Chapter 6
753 Words
Elara's POV
Bago naging "Ice Professor" si Liyro sa buhay ko, ang tanging kinatatakutan ko lang ay ang katapusan ng buwan. Ang mundo ko ay umiikot sa tatlong bagay: ang amoy ng pintura, ang ingay ng makina ng motor ni Julián, at ang pangarap na balang araw, hindi ko na kailangang bilangin ang barya para lang makabili ng isang latang sardinas.
Being an orphan teaches you to treasure the small things. Ang maliit naming bintana sa Cubao na nakaharap sa riles ng tren? Para sa akin, iyon ang pinakamagandang view sa mundo dahil katabi ko si Julián.
"Love, look at this," tawag sa akin ni Julián isang gabi, ilang araw bago ang malagim na "F" sa paper ko.
Inabot niya sa akin ang isang maliit na box. Pagbukas ko, may laman itong isang set ng mamahaling oil paints—the ones I've been eyeing for years but could never afford.
"Juli! Saan mo kinuha ang pera para dito? This costs a fortune!" gulat kong tanong. Alam kong kinakapos kami sa kuryente.
He just smiled, his eyes tired but glowing. "Nag-extra shift ako sa construction site malapit sa studio. Don't worry about the bills, Elara. I want you to have the best. Hindi porke't tinalikuran ko ang yaman ng tatay ko, eh pagkakaitan kita ng quality."
I hugged him so tight, my heart aching. Julián Valerius was a prince who chose to live in the mud just to keep my dreams alive. And then there's Liyro Ferrer—a king who lives in a palace and wants to drag me into his cold, dark world just because he can.
Liyro's POV
I spent the night before the Gala reviewing the guest list. Roberto Valerius. The name itself felt like an old debt. He was a man of tradition, a man who believed that a son who chooses an orphan over an empire is a son who is dead.
I looked at the photos my private investigators sent. Julián working at a dusty construction site. Elara eating a cheap meal at a canteen.
"Pathetic," bulong ko habang hinahawakan ang baso ng whiskey.
They think their sacrifice is romantic. They think their poverty is a badge of honor. To me, it's just inefficiency. I wasn't just obsessed with Elara; I was obsessed with the idea of fixing her. I wanted to strip away the dirt of Cubao and wrap her in the finest fabrics money could buy. I wanted to see if her "love" for Julián could survive the sudden appearance of the man who disowned him.
"Prepare the gold invitations," utos ko sa secretary ko sa telepono.
"And make sure Ms. Santos is assigned as the primary usherette for the VIP table. I want her to see every bit of the world she's missing."
Elara's POV
The dress arrived at my doorstep in a plain black box. No note, just a label: Property of St. Jude Academy – Mandatory Uniform for Student Representatives.
It wasn't a uniform. It was a masterpiece of midnight blue silk that felt like water against my skin. When I put it on, I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. I didn't look like an orphan from Cubao anymore. I looked like... a Ferrer.
"Wow," bulong ni Julián nang makita niya ako. He was wearing his best shirt—isang lumang polo na kupas na ang kulay pero maayos na naplantsa. "You look... like you belong there, Elara. Not here." Narinig ko ang takot sa boses niya.
"Juli, it's just for tonight. Pagkatapos nito, babalik na tayo sa dati," pangako ko sa kanya.
"Sasamahan kita hanggang sa gate," sabi niya, holding my hand so tight it hurt. "I don't trust that Ferrer guy. He looks at you like you're a prize he's about to bid on."
I wish I had listened. I wish we had just stayed in our small, hot apartment and ignored the world. Pero pagdating namin sa gate ng St. Jude, ang dami ng mga mamahaling sasakyan ay sapat na para ipamukha sa amin kung gaano kami kaliit.
And standing at the top of the grand staircase was Liyro. He was wearing a tuxedo that made him look like a god of industry. His eyes found mine instantly, ignoring the thousands of people around us.
"Welcome to the real world, Ms. Santos," he whispered when I reached the top.
Then, the doors of a black limousine opened. Out stepped Roberto Valerius. My heart stopped. I felt Julián stiffen beside me, his hand shaking.
The trap was sprung.
- Writer
