First Temptation: The Billionaire's Game

CHAPTER 2

The party begins. Cassie breaks free.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Bass like thunder in my chest.

Every pulse of sound shook the floor beneath my heels, like the whole world was vibrating in rhythm with my heartbeat. The kind of rhythm that made you forget curfews and rules. The kind that made you feel... alive.

Strobe lights exploded across the dark like lightning—blinding, seductive. Bodies moved like smoke and shadow. Skin glistened under neon. Laughter, moans, music—everything blurred into one chaotic, intoxicating high.

Midnight Club.

Hindi lang ‘to basta club. Ito ang lugar kung saan nagkakandado ang mga sikreto at nabubura ang pagkakakilanlan. Where politicians sent their sons to sin, and heiresses came to feel something.

And me?

I was in the eye of the storm.

“Cassie!” sigaw ni Trixie, cheeks flushed, glitter on her collarbone, habang isinisilid sa kamay ko ang isang shot glass filled with something dangerously red. “Live a little! O kung gusto mo—crash and burn.”

I stared at the glass, ang amoy pa lang, parang apoy na.

So I lifted it.

To rebellion.

To release.

To ruin.

Tossed.

The heat hit my throat like liquid flame, trailing down to my stomach, waking every nerve I’d spent years numbing.

And suddenly, I could breathe.

“Let’s go!” Trixie laughed, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the crowd—past the sons of senators, fashion it-girls, and boys with cameras pretending not to film us.

The crowd swallowed us like a wave.

And I didn’t fight it.

I surrendered.

I let my body move to the music—wild, uncontrolled. My hips rolled to the beat, my hands tangled in my hair, my eyes closed, lips parted.

I was dancing like the rules never existed.

Like the world didn’t know my name.

Like I hadn’t been born inside a golden cage.

The floor beneath us shook with bass. The scent of sweat and perfume clung to the air—nangangamoy adrenaline at kasalanan. Hands brushed mine. Shoulders bumped. Laughter rang like bells made of chaos.

And I danced harder.

Bumalikwas ang buhok ko, kumapit ang silk top ko sa katawan ko, and for the first time in months, I didn’t give a damn what I looked like.

I felt hot. Dangerous. Untouchable.

“Cassie, girl, I think I just saw a senator’s kid pass out,” Trixie shouted in my ear, laughing so hard she spilled her drink. “And you’re still the wildest thing in here.”

I grinned. “Good. Let them watch.”

Because I wanted them to see.

Not the politician’s daughter. Not the curated princess.

Just Cassie.

The one who wasn’t sorry.

The one who didn’t want to be saved.

Someone slid behind me—hands bold on my waist.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t look.

I didn’t care.

The touch was warm. Too familiar. Too greedy.

But it didn’t matter.

Because tonight, I wasn’t under a spotlight.

I was inside the fire.

I moved against him for a second, letting the fantasy pretend I belonged to no one. That I owed nothing.

But then I turned—twisted away with a laugh, hair whipping, shot glass slipping from my fingers.

And I laughed.

God, I laughed.

The kind of laugh that bubbles from your gut and breaks the chains around your ribs.

No cameras.

No press.

No politicians in tailored suits waiting to control my next breath.

Just me—alive, burning, beautiful.

And for that brief, shining moment…

I forgot who I was.

Not because I didn’t matter.

But because this was who I truly was.

Not the smile behind a podium.

Not the dress in a political brochure.

Not the obedient daughter of the man who owned the country.

But the girl who chose chaos.

And for once?

It felt like freedom.

VIP Balcony – Midnight Club

“I thought you said this place was under control.”

Xan Madrigal’s voice cut through the pounding music—low, steady, and laced with the kind of authority that didn’t need to be raised to be felt. His presence was always like that—sharp, commanding, lethal in silence.

The club manager beside him stiffened. Nervous sweat glistened at the edge of his brow despite the icy air from the VIP lounge’s concealed vents.

“Y-Yes, sir, Mr. Madrigal. Everything’s secured. No press. No leaks. IDs verified at all three points—scanner, list, and face match. We’ve got privacy settings up. No social uploads from the floor allowed.”

Xan didn’t look at him.

He didn’t need excuses.

He wasn’t here because of the press.

He wasn’t here for business meetings or schmoozing with foreign investors or keeping tabs on city officials sipping thousand-peso liquor on his dime.

He was here because something pulled him.

Something unexplainable. Uneasy.

Instinct.

And then—there she was.

Down below, in the middle of the chaos, sa gitna ng pawis, ilaw, at musika—she moved.

Like wildfire.

Like sin dressed in silk.

Her gold halter top clung to her body like second skin, catching light in all the wrong—or right—places. Her hair whipped like a weapon with every sway of her hips. Her eyes were half-closed, lips parted, skin glowing with sweat and recklessness.

Cassie Villareal.

The daughter of the man who ruled the country.

The face of every gala, magazine, and state dinner for the past three years.

The girl with a reputation for poise, control, and carefully curated elegance.

But this—this wasn’t poise.

This was danger.

This was her unleashed.

Xan’s jaw tensed as he leaned on the balcony railing, his whiskey forgotten in one hand, the other slipping into his pocket in a poor attempt to ground himself.

Down below, Cassie danced like she didn’t care if the world ended.

Like it already had.

And she was celebrating its funeral.

The crowd bent around her without even realizing it—like gravity shifted wherever she moved. Men turned. Girls stared. Even the music seemed to hum in sync with her hips.

She didn’t see it.

Didn’t know it.

But Xan did.

He’d seen women. Hundreds. Models. Heiresses. Actresses who would slit throats just to spend an hour in his penthouse.

But none of them danced like her.

None of them had fire under their skin and steel in their spine—hidden beneath rebellion disguised as gold and lipstick.

None of them were Cassie Villareal.

Then a guy moved behind her.

Young. Cocky. Handsy.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Xan’s body stilled.

Every muscle in him coiled with quiet rage.

He wasn’t usually the jealous type. He didn’t do possessive.

But the moment that stranger’s hand landed on her waist, Xan felt something uncoil inside him. Something ancient. Primal.

Dangerous.

But then—she turned.

Twisting away in one smooth, fluid motion. Laughing.

Hair flying. Eyes glinting. Free.

The guy was left dazed behind her while she vanished deeper into the crowd, like a goddess who didn’t even need to smite her enemies—she just ignored them.

Xan exhaled, slow and long. He took a sip of his drink, but it didn’t cool the heat building in his chest.

“Of all the girls in all the cities…” he muttered, barely audible over the music. “…bakit siya pa?”

Because she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Because women like her—powerful, protected, political—don’t just walk into clubs like Midnight. They don’t dance like nobody’s watching. They don’t wear sin on their skin and smile like they’re challenging fate.

And yet… there she was.

In his club.

In his world.

Completely unguarded.

And completely unaware that the man watching her was the king of this underworld.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

Something about her tonight wasn’t just reckless—it was personal. Like she came here to burn something down. Or maybe... to set herself on fire.

And maybe, just maybe—

he wanted to burn with her.

But first?

He had to get closer.

Because the girl down there?

She wasn’t just trouble.

She was temptation wrapped in rebellion.

And Xan Madrigal never walked away from a challenge.

Especially not one that looked like her.

POV: Cassie Villareal

I was breathless.

Sweat clung to my skin like a second layer, hot and sticky beneath the club’s pulsing lights. Strands of hair were plastered to my neck, my lips parted, lungs aching for air—but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to remember who I was.

For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like a puppet.

Didn’t feel like the First Daughter.

Didn’t feel like a pretty little political doll wrapped in silk lies and press releases.

No. Right now?

I felt like me.

Unapologetically wild. Recklessly alive.

“You’re fire, girl,” a deep voice murmured behind me—too close, too sure of himself.

I turned around, half-drunk on tequila, half-high on adrenaline and rebellion. The man behind me was tall, broad, cocky. Expensive shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off his gym membership. He looked like the type who thought he was entitled to anything he wanted—including women who said no.

He smirked. “Dance with me.”

I gave him a polite shrug. “I’m good, thanks.”

But he didn’t back off.

He stepped closer—invading my space like he owned it. His hand slid around my wrist, bold and firm, like my body was just another part of his night.

“I said I’m good,” I repeated, this time louder, firmer. My smile gone.

He just laughed.

The kind of laugh that reeked of entitlement and whiskey.

“I’ve seen you all night,” he said, like it was some kind of privilege. “Don’t act like you’re not here to be touched.”

Tangina mo.

My heart pounded for a new reason now—not because of the music, but because of rage. Fear. Helplessness I refused to show.

I yanked my wrist back, but his grip tightened. “Let go,” I snapped, my voice sharp as glass.

“No need to play hard to get, baby,” he whispered, leaning in like he owned the world and I was just part of his scenery.

And then—

Boom.

A flash of black. A blur of motion so fast it sliced through the moment like a blade through silk.

Before I could even register what was happening, the guy’s wrist was twisted painfully behind his back, his entire body slammed against one of the massive steel columns of the club.

The pressure in the air changed.

Like a storm had walked in.

A deep, calm, lethal voice filled the air.

“Touch her again,” the voice said, low and precise, “and I’ll break your f*****g wrist.”

The guy grunted, struggling. “Who the hell are you?”

The answer came like a warning and a curse rolled into one.

“Someone who owns this place.”

That voice. That presence.

That was the first time I heard Xan Madrigal speak up close.

And it shook me.

He wasn’t yelling. He didn’t need to. His words were clipped, cold, and lethal in a way that made the music fade, the crowd hush, and the moment crackle with something dangerous.

The guy muttered curses, tried to act tough—but his face paled as soon as Xan let him go. He clutched his wrist, backed off like a kicked dog, and disappeared into the crowd.

Good riddance.

And then Xan turned to me.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Black shirt. Open collar. The softest lighting catching on the edge of his cheekbone. He looked like he belonged in a crime thriller—the kind of man who ruined women without even meaning to.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low, unreadable.

My mouth opened. Closed. Nagsalita lang ang utak ko kahit lutang ako.

“Y-Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. Just—he was a dick.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

I almost snorted. “Newsflash: I’m not alone.”

His brow lifted. Cool. Disbelieving.

“Your friend is passed out near the bar,” he said bluntly. “With vomit on her heels.”

Crap.

Of course she was.

My shoulders tensed. Suddenly, I felt very seen.

He looked me up and down—not in a pervy way, but in that laser-focused, calculated way. Like he was reading a file in his head.

“Come with me,” he said, already turning.

“What? No. I—”

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t ask again.

He just walked away. Not arrogant. Not aggressive.

Certain.

And me?

I stood there like an idiot for two seconds, heart hammering, lungs tight. His energy pulled at me like gravity. Like a black hole.

Like fate.

My body moved before my mind could argue.

And I followed him.

Through the crowd. Past the dancers. Past the chaos.

Into the dark.

Into him.

Minutes Later – Basement VIP Exit, Midnight Club

“I can call my driver,” I said, trying to take control of the situation kahit obvious na I’d already lost it.

“I’m not putting you in a stranger’s car, lasing at madaling i-Google ang mukha,” he said flatly, opening the backseat door of a black SUV.

“Wow. Bossy.”

He smirked. “Only when I need to be.”

God, stop smirking like that.

I sighed, frustrated and flustered, but I still got in.

Because something told me... if there was anyone who could understand how it feels to drown in expectations, it was him.

Inside the SUV – 12:03 AM

Tahimik.

Sobrang tahimik. Maliban sa jazz music sa background at soft hum ng aircon.

He was seated beside me, legs wide, one arm resting casually sa gilid ng car. Calm, composed. Pero the tension between us? Loud as hell.

“So,” I started, voice dry, “you just patrol nightclubs you own for damsels in distress?”

He turned his head slightly, eyes on mine. “I don’t do rescues.”

“Then what was that back there?”

“Instinct.”

I raised a brow. “You have protective instincts for girls you just met?”

“You’re not just any girl,” he said simply. “You’re the President’s daughter.”

I scoffed. “So, what? You’re being a gentleman for the sake of politics?”

“No,” he said, eyes dark. “I’m not being a gentleman at all.”

My breath caught.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. No words. Just heat.

And then I turned to the window, biting the inside of my cheek.

“I’m so tired of this,” I muttered.

“This?”

“This life,” I said. “Laging naka-ayos. Laging naka-ngiti. Everything calculated. Everything watched. Hindi ako makasayaw, hindi ako makalabas, hindi ako makahinga—dahil sa pangalan ko.”

I didn’t expect to say that. But it poured out. Like pressure finally popping.

He was silent for a beat.

Then—“You think I’m free?”

I looked at him. He was staring ahead now, jaw tight.

“People think because I have money, power, and control, I’m untouchable. But every room I walk into, I have enemies. Investors waiting for me to fall. Women who fake affection. Men who fake respect.”

“So you're saying we're the same?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he said. “I’m saying I see you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

He turned his head, his eyes locking with mine again.

“And I don’t like seeing you caged.”

Something about the way he said it—low, firm, honest—made my heart skip. Hindi ito pa-cute. Hindi ito pick-up line.

It was truth. Real. Raw. Rare.

And terrifying.

“Why do you care?” I asked.

“I don’t,” he said without hesitation. “But I can’t seem to look away.”

The SUV slowed down.

We were at the side gate of Malacañang. The one no press ever sees.

I reached for the door.

I stepped out of the car without another word.

But as I walked back toward the palace I supposedly ruled…

I realized something.

For the first time, someone saw through the glass.

And that someone?

Might just be my biggest risk yet.

POV: Xan Madrigal

THUD.

Nagsara ang pinto ng SUV with a soft but final sound, parang selyo sa isang gabing dapat hindi nangyari—pero nangyari pa rin.

Tahimik. Wala ni isang salita mula sa driver. Wala ring musika. Tanging presensya niya ang naiwan, nakabitin pa rin sa loob ng sasakyan. Kasabay ng musky perfume niyang may halong vanilla, citrus, at lihim na panganib.

I exhaled slowly.

Cassie Villareal.

The President’s daughter. The country’s golden girl. A political icon in the making.

But tonight?

She was a storm wrapped in silk. A spark dancing on the edge of gasoline. The kind of woman that men build empires for—then burn them to the ground with a smile.

She laughed like she didn’t owe the world anything.

She moved like every rule was meant to be broken.

She looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of the shadows I carry.

And that… that shouldn’t be possible.

I was about to signal the driver to pull away when something caught the corner of my eye.

A glint of silver on black leather.

I turned my head—and there it was.

A delicate silver bracelet, barely the size of my palm, resting quietly on the seat beside me. Halos hindi ko napansin sa dami ng thoughts na kasabay niyang iniwan. Pero naroon ito—parang lihim na gusto talagang maiwan.

Simple. Understated. Not the kind of expensive jewelry politicians' daughters usually wear. Walang diamonds. Walang yabang.

Just… her.

I picked it up slowly, letting the cool metal settle against my skin.

May maliit na engraving sa loob—barely visible unless hinawakan mo sa tamang anggulo.

"Designed by C.A.V."

My fingers froze.

Cassie Alexandra Villareal.

She designs her own jewelry.

Of course she does.

Because why wouldn’t she?

Because a girl like her—rebellious, beautiful, brilliant—would never be content being just a display piece. She wants to create. To leave a mark. Even in the smallest ways. Even in a world that wants to shrink her into silence and obedience.

I turned the bracelet over between my fingers, again and again, like it could tell me more about her. About what she dreams of when she’s not locked in her father’s palace. About what she’s running from. About what she wants to feel when no one’s watching.

She didn’t even notice she dropped it.

But I did.

And now?

It’s with me.

I could return it tonight. I should. I’m not the kind of man who keeps pieces of women like stolen things.

But this?

This isn’t just a bracelet.

This is a trace of her. A fingerprint. A soft rebellion in metal and soul.

I clenched my jaw, eyes still locked on the bracelet.

She’s trouble.

Too young. Too bold. Too connected. Too damn tempting.

And still...

I slipped the bracelet into the inner pocket of my jacket, fingers lingering on it for a moment longer than I should have.

I’ll return it.

Eventually.

When the time is right.

When I can look her in the eye without thinking about the way she danced, wild and untamed, like the world couldn’t touch her.

But not tonight.

Not yet.

Because tonight… I need this one, quiet piece of her to stay with me.

To remind me that beneath the politics, beneath the press and power—

There’s a girl made of fire.

And I’ve already started burning.