Perilous Sea || Homer Series

Chapter Five

I woke up at six o’clock with my head pounding. I groaned, pressing my palms against my temples, willing the ache to subside. The moment I tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness crashed over me, and I fell back onto the bed with a thud.

Here we go again with my hangover.

Flashes of last night flickered through my mind—Alouette’s, the drinks, Wyatt. I exhaled sharply. Wyatt took me home. I left my car at the bar.

I forced myself up, rubbing my temples, when the door creaked open.

“Good morning, Cean,” Mama’s voice chimed.

I squinted at her. She had this knowing smile, like she was holding back a secret.

“You’re awake,” she noted.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, yawning. “What do you need, Mama?”

She crossed her arms and gave me a pointed look. “Cover your mouth when you yawn.”

I rolled my eyes but obeyed. She lingered, her gaze softening. “Wyatt is already here,” she finally said. “Get ready. Don’t make him wait.”

Wyatt’s here?

My brows knitted together. It was still early. Too early. But Mama didn’t wait for a response—she simply kissed my forehead and left the room.

I let out a heavy sigh and dragged myself into the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time I finished getting ready, an hour had already passed.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and toast. Wyatt sat across from me, eating quietly while Dad occasionally asked him about his degree. Other than that, silence stretched between us.

After breakfast, I followed him to his car, slipping into the passenger seat without a word. The silence between us was awkward, yet neither of us made an effort to break it.

I stared out the window, my fingers fidgeting with the radio dial before settling on a station. A familiar tune filled the car—Westlife’s All or Nothing.

The lyrics drifted through the air, wrapping around me like an old memory.

But how can I fight someone who isn’t even there?

I’ve had the rest of you, now I want the best of you.

I don’t care if that’s not fair…

I hummed softly, lost in the song.

‘Cause I want it all, or nothing at all…

A bittersweet smile played on my lips. This was my favorite part of the song. It spoke of a love so absolute, so consuming, that anything less felt like settling.

But was that what I had with Wyatt?

My thoughts wandered back to last night—his lips on mine, the way my body responded without hesitation, without second-guessing. It was always like this between us. A pull. A need. A craving that neither of us seemed capable of resisting.

But was it love? Or just lust?

I swallowed hard, gripping my knees.

Lust was easy. It came with the heat of the moment, with stolen glances and fingertips tracing unseen paths. It didn’t require effort or understanding—it just was. It burned fast and fierce, leaving only ashes in its wake.

Love, on the other hand… love was something else entirely.

I didn’t stay up at night wondering what made Wyatt smile when no one was looking. I didn’t ache to know his dreams, his fears, the thoughts he buried deep inside. I didn’t long for his presence beyond these fleeting moments.

No, this wasn’t love.

I exhaled softly, shaking my head.

I may be attracted to him—my body always reacts to him, after all. He’s like a temptation I can’t seem to resist. But that isn’t enough for marriage.

You can lust after anyone. But you can’t build a life on just that.

The song continued playing as I stared out the window.

There’s nowhere left to fall

When you reach the bottom, it’s now or never.

Is it all, or are we just friends?

I used to fear starting something with Ebony. He was my best friend. If we crossed that line, would we still be us? Would we still laugh the same way? Would he still know how to read my silences?

In the end, we chose the practical route. We walked away before we lost anything. Before we ruined something that was better left untouched.

And somehow, we were okay.

Wyatt pulled into the university parking lot and cut the engine.

“Thanks,” I muttered, already reaching for the door handle.

He didn’t respond.

As I stepped out, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, reading the message on the screen.

From: Wyatt

I’m sorry for what happened last night. It won’t happen again.

I licked my lips, a small chuckle escaping.

We always said that. And yet, it always happened again.

Maybe it really was just lust.

I shook my head, slipping my phone back into my pocket. Whatever this was—whatever we were—there was no use pretending it was something more.

With a deep breath, I pushed all thoughts of Wyatt aside and focused on the day ahead. Exams were coming. I needed to study. I wasn’t allowed to fail.

And I definitely wasn’t allowed to let Wyatt distract me.

Not again.

After class was dismissed, I headed straight home.

Mom had texted earlier, reminding me that our family dinner was set for six in the evening. That left me with just enough time to prepare.

I stood in front of my closet, carefully adjusting my dress when frustration took over.

“Mom? Can you help me? I can’t zip my dress!” I called out, my voice muffled by the closet walls.

Minutes passed, but no one responded. I sighed, stepping out into my room, expecting to find her.

“Mom—” My words caught in my throat, my breath hitching slightly.

Wyatt.

He was sprawled out on my couch, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Was he asleep?

I knew he’d be here. His family was invited, after all. But I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why was his family still welcome when Crescent and Zenos’ engagement had been called off? Why were my parents still entertaining them?

A thought lingered in the back of my mind, one I had been pushing away for days.

So Wyatt was right. They’re trying to set us up.

I exhaled heavily and turned back to my closet. Dwelling on that would do me no good.

I wanted something different for myself—something beyond the suffocating expectations placed upon me. I wanted music. I wanted to sing. But that dream… it felt impossible.

The world I lived in would never take me seriously if I pursued it. If I chose music, I would be choosing exile—from their approval, from their respect.

And yet, that was the freedom I craved. The freedom I was silently fighting for.

I shook the thought away, forcing myself to focus. Right now, I just needed to get dressed.

I struggled with the zipper again, huffing in frustration. Fine. I’d call for Manang later.

I stepped out and sat in front of my vanity, reaching for my makeup. If I was going to play their game tonight, I might as well look the part.

Dark makeup. That would suit my dress.

I picked a brown shade for my eyeshadow, blending it seamlessly before adding a hint of glitter. A classic red for my lips. Mascara to frame my eyes. A sharp, winged liner to finish the look.

As I worked, I watched my reflection transform. The soft, angelic features I usually carried were gone, replaced by something more refined—sharper, colder.

Like my mother.

Between Crescent and me, I was the one who inherited her face. And tonight, I was embodying her presence.

I stood and slipped into my two-inch heels. Aunt Julie had a strict rule—no rubber shoes, no flats. Appearance was everything.

I gazed at my reflection, my posture straight, my expression unreadable. A fierce-looking woman stared back.

I both hated and loved it.

A strange feeling crept up my spine, the sensation of being watched.

My eyes flickered to the mirror, meeting Wyatt’s gaze. He was awake now, his dark eyes fixed on me.

I hesitated. “…They asked you to come here?”

He gave a small nod, silent.

I shifted in my seat under his unwavering stare. He wasn’t saying anything, but he wasn’t looking away either.

I furrowed my brows. “Is there something wrong?”

Did he not like how I looked? I knew I looked good, yet his gaze was unreadable. It made me oddly self-conscious.

Without a word, he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate.

My heart kicked against my ribs as he walked toward me. His face remained expressionless, but his presence alone was enough to make the room feel smaller.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him cautiously.

He stopped behind me, close—too close. I could feel the warmth of his body despite the cool air.

“Stand up,” he murmured, his voice deep, quiet, commanding.

A shiver ran down my spine. I looked away, pretending his voice didn’t affect me.

“Why?”

His jaw clenched slightly, his eyes darkening. “I’ll zip your dress.”

His fingers brushed against my bare back, and I felt my body tense.

The air in the room shifted. My breath caught. My skin prickled.

This—this was what I meant.

Lust.

It crept in without warning, a silent thief stealing the air from my lungs. Every time he was near, it was the same. My body reacted before my mind could intervene.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay still as he slid the zipper up, the heat of his touch lingering even after he stepped away.

I exhaled, offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

He didn’t respond. He simply stood there, watching.

It was only then that I truly took him in.

The black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. The way the fabric clung to his broad frame. The open buttons exposing just a hint of his toned chest.

Damn.

I bit the inside of my cheek, looking away quickly. He looked effortlessly good. And the worst part? He probably knew it.

I turned back to the mirror, adjusting my dress. The fabric hugged my curves, the heels adding just enough height—but even then, Wyatt still towered over me.

My gaze shifted to the full-length mirror at my side, capturing both of us in frame.

The contrast was stark. His dark, effortless allure. My poised, refined elegance.

We looked…

I blinked and turned away before the thought could form.

Wyatt, however, had already returned to the couch, his expression unreadable once more.

I studied him for a moment, waiting for something—anything—but he refused to meet my eyes.

A strange disappointment settled in my chest.

I shook it off. His opinion shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

I straightened my posture, pushing back the unwelcome thoughts.

Wyatt’s gaze met mine, intense and unreadable. For a fleeting second, I thought he might say something—but he didn’t. Instead, he simply stood up and walked toward the door, his expression unreadable.

If he was usually reserved, tonight he was practically silent.

I knew why.

Last night.

I exhaled slowly, the weight of the unspoken lingering between us. He wouldn’t even look at me properly. I blamed myself for that.

I let him leave first, taking a deep breath before following. I needed to steady myself, preparing for whatever was about to unfold at dinner.

Humiliation was inevitable.

Downstairs, the dining room was already filled with conversation and the soft clinking of glasses. The warm glow of the chandelier cast a golden hue over the elegant table setting. Everyone was here—except for Kuya Daryl, who was still sorting out his papers, and our grandparents, who were in London.

I slid into the seat beside Crescent, greeting everyone with a polite, “Good evening,” before pressing a quick kiss to their cheeks.

Crescent looked effortlessly elegant in a sleek Susana Monaco Hannah dress, her presence magnetic as always. She was poised, graceful—everything our parents expected us to be.

Across from me sat Wyatt, his broad shoulders rigid, his expression blank. Beside him was Zenos, looking effortlessly charming in a crisp white button-up. His fresh haircut only made his sharp features stand out more, a stark contrast to Wyatt’s darker, more brooding aura.

The two of them couldn’t be more different.

Zenos had always been the easygoing one—charismatic, relaxed, his presence as smooth as the laughter that often escaped his lips. Wyatt, on the other hand, carried an air of quiet intensity. He didn’t smile much, didn’t speak unless necessary, but when he did, his words held weight.

I glanced down, only to realize Zenos had also left his top buttons undone, much like his brother. The fabric stretched slightly across his muscular frame.

Seriously? Was this some sort of unspoken dress code between them?

I shook my head, amused at the thought.

Then, suddenly—

A sharp nudge against my foot.

I straightened, glancing around. Zenos was deep in conversation with Crescent, too engaged to have been the culprit. My eyes flickered to Wyatt, but he was staring at his plate, his posture unreadable.

That left only one possibility.

I turned my attention to Demetra, my cousin, who sat just to the right of Wyatt.

She smirked at me, eyes gleaming with mischief.

I raised a brow. “What?”

She gave a nonchalant shrug, feigning innocence.

“What, what?” she echoed.

“You kicked me,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.

Demetra pursed her lips in mock contemplation before laughing under her breath.

I rolled my eyes. Typical.

Deciding to ignore her antics, I turned back toward Zenos—

Another kick.

I inhaled sharply, biting back my irritation.

I shot her a glare, but she was already engaged in conversation with her sister, Dysthe, as if nothing had happened.

This girl.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling slowly.

Dinner hadn’t even started, and I could already tell it was going to be a long night.

It officially began when Uncle Jonathan arrived, his presence signaling the start of yet another evening filled with talk of business, politics, and the ever-looming expectations placed upon us. The adults quickly fell into conversation, their voices a steady hum of corporate strategies and economic forecasts.

Meanwhile, my cousins and I sat quietly, eating in relative silence, only half-listening. We had long learned that interrupting—or worse, disagreeing—wasn’t worth the effort.

I was mid-bite, savoring the rich flavors of my meal, when Aunt Jules’ sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Oceanna."

I closed my eyes for a brief second.

Here we go.

I set my fork down carefully before looking up. Her piercing gaze made me instinctively straighten my posture, as if slouching would somehow make things worse.

"Yes, Aunt?" I asked, my voice even, polite.

Her lips pursed, eyebrows arching as she studied me. "How’s school?"

A simple enough question, but I knew better than to be fooled. This wasn’t casual curiosity. This was an evaluation.

I swallowed, pushing down the small coil of anxiety in my stomach. "I’m doing well, Aunt," I answered.

"Just well?" She let out a sigh, shaking her head slightly. "What about extracurriculars? Do you have any?"

My throat felt dry. "No, Aunt Jules. I’ve been focusing on my studies."

She made a disapproving sound, clicking her tongue. "Your cousins and sister manage to excel in both academics and extracurriculars. Why can’t you?"

I gritted my teeth but forced a smile. "I was actually thinking of joining modeling—"

"Not that, Oceanna!" Her voice snapped across the table, making me jump slightly.

A few heads turned.

I inhaled sharply, my nails digging into my palms beneath the table. Of course, they wouldn’t approve of anything related to media or entertainment. That was never an option in this family.

Aunt Jules sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "Don’t you have any talents beyond that? Something worthwhile?"

I looked down, anxiety creeping up my spine. I hated this—hated how small they made me feel.

"I'm sorry, Aunt," I murmured.

She turned to my father then, as if I weren’t even sitting there. "What’s happening to your daughter, Rich?" Her voice carried disappointment, edged with something sharper—judgment.

I wanted to roll my eyes. It should be, what’s wrong with you all, not what’s wrong with me.

Dad met my gaze briefly before looking back at his sister. "I’ll talk to her about it, Ate," he said, his voice neutral, detached.

Of course.

I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

I didn’t know how many times I had disappointed them, but one thing was clear—they were never going to stand up for me.

"You keep letting us down, Oceanna," Aunt Jules muttered, shaking her head.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

"I'm sorry."

It was the only thing I could say.

But deep down, I knew it didn’t matter. They would never let me be who I wanted to be. Because in this family, their expectations were the only ones that mattered.