After my bath, I slipped into a nightdress, exhaustion settling into my bones. I barely slept last night and woke up early—no wonder I was so drained.

The moment my head hit the pillow, sleep took over.

When I woke up, the room felt… heavy.

I slept well, yet the morning air carried a strange sadness, a weight I couldn’t shake off.

Pushing the feeling aside, I got ready and headed downstairs for breakfast.

In the kitchen, Mom was preparing food while Dad sat at the table, flipping through a magazine. Crescent was on her phone, absorbed in whatever she was reading.

I greeted them before taking my seat. We sat in silence, waiting for the food, when Kuya Daryl walked in, his usual goofy grin in place.

"Good morning!" he greeted, striding over to Mom and kissing her cheek.

Then, he turned to me, dropping a quick kiss on my forehead. "Morning, devil witch," he teased.

I beamed at him. "You’re so energetic, Kuya. Good morning, too."

He chuckled, but his smile faltered slightly when he turned to Crescent.

"Good morning, Crescent." His tone was softer, careful. He leaned in to kiss her forehead, but she barely acknowledged him, shooting him a cold glance before returning to her phone.

Kuya sighed but didn’t push it. Instead, he took a seat beside Mom.

We ate in silence.

No one spoke.

This was normal for us now. Every morning, the same suffocating quiet.

Isn’t it ironic?

A family that once shared laughter, now reduced to silent meals and distant glances.

I should call it what it is. Pathetic.

We’re not happy anymore.

So this is adulthood.

I regret ever wanting to grow up so fast. Everything was perfect when we were young.

"Did you talk to Uncle Jonathan, Daryl?" Dad asked suddenly.

Kuya glanced up, his forehead creasing. "You know about that?" He set his fork down. "I already told you, Dad, I don’t want to be involved in politics. They play dirty."

Dad sighed. "Just try it, Daryl. There’s nothing wrong with trying."

Kuya leaned back, jaw clenching. "Nathan wants to follow in your footsteps. I don’t." His voice was firm. "I get that you have your reasons, Dad, but why am I the one being pushed into this?"

Dad put down his coffee. "No one’s forcing you. They’re just suggesting it."

Same difference.

Sometimes, I don’t understand their logic at all.

Kuya let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he stabbed his food with his fork.

"It’s either you or Crescent," Mom added casually.

The room went still.

Kuya exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if gathering patience. "What a great way to ruin my morning," he muttered, standing up abruptly. "I’m done."

Crescent stood up too, her expression unreadable. "Me too."

And just like that, they both left.

Leaving the table as quiet as ever.