Chapter 3
1053 Words
Elara's POV
The red ink felt like a bloodstain on my soul.
I stared at the "F" at the top of my Midterm Case Analysis. My hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled. This wasn't just a low grade; it was a death sentence. To maintain my scholarship at St. Jude Academy, I needed a minimum grade of 1.75 in every major subject. This "F"—this failing mark—was a 5.0.
I felt the air in the room get thinner. Around me, the other MBA students were whispering, comparing their "A's" and "B's." They were the children of CEOs; they could afford a mistake. I couldn't.
"Ms. Santos. I believe you have something to discuss with me," ang malamig na boses ni Professor Ferrer ay bumasag sa katahimikan ng isip ko.
Dahan-dahan akong tumingin sa unahan. He was sitting there, leaning back in his leather chair, looking as calm as a predator who just finished a meal. He wasn't looking at the class; he was looking directly at me. His eyes were hidden behind those expensive glasses, but I could feel the weight of his gaze.
"Class dismissed. Except for Ms. Santos," dagdag niya.
Isa-isang lumabas ang mga kaklase ko. I felt their pitying looks, and even worse, their hidden satisfaction. Noong huling estudyante ang lumabas at sumara ang pinto, ang tunog ng lock ay parang hatol ng bitayan.
"Professor..." ang boses ko ay nanginginig. "Hindi ko maintindihan. I followed the rubric. I analyzed the market trends of the gallery industry. I used the data from—"
"You used your heart, Ms. Santos. Not your head," putol niya sa akin habang tumatayo siya at dahan-dahang lumalapit sa desk ko.
Elara's POV
He was too close. The scent of his cologne—something that smelled like sandalwood and cold rain—filled my senses, making it hard to think. He reached out and tapped the "F" on my paper with a long, manicured finger.
"Your analysis was poetic, Elara. It was beautiful. But it was commercially unviable. In the real world, beauty doesn't pay the bills. Strategy does. You failed because you refused to see the world as it is—cruel, calculated, and unforgiving."
"But the data was correct!" I argued, my tears finally starting to blur my vision. "I spent weeks on this! Professor, please... my scholarship depends on this grade. If I fail this subject, I'm out. I'll lose everything."
He didn't flinch. In fact, he looked almost... pleased? He walked toward the window, looking out at the campus.
"Everything is a transaction, Elara. You want a passing grade? You want to keep your scholarship?" Lumingon siya sa akin, and for the first time, the "Ice Professor" had a look in his eyes that I couldn't categorize. It was dark. It was possessive.
"I can give you a chance to redo the project. A private consultation. Every night this week, 7:00 PM, in my office. We will rebuild your logic from the ground up."
"7:00 PM?" I gasped. "Pero... may trabaho ako sa gallery. At sundo ako ni Julián—"
"Then make a choice," he snapped, his voice turning into steel. "Choose your boyfriend and your little gallery job, and pack your bags by Friday. Or choose your future. The choice is yours, Ms. Santos. But remember... I am the only one who can sign that grade sheet."
Elara's POV
I felt like I was being choked. He knew. He knew about my job. He probably knew about Julián. He was backed me into a corner, and he was doing it with a smile that never reached his eyes.
I walked out of that room feeling like a ghost. I found Julián waiting for me at the gate, his motorcycle idling, his face bright with a smile that usually made everything better. But today, his smile felt like a reminder of everything I was about to lose.
"Hey, Love! What's with the face? Gutom lang 'yan, tara, fishball tayo sa Cubao!" sabi ni Julián habang inaabot ang helmet.
I hugged him, but I couldn't stop crying. "Juli... bumagsak ako. Sa subject ni Prof. Ferrer."
Napatigil si Julián. "Ano? Paanong mangyayari 'yun? Ang galing mo kaya! Baka naman mainit lang ang ulo ng 'Ice King' na 'yun?"
"Kailangan ko siyang i-meet gabi-gabi para sa remedial," bulong ko. "Juli, hindi ako makakasama sa'yo ngayong linggo. Kailangan kong gawin ito. Kung hindi, kukunin nila ang scholarship ko."
Nakita ko ang lungkot at pag-aalinlangan sa mga mata ni Julián. "Gabi-gabi? Sa office niya? Elara, parang... parang mali yata 'yun."
"Wala akong choice, Juli! Please, intindihin mo ako," sigaw ko, the stress finally breaking me.
Hindi siya nakapagsalita. He just nodded, but the spark in his eyes was gone. Pag-angkas ko sa motor, naramdaman ko ang distansya sa pagitan namin kahit magkadikit ang mga katawan namin.
Elara's POV
That night, in my small, cramped apartment, I looked at the "F" again. I realized then that Professor Ferrer wasn't just grading my paper. He was grading my life. He was showing me that no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I loved Julián, my entire existence could be erased by a single stroke of his pen.
I didn't know that miles away, in the White Mansion, Liyro was sitting in his dark study, a glass of expensive whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other.
He was writing again. But this time, the ink was different. It wasn't just erotic; it was triumphant.
"The bird is finally in the cage. She thinks the 'F' is her failure, but it is my masterpiece. I watched her eyes shatter, and in that moment, she was more beautiful than any painting. She will come to me. She will sit in my office, smelling of desperation and charcoal, and I will be the one to pick up the pieces of her broken dreams. I will teach her that Julián's love is a poverty she can no longer afford. I am the architect, and tonight, I just broke the first brick of her resistance..."
I am Elara Santos, an artist who wanted to learn about the market.
I am Liyro Dave Ferrer, a billionaire who is about to show her that in his market, the only currency that matters is her surrender.
- Writer
