Objection

Chapter Nine

It was close to midnight and Mariella was very much awake, despite her body begging for sleep.

Elliot and Nancy had already gone home, leaving her in the quiet chaos of her Sampaloc shared apartment. The fan hummed lazily, the city outside was muted, and her mind was a mess of caffeine, curiosity, and sheer stupidity.

She tossed and turned, cursing herself. “i***t. You gave your number to a poser. You basically invited a certified cyber-pervert to ruin your life.” She should’ve deactivated her account, that is what a rational person should do but she didn’t and something in her does not seem to want to do it. Still, her phone lay beside her pillow like a ticking bomb. Every few seconds, she glanced at it. Nothing.

And then, it rang.

An unknown number.

Her heart skipped. “No f*****g way,” she muttered, staring at the screen. “He wouldn’t…”

But the phone kept ringing. Against every instinct screaming don’t answer, stupid, she picked up.

“Hello?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then a voice.

Low. Calm. Deep enough to rattle her bones.

“Good evening, Ariella.”

Her breath hitched. The voice was smooth, confident, rich, like espresso and sin.

“W-who’s this?” she stammered, immediately hating herself for sounding like a flustered first-year.

“You know who this is,” the man replied, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve been rather… persistent in your s****l offers.”

Mariella sat up, pulse quickening. His voice didn't sound like a poser. It sounded like someone used to commanding a courtroom. Someone who bought his suits tailored and his whiskey aged.

He continued, “I don’t usually entertain propositions like this, but I suppose I’ll make an exception tonight. Consider this a hearing. I’m giving you the floor to state your case, Counselor Ariella.”

Something sparked in her chest. Even half-asleep, her brain snapped to debate mode.

“Fine,” she said, sitting straighter, her voice sharp with challenge. “Exhibit A: I’m not one of those mindless sorority girls who swoon over a pretty face. I can actually hold a conversation that doesn’t start with ‘Hey’ and end with a blowjob emoji.”

He hummed, approvingly. “Interesting. Exhibit B?”

Mariella smirked. “I have no filters. My pictures are real. What you see is what you get: a real woman who doesn’t pretend to be some innocent church girl. I’m unfettered.”

“Honesty,” he said softly. “A rare commodity.”

Encouraged, she went on. “Exhibit C: I don’t chase people. I move on fast. So the fact that I’m still talking to you, Mr. fake San Beda Legend, should tell you your dull-ass rejection didn’t work.”

Silence stretched for a moment. She could almost hear his restrained laughter through the phone.

“You argue well,” he said finally, his voice lower, quieter. “You don’t sound like a dental student from Fatima.”

Mariella froze, then chuckled nervously. “Caught that, huh?”

“I did. And unless Fatima started producing lawyers, I’d say you’re either a very good liar or a very bad one.”

“Maybe I’m both,” she countered, feeling a thrill run through her.

He laughed, a quiet, deliberate sound that made her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. “You’re clever. That’s a dangerous combination.”

Mariella swallowed. “And you’re way too composed for a Tinder poser. You sound like a man who knows exactly what he wants to do with me.”

“Maybe I’m not a poser,” he said softly. “Maybe I’m exactly who I say I am.”

Her heart skipped. “Get out of here!” There is no way the real Paul Razon will give her the time of the day.

His tone dipped, smooth as velvet. “Oh well, tell you what, if you can provide something to me tonight that will be worth looking, then you will receive the decision before the sun rises tomorrow.”

And before she could even come up with a witty reply, the line went dead.

Mariella sat there, phone still pressed to her ear, her heart pounding like she’d just survived an oral recitation with no notes.

She whispered into the quiet, half-laughing, half-shocked, “What kind of something is he talking about?” She looked down at her pajama, SpongeBob.

“You know what, let me give you something you cannot resist.”

In a sudden surge of half-asleep audacity, she lifted her pajama top and folded it just below her breast, exposing her underboob but not her n*****s. Good thing she wasn’t wearing a bra. She stripped off her SpongeBob bottoms, leaving her in white panties. With her left hand, she slipped her fingers inside her heat. Her heart pounding fast, she framed the shot, underboob showing, her hand slipping inside her panties, but without her face. She sent the picture to the unknown number who called her.

Her heart almost broke as she saw the two blue check lines in the iMessage: her photo was read.

She smiled, and somehow, she almost felt victorious.