Objection

Chapter Ten

The sun was barely up, staining the windows of her Sampaloc apartment with a sickly yellow hue. Mariella was jolted awake at 8:00 AM by the message. She had been foolishly waiting for some sort of a court order dismissal.

Then she saw the message.

She snatched the phone, her heart feeling less like a gavel and more like a bird trapped in her ribs.

Temu Paul: Well, that was a compelling offer. However, we are doing this on my terms only. To start the process, give me your full address.

Mariella froze.

On my terms only.

The sheer audacity of the phrasing made her jaw drop. The man wasn’t just confident, he was treating her like a goddamn case file. Like she’d filed a motion for lust and he’d just granted jurisdiction.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. “Who does he think he is?” she muttered.

And then, like a slap, Jonas’s face flashed in her head. Jonas, the 5’4” disgrace of a man who once cheated on her with a freshman who still said po to professors. Jonas, who thought she’d never find someone better.

Fine. You want control? Let’s see how much you can handle.

Before she could overthink, she typed quickly.

Ariella: 12 Maria Cristina Street, Sampaloc, Manila. Don’t make me regret this, poser.

Her finger trembled, but she hit send anyway.

Not even thirty seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

Temu Paul: You will receive the instruction in the mail.

Mariella’s jaw dropped.

“In the mail?” she said aloud. “What is this, a 1950s spy operation? Who sends mail in 2021?”

Her pulse kicked into overdrive. The thrill was gone. The panic was immediate.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, throwing her head back against the wall. “I just gave my address to a serial killer with a Wi-Fi plan.”

She clutched her phone like it might explode. “I’m a law student! I’m supposed to prevent crimes, not participate in one!”

Her brain went into full self-defense mode:What if he was tracking her already?What if the “mail” was just code for “body bag”?

And yet… that voice.

That deep, calm voice from the night before crept back into her mind, the one that rolled over her like low thunder. The one that made her forget her own name.

He didn’t sound fake. He didn’t sound like someone pretending to be Paul Razon. He sounded like a man who didn’t need to pretend.

She stood up abruptly. “Nope. No. I’m not dying in SpongeBob pajamas.”

Ten minutes later, freshly showered and still panicking, she grabbed her phone and called Nancy.

“Hello?” came Nancy’s groggy voice.

“Nance, I think I went too deep with Temu Paul.”

Pause. “Mariella, it’s 8:15 in the morning.”

“He texted me again! The fake Paul! He said he’s sending me instructions in the mail!”

Nancy groaned. “Why are you giving your address to random men, you lunatic?”

“Because I was hangover! And also emotionally compromised!”

“Then block him.”

“I can’t!” Mariella snapped. “What if he’s actually five percent as hot as the actual Paul Razon?!”

Nancy sighed. “Girl, that should not be a reason to still entrusting him your full address!”

Mariella flopped back onto her bed, covering her face. “This is karma. I flirted with a voice that sounded like a god and now I’m being punished by divine logistics.”

Nancy chuckled. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Mariella muttered, staring at the phone on her pillow, the name Temu Paul glowing on the screen.

She wasn’t ready for whatever “instruction” meant. Not emotionally, not physically, not legally.

But even as her heart raced, a small, treacherous part of her was curious.

Because deep down, she wasn’t just terrified.She was intrigued.

Whoever Temu Paul really was, poser or not, he had her full attention.