CHAPTER 6
2218 Words
FLASHBACK
POV: Alexander Madrigal
Hindi ako mahilig sa babae.
Not in the way people assume.
Sure, I know how to flirt. Alam ko kung paano gumamit ng ngiti, ng tama lang na pressure ng kamay, ng titig na hindi makakalimutan. I’ve had my share of warm bodies and colder goodbyes.
But feelings?
They’re a liability.
Or at least, ‘yun ang paniwala ko… bago dumating si Cassandra Villareal.
Bago ko siya nakita sa dancefloor—basa ng pawis, maluwag ang ngiti, at para bang kaya niyang pasabugin ang buong club sa isang iglap ng balakang niya.
God, that girl danced like freedom had a body.
And from that moment on…
She haunted me.
Every damn night.
Nasa Madrigal Tower kami ni Monique. My younger sister, equally cunning, equally dangerous. She was skimming through her iPad habang ako'y nakasandal sa leather couch ng private lounge, isang glass ng bourbon sa kamay.
"Tell me again why I’m helping you,” aniya, hindi man lang tumingin.
“I need her away from the city,” sagot ko, simple lang.
Monique looked up, eyes sharp. “You mean… you want her where you can watch her.”
Hindi ako sumagot.
“Seriously, Kuya?” she smirked. “She’s the President’s daughter. Hindi ‘to simpleng pagkaka-crush.”
“Hindi ‘to crush.”
“Then what is it?”
Tumahimik ako sandali, pinagmasdan ang whiskey habang umiikot sa baso ko.
“I don’t know.”
And that was the truth. Hindi ko alam.
Bakit siya? Bakit sa dami ng babaeng pwedeng lumakad sa club ko, sa lobby ng hotel ko, sa mga boardrooms na pinupuntahan ko—bakit siya pa?
Hindi siya ang tipo kong babae.
Pero bawat galaw niya… tumatama.
Bawat sulyap, bawat ngiti, bawat inis niya sa akin—parang sirena sa gitna ng giyera.
And I wanted to dive.
“Ano plano mo?” tanong ni Monique, now leaning forward.
“Offer her a residency. Isang design immersion program. No press. No distractions. Just her… and her work.”
“And you,” Monique added, smiling knowingly.
“She doesn’t need to know that part yet.”
Tumawa siya, konti. “You’re dangerous when you’re intrigued.”
“I’m always dangerous,” sagot ko, sabay tungga ng alak. “Intrigue just makes it more interesting.”
Pagkatapos ng meeting namin, ako mismo ang nag-review ng security sa estate sa Batangas. I had the staff prepped. I shut down the west wing. I added new surveillance.
Everything in place.
Para saan?
Para sa isang babaeng ni hindi ko dapat iniisip.
Pero gabi-gabi, naririnig ko ang pangalan niya sa utak ko.
Cassandra.
At kung masama itong ginagawa ko?
Then hell—I’m already burning.
CASSANDRA VILLAREAL POV
Isang linggo na ‘ko sa mansion.
One full week of routine na parang sinadya talagang burahin ang lahat ng naging “Cassie” bago ako pumasok sa gate na ‘to.
Mornings filled with silence.
Afternoons filled with sketching.
Evenings filled with unanswered questions—like what was behind that locked west wing, or why Xan always seemed to know exactly how to get under my skin.
And of course, may bonus pang mental torture—the recurring, uninvited image of him.
Xan.
Dripping wet from the pool that night. Muscles flexing under the moonlight. That damn smirk that made me want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath.
But no.
Not today.
Not anymore.
I wasn’t going to let him mess with my head.
I didn’t fight tooth and nail to escape the suffocating PR hell my parents dumped me in, just to end up drooling over the first emotionally unavailable man with a personal dungeon and a perfectly tailored wardrobe.
So today… I worked.
I locked myself in the sunroom-turned-studio. The walls were glass, the light was golden, and for the first time in weeks—maybe months—I felt like I could breathe.
No bodyguards.
No cameras.
No one asking me to smile like a politician’s daughter.
Just fabric. Pencils. My playlist on full blast.
I let my fingers move. Tumalsik ang mga idea ko sa papel nang walang preno. I stopped thinking. I stopped calculating. I just… created.
By late afternoon, pagod na kamay ko, but the corkboard was full. Three sketches—raw but promising. Silhouettes that hugged and flowed. Sheer layering, sharp detail, soft rebellion. I wasn’t sure if it was good enough, but at least it was me.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
A pause.
Then, of course…
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Xan Madrigal.
Dressed in black—again. Like a villain stepping out of a fever dream. Casual but calculated, from the open collar to the sleeves rolled just enough to show veins that should not be distracting.
I straightened my posture, as if I could shield my sketches with my spine.
He walked in silently, ang mga mata niyang parang X-ray machine, scanning everything before settling on the corkboard.
“Well?” I said, trying to sound bored. Defensive na agad. I hated it.
He didn’t speak.
He stepped closer to the sketches, hands behind his back, posture military-level straight. Parang general sa battlefield ng fabric at emotion.
Then came the words.
Cold. Precise.
“This is safe.”
Parang sampal. Walang warm-up.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He finally looked at me. Walang expression. Walang effort.
“These are clothes for people who don’t want to be seen,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
But I crossed my arms. “Wow. Thanks for the TED Talk.”
“You’re designing like someone who’s afraid to be touched.”
That hit. Hard.
I forced a bitter laugh. “Maybe I just don’t want to design for men like you.”
He took a step forward. Mabagal. Intense.
“This isn’t about me.”
“Then stop making it personal.”
“I’m not,” he said, tone tightening. “I’m making it honest.”
His next words came like a knife.
“You dress like you’ve never felt desire.”
I froze.
Like the word virgin had been carved into the air—without him even needing to say it.
My cheeks burned. My throat clenched.
“What the hell do you know about what I’ve felt?” I hissed.
He didn’t even blink. He just stared—still, controlled, terrifyingly certain.
“I know repression when I see it.”
“Then look in the mirror,” I snapped.
A flicker of something crossed his face. Smirk? Flinch? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.
But it pissed me off even more.
“Touche,” he said softly. Almost like he was impressed.
Then, just like that, he turned and walked to the door.
Paused.
And with his back to me, delivered the final blow.
“When you’re ready to stop hiding behind fabric…”
“…maybe then you’ll start designing something real.”
Click.
The door closed.
Gone.
But his words?
His words stayed.
Like thread wrapping around my ribs. Tightening. Stitching something open I didn’t even know was there.
Tahimik ang buong mansion.
Too quiet.
Yung klase ng katahimikan na hindi nakakapanatag—yung parang may nakatingin sa ’yo kahit alam mong mag-isa ka.
Wala akong phone. Wala ring matinong tulog nitong mga huling gabi. Every night, I toss and turn, hoping pagdilat ko ng mata, nasa ibang lugar na ’ko. Somewhere less confusing. Somewhere he isn’t.
But no such luck.
Kaya ayun, I found myself pacing the hallways again like some lost rich girl ghost. Restless. Agitated. Half-crazed with all the things I refused to admit.
Hanggang sa bumaba ako sa reading room sa ground floor.
I needed something. Kahit ano. A book. A distraction. A reason not to keep replaying that moment in my head—yung gabing iyon sa balcony, when I saw him in the pool. That wicked curve of a smirk, droplets trailing down his chest, the way he caught me looking.
Putangina.
Get a grip, Cassie.
I was standing in front of the bookshelf, fingers trailing along leather-bound spines, when—
CLICK.
Biglang namatay ang ilaw.
Kasunod non, nag-shutdown ang aircon. The hum of electricity vanished. Dead silence. Too dead.
Dinig ko ang sariling hinga, sariling heartbeat, even the faint creak of old wood.
“Great,” I muttered, eyes adjusting to nothing. “Sakto talaga. Perfect timing.”
Napaatras ako, one hand on the wall, trying to feel for a switch. Nothing. My other hand instinctively reached for my pocket—pero, of course, wala akong phone. Wala akong kahit ano.
Still grounded.
Still disconnected.
Still caged in a glass mansion with no escape hatch.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Male. Calm. Confident.
Hindi mabilis. Hindi urgent.
Just... steady.
I straightened. Spine snapping like instinct.
“Cassie?”
I closed my eyes briefly. Damn that voice.
“Xan?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Reading room.”
Seconds later, I heard the soft squeak of the door opening. A sliver of dim hallway light cut across the room before his silhouette blocked it.
Tall. Defined. Controlled. The kind of presence that doesn't just enter a room—it claims it.
“Power’s out,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Figured,” I replied dryly.
Pumasok siya at sinarado ang pinto. The light disappeared. Darkness again.
“You okay?” he asked after a beat.
“Define okay.”
Narinig ko ang faint sound ng leather soles sa kahoy na sahig as he stepped in.
“Generators are delayed,” he said. “Already called maintenance. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Of course you did.”
“You don’t have to sound impressed.”
“I’m not,” I answered, leaning against the shelf. “Just... surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because you strike me as the kind of man who panics when he’s not in control.”
May maikling katahimikan.
Then, a soft chuckle. Mababaw lang, pero mabigat.
“That’s ironic,” he murmured, much closer now. “Coming from you.”
My spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“You pretend to hate control,” he said, voice low. “But I’ve seen the way you breathe when someone finally sets boundaries.”
“I’m not some spoiled brat who needs to be handled,” I snapped.
“No,” he agreed. “But you are someone who’s terrified of being seen.”
I flinched.
Shet.
“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” I said, fists curling. “You don’t know me.”
“I observe,” he said. “Not judge.”
“Well, your ‘observations’ are bullshit.”
He took another step. Closer pa.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
I swallowed hard. “No.”
“Then why won’t you move?”
“I don’t need to.”
He stepped again. The air shifted. His presence thickened.
“Because you know,” he said, “if I step closer... something changes.”
I could feel it—his breath against my cheek, his energy wrapping around me like invisible thread.
My heart pounded like a drumline.
“Xan…” I whispered.
“I felt it,” he murmured. “That night. When you looked at me like you wanted to be kissed. And didn’t.”
My back hit the shelf. No more space. No more escape.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
Silence.
And in that silence, the unspoken stretched between us like a live wire. The kind that hums right before it snaps.
“I hate you,” I whispered shakily.
“I know,” he said, no hint of humor. “You hate that I see you.”
And then—
His hand found mine in the dark.
Not demanding.
Not invasive.
Just... there.
Warm. Steady. Real.
Like an anchor. Or a dare.
“Do you want me to let go?” he asked, voice soft. Patient.
I didn’t speak.
Because how do you answer when your head says run, but your heart whispers stay?
He waited.
And maybe that’s what undid me.
Not the words. Not the closeness.
But the waiting.
He gave me the space I never got anywhere else.
And still…
I pulled my hand back.
Barely. Slowly.
“No,” I said, voice tight. “I can’t.”
He stepped back without hesitation.
Respectfully. Completely.
I exhaled like I’d been underwater.
“I’m not ready,” I admitted, ashamed but honest.
“I know,” he replied, gentler this time.
Then—just like that—the lights flickered back on.
Muli akong nabulag sa liwanag. Blinked several times until his face came into focus.
Xan stood in front of me.
Same posture. Same presence.
But something in his eyes... had shifted.
No more teasing.
Just a quiet intensity. Like he was done playing. Like he’d seen something, and was willing to wait for it.
“I’ll have the staff check your wiring,” he said, all business now. “Good night, Cassie.”
Then he turned.
Walked out.
And left me there—surrounded by books and light and silence that suddenly felt ten times heavier.
Because the truth was—
It wasn’t the darkness that scared me.
It was what I felt inside it.
- Writer
