Chapter 2: The Stranger I Married
1240 Words
The tick of the antique grandfather clock echoed faintly inside the grand marble-lined hallway of the Dela Vega-Almonte residence.
It was already past 8 PM. The air outside was thick with Manila heat, but inside the estate, the coldness wasn’t from the central air conditioning—it radiated from the silence between two people bound by a contract, not affection.
Alessandra Dela Vega-Almonte stood in front of her vanity mirror inside her separate wing of the mansion. Her fingers expertly clasped a Cartier necklace around her neck, the diamonds glinting like ice.
She was every inch the heiress she had been raised to be—composed, elegant, untouchable. But her eyes, always sharp and observant, dulled slightly every time she looked at the reflection staring back at her.
It was their wedding anniversary. The second one. Two years of being married to a man she barely spoke to. A man who didn't even share a room with her.
A man she didn’t choose.
Lorenzo Almonte.
Even his name irritated her sometimes. Too perfect. Too proper. Too unreadable.
They were husband and wife only on paper. Their so-called dinners during wedding monthsaries or anniversaries were more like corporate meetings—polite, cold, and devoid of emotion.
Except tonight, there was something... different.
"Ma'am Alessandra," Mira softly knocked and peeked in. “Mr. Lorenzo is already at the table.”
Alessandra sighed and reached for her clutch. “Thanks, Mira. Give me a minute.”
As she walked toward the grand dining room, her heels clicked against the marble tiles like the ticking of a time bomb. Everything in this house echoed—the silence, the memories, and the unsaid things between them.
When she entered the room, Lorenzo stood to his feet like a proper gentleman.
Always the gentleman.
He wore a crisp navy-blue button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms. His watch—a vintage Rolex—glimmered beneath the chandelier.
Alessandra didn’t say a word. She merely raised a brow and took her seat.
Lorenzo cleared his throat and nodded toward the butler. "You may serve the wine."
Wine. Again. Same wine every year.
“It’s Chateau Lafite. 1996. Your favorite,” he said.
She offered a tight-lipped smile. “Impressive memory.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “I never forgot what your brother used to talk about. He always said you loved this wine.”
There it was again. That name.
Gabriel.
A flicker of pain flashed in her eyes, too quick for anyone to catch—but Lorenzo noticed.
He always did.
They ate in silence for several moments. The clinking of silverware was the only sound filling the space between them.
“Still shopping every weekend?” Lorenzo finally asked.
She didn’t look up from her plate. “Still working yourself to death?”
He chuckled lowly. “Touché.”
Another long pause.
“You could at least pretend to enjoy these dinners,” Alessandra said, setting down her fork.
“I could say the same thing about you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one who turns our marriage into a business deal.”
“No,” he said, voice dipping into something softer. “That was your grandmother.”
Alessandra's jaw tightened. “Leave Doña Isabela out of this.”
Lorenzo leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “I’m not blaming her. I’m just saying... this wasn’t your idea. Or mine.”
They locked eyes. For a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them.
A shared burden. A shared prison.
Then, Alessandra stood. “I’m done.”
“It’s our anniversary.”
“And? You want a cake and candles?”
His brows rose. “Not even a civil conversation?”
“You want civil? Hire a PR agent.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Lorenzo sitting there, watching her retreat.
---
Later that night, Lorenzo stood at the window of his office with a glass of whiskey in hand. The lights of the city flickered like fading memories.
He thought about her—Alessandra.
He remembered the way she used to laugh when Gabriel cracked jokes during their study sessions. The way she always carried that old sketchpad around like it was treasure.
He remembered the way her face shattered when she found out about the accident. How her knees buckled. How he caught her before she hit the floor.
He kept that memory buried for so long, but tonight, it clawed its way out.
He wasn’t supposed to care.
But damn it, he did.
---
The next day, Alessandra met her friends Samantha Velasco and Isabelle Ramírez at a luxury boutique in BGC.
“So... anniversary dinner?” Isabelle asked as they browsed through racks of silk dresses.
Alessandra sighed. “Don’t even start.”
“Was it that bad?” Sam raised a brow.
Alessandra gave them a flat look. “Same wine. Same silence. Same fake small talk.”
Isabelle pouted. “At least he’s hot.”
Samantha added, “And loyal. Or have you found another woman’s earring under his pillow?”
“Ew,” Alessandra said, wrinkling her nose. “No. He’s just... distant. Like living with a well-dressed robot.”
“But a rich robot,” Isabelle teased.
Alessandra shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. This marriage has an expiration date.”
“Still planning to file?” Samantha asked, voice soft now.
Alessandra didn’t answer. She glanced out the glass window, watching people walk by.
Her heart was numb. She didn’t even know how to feel about divorce anymore. Would it be freedom? Or another kind of grief?
---
Meanwhile, in his own office at Veridian Capital Holdings, Lorenzo reviewed a suspicious transaction involving Adrian’s business dealings.
He didn’t like what he saw.
"Luis," he called his assistant over. “Find out what Adrian’s hiding. I want full details before the end of the week.”
Luis nodded. “Got it, boss.”
Lorenzo leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Between his crumbling family ties and a wife who hated him, things were getting messier than expected.
He glanced at a framed photo on his shelf—an old snapshot of him, Gabriel, and Damien on graduation day. Gabriel’s arm was around his shoulders.
"Don’t ever let anyone hurt her," Gabriel had said that night.
And I won’t, Gab. Even if she never knows.
---
That evening, Alessandra was sketching quietly on the balcony when a soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Mira peeked in. “Ma’am? There’s someone asking for you. Dr. Nathaniel Ramírez.”
Alessandra blinked. “Here?”
“Yes, Ma’am. He said it was urgent.”
Alessandra rose and headed downstairs, confused. Why would Nathan visit at this hour?
When she reached the living room, she found him holding a small wrapped box.
“Aless,” Nathan greeted warmly. “Sorry for dropping by. I just... I passed by your favorite bakery earlier and remembered it’s your anniversary.”
She blinked. “You remembered?”
He shrugged. “Kind of hard to forget, even if you pretend not to care.”
She softened. “Thanks.”
As they sat and talked, Lorenzo descended the stairs quietly. He stopped midway when he heard laughter—her laughter.
Something in his chest tightened.
He turned around and went back to his study without saying a word.
- Writer
