Objection

Chapter Seven

Mariella was tipsy, single, and about to commit what could only be described as “drunken texting with legal consequences.” Charity put her name as Ariella Ramirez in their attempt at anonymity.

She stared at her phone screen, her thumb hovering over the chat box of the most suspiciously perfect man she’d ever seen on Tinder.

Paul Marcus Razon.

Yeah, right.

She snorted. “Please. Like the real Paul Razon would swipe on mortals.” Her beer buzz made her bold. Screw it. She typed:

Ariella: Nice try, poser. You almost look like the real thing.

She hit send, grinning.

Ten minutes passed. No reply.

She rolled her eyes and kept typing.

Ariella: I mean, I get it. Using Paul Razon’s face probably gets you matches. Smart move. Even fake perfection is still perfection.

She stared at her message, half-laughing. “God, I sound like one of those girls on PBB after two shots.”

Another pause. Still nothing.

She huffed. “Coward.” Then added:

Ariella: You know what? I don’t even care that you’re fake. If you’re even five percent as hot as him, congratulations, you’re already 150 percent hotter than my ex. I will still f**k you.

Still no reply.

She scowled at the screen, finished her beer, and typed again, her fingers flying.

Ariella: Don’t worry. I won’t report you. You’re doing God’s work reminding women like me that hot men still exist, even if only through stolen photos.

Then she smirked and added one more message:

Ariella: So come on, fake Paul. At least say hi. I promise I don’t bite. Much.

She giggled to herself and tossed the phone aside, convinced he’d ghost her like the last time she tried to talk to a human male who wasn't emotionally unavailable or allergic to commitment.

But then, the phone buzzed.

She blinked. Sat up.

Paul: How certain are you that I’m a poser?

Mariella grinned. Oh, this was good. He even talked like a lawyer.

Ariella: Oh, please. Everyone’s heard of the great Paul Marcus Razon. Mister Top of the Class. Mister San Beda Legend. Mister Too-Handsome-to-Swipe-Right. There’s no way he’d be on Tinder.

She smirked.

Paul: That’s a bold conclusion. Do you make assumptions about everyone you match with?

Ariella: Only the ones who look like they could sue me for libel and win.

She cracked herself up. This was fun.

Ariella: Fine, I’ll play. Let’s pretend you are the real Paul Razon. Why would someone like you be here? Don’t you have an army of girls lining up to be your next court case?

Paul: Hypothetically speaking, if I am him, what makes you so sure I’d be interested in someone like you?

Mariella laughed so loudly her roommates in the next room yelled at her to shut up.

Ariella: Because I’m irresistible, obviously. Former Binibining Magdiwang. Once a Reyna Elena. Still untouched. Basically an endangered species.

Paul: Sounds like a rare find. You sound… confident.

Ariella: Confident? I’m exceptional. And if you’re really Paul Razon, which you’re not, you’d be lucky to meet me. If you must know, I have mastered the art of giving head and you will be my very first actual person experience.

There was a pause before the reply came.

Paul: You’re assuming a lot about me. What if I really am who I say I am? And why would you even offer that to me?

Ariella: Oh come on, let us not play games here. But like I said, I will still f**k you regardless. And congrats, you’ve officially matched with the best decision of your life.

Paul: Careful. You sound like you’re offering something you’ll regret in the morning.

Mariella smirked. “He’s got jokes.”

Ariella: Oh, trust me. I don’t regret anything after three beers.

Paul: And yet, you’re still messaging a stranger at midnight.

Ariella: I’m multitasking. Healing and flirting.

She stared at her screen, waiting.

Paul: You’re bold. I’ll give you that. But tell me, why waste your time on someone you think is fake?

Ariella: Because fake or not, you’re interesting. And, honestly? I’m bored. So entertain me, Mr. Razon. Or Mister Whoever-You-Are.

A long pause. Then, finally:

Paul: You should be careful what you wish for.

Mariella grinned, leaning back on her pillow. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Ariella: Don’t worry. I can handle anything.

Paul: Bold words for someone who thought I was a poser ten minutes ago.

Ariella: Still do. But if you’re gonna keep texting like you’re cross-examining me, I might actually start to believe you’re him.

She hit send and laughed at herself. “God, I’m ridiculous.”

Then she added one last message.

Ariella: Also, the offer still stands.

Ariella: No actually, the offer is only for you so you might as well grab it while you can and I promise you, I am clean. I do general check-ups every year, I won’t give you STD. I haven’t even had s*x yet and you my friend will be the lucky first.

Her heart thumped. It was supposed to sound mysterious and sexy, but it came out more like something a drunk tita would say at karaoke.

She didn’t care.

Across the city, in a quiet condo in New Manila, Paul Razon was staring at his phone, reading the messages with an expression halfway between disbelief and amusement.

He typed one slow, deliberate reply.

Paul: You should get some sleep, Ariella. Drunk logic is a dangerous thing.

She smiled at her screen and mumbled, “Of course, but I will get you Temu Version of Paul Razon…” before drifting off to sleep with her phone still in her hand.