CHAPTER 11: UNRAVELING THE LIE
1125 Words
With Miguel’s unwavering support, Freya Delos Santos embarked on a perilous quest for the truth. The weight of uncertainty bore down on her shoulders, but she refused to be deterred. Her father’s death had left too many unanswered questions, and now, those questions demanded resolution.
They began their search meticulously, seeking out former employees of Gustavo Delos Santos. Some had served the estate for years, their lives intertwined with the legacy of the family. Others had vanished without a trace, their departures shadowed by unspoken fears. Every visit, every hushed conversation, was a step deeper into the labyrinth of deception that surrounded her father’s past.
Each person they questioned carried a different piece of the puzzle. Some recalled Gustavo as a man of influence, respected and feared in equal measure. Others hesitated before speaking, their eyes darting nervously, as if the very mention of his name would summon ghosts from the past. But among them, there was a common thread—an unease that lingered in their words, a reluctance that hinted at secrets too dangerous to expose.
Then, on a quiet evening, just as she was beginning to feel the weight of exhaustion, Freya’s phone rang. The shrill sound cut through the silence of her dimly lit bedroom, sending a chill down her spine.
She reached for the device, her fingers trembling as she swiped to answer.
"Hello?"
For a moment, there was nothing but static. Then, a voice—weak, hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"Freya…"
Her breath caught in her throat. The voice was familiar, yet fraught with a weariness that made her chest tighten.
"Tito Cerio?!" she gasped, sitting upright in bed. "Kayo po ba ‘yan?"
Cerio Suarez. Her father’s most trusted confidant. A man who had stood beside Gustavo through decades of business, family, and power struggles. A man who, until now, had remained silent.
"Freya… kailangan kitang makausap… may sasabihin ako tungkol kay Lysandra… at sa… sa iyong ama…"
The mention of Lysandra’s name sent a fresh wave of unease through her. What did Cerio know?
"Tito, nasaan po kayo?" she asked urgently, her heart pounding.
A muffled breath. A pause.
Then—
Silence.
The call ended abruptly.
"Hello? Tito?!"
No response.
A knot of dread twisted in her stomach. Something was wrong.
Without hesitation, Freya threw back the covers, grabbed her bag, and rushed to the door. Her mind raced with possibilities—was Cerio in danger? Had someone intercepted their call? Had he been silenced before he could reveal the truth?
The cold night air bit at her skin as she stepped outside. The sky was an expanse of darkness, the streets eerily quiet. A thick fog clung to the ground, curling around the dimly lit street lamps, casting elongated shadows that stretched into the unknown.
She climbed into her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The engine roared to life, but her mind was elsewhere.
Where could Cerio be?
His voice had sounded strained—pained, even. He had been desperate to reach her, but why now? Why after all this time?
Pressing her foot to the gas pedal, she sped through the winding roads that led away from La Finca. The towering walls of her family estate disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the night. The further she drove, the more her pulse quickened.
Cerio knew something. Something about her father. Something about Lysandra.
And if history had taught her anything, it was that knowledge in their world was as dangerous as a loaded g*n.
She checked her phone again, hoping for a follow-up message. Nothing. The unanswered questions clawed at her thoughts, but she forced herself to stay focused. She needed to find him—before someone else did.
As she navigated through the city streets, memories of her childhood with Cerio flooded her mind. He had always been there—her father’s right hand, a constant presence at every gathering, every decision, every crisis. She had trusted him, even admired him.
But now, trust was a fragile thing.
As she turned onto a quieter road, the uneasy feeling in her chest deepened. Something about this night felt different. The silence was too heavy, the darkness too suffocating. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Then, in the distance, she saw it.
A lone car parked at the edge of an abandoned lot. Its headlights flickered weakly, casting faint pools of light onto the cracked pavement.
Freya’s heart pounded as she pulled up beside it, her fingers tightening around the door handle.
The windows of the vehicle were fogged, the engine still warm. Someone had been here recently.
Stepping out of her car, she approached cautiously, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. "Tito Cerio?" she called softly.
No response.
With a deep breath, she reached for the door handle—and froze.
A drop of something dark stained the pavement. A chilling realization swept over her.
Blood.
Her breath caught in her throat as her pulse roared in her ears. The implications were immediate, terrifying.
She forced herself to move, to open the door, to face whatever truth lay beyond.
And there, slumped in the driver’s seat, was Cerio Suarez.
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her gasp. "Freya…?" His voice was barely audible, his body weak.
"Tito! Anong nangyari?!" she cried, panic gripping her.
Cerio coughed, pain evident in every strained breath. "Wala nang oras… kailangan mong malaman… hindi mo sila dapat pagkatiwalaan…"
Freya swallowed hard, fear twisting inside her. "Sino? Ano ang ibig niyong sabihin?"
He tried to speak again, but his strength was fading. His hand trembled as he reached for hers, his grip surprisingly firm despite his condition.
"Lysandra… he is-…" He coughed violently, his words lost in the rasp of his breath.
Freya leaned closer, desperation clawing at her chest. "Siya ang ano, Tito?!"
But before he could finish, a sharp sound pierced the night.
Tires screeched in the distance. Headlights flared, illuminating the dark road ahead.
Someone was coming.
Panic surged through Freya. She needed to get Cerio to safety—now.
Without a second thought, she reached for him, trying to help him out of the car. But he was too weak, his body unresponsive.
The approaching vehicle grew closer.
Her pulse raced.
Whoever was behind those lights, they weren’t coming to help.
She had to make a choice.
Stay—and risk being caught in the web of whatever forces sought to silence Cerio.
Or run—live to uncover the truth another day.
Her fingers trembled as she made her decision.
And in that moment, as the car sped toward her, she knew—
The real danger had only just begun.
- Writer
