Chapter 3: The Price of Survival
2030 Words
Saoirse adjusted the strap of her worn-out shoulder bag as she approached the address printed on the glossy business card Amara Infante had handed her. The building, a towering structure of glass and steel, loomed over her like a monument to everything she’d never had. Her stomach twisted with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“What am I even doing here?” she muttered under her breath, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag.
The elevator ride to the twelfth floor felt like an eternity. She smoothed down the fabric of her borrowed blazer, a hand-me-down from one of her co-workers, and mentally rehearsed how she would turn Amara down if this was some sort of sc@m. This doesn’t feel right, she thought, but the nagging curiosity about what this could mean for her future kept her moving forward.
When the elevator doors opened, Saoirse was greeted by the sight of a minimalist yet luxurious office lobby. Soft beige tones, sleek black furniture, and abstract paintings adorned the space. She felt a sudden rush of discomfort. This world—clean, polished, untouchable—felt like it was a world she didn’t belong to.
She was still surveying the space when a poised receptionist greeted her with a professional smile. “Miss Alba, correct?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes,” Saoirse replied, trying to steady her breath.
“Miss Infante is expecting you. This way, please.”
The receptionist led her to a glass-walled conference room where Amara sat, dressed impeccably in a tailored navy dress. She rose to her feet and extended her hand as Soarse entered.
“Miss Alba, thank you for coming,” Amara said warmly, her voice calm and reassuring.
Saoirse shook her hand hesitantly, trying not to let her nerves show. “I’m still not sure why I’m here, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Amara,” she said, gesturing for Saoirse to sit. The chair was plush, luxurious, but Saoirse felt out of place in it, the soft leather almost suffocating with its comfort.
As Saoirse settled into the chair, Amara handed her a folder. “I’ll get straight to the point. I work with clients who require specific solutions to delicate problems. This,” she said, tapping the folder, “is an opportunity for you to change your life. But before we get into the details, I want to assure you—this is legal, safe, and confidential.”
Saoirse frowned, her fingers hovering over the folder. Change my life? She felt a swell of doubt rise in her chest. She lifted her gaze to Amara. “What kind of opportunity are we talking about?”
Amara leaned back in her chair, her expression composed, unreadable, as if she were preparing to deliver a verdict. “One of my clients is a highly influential businessman. He’s looking for a wife.”
Saoirse blinked, convinced she had misheard. “I’m sorry—what?”
“A wife,” Amara repeated smoothly.
Saoirse's mouth fell open, before she let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s not a joke,” Amara said calmly. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. My client needs to project stability for a major business deal. In exchange, you would be compensated generously.”
Saoirse's pulse quickened. This wasn’t what she had expected—not even close. She shook her head. “I thought you were looking for a designer. Someone who knows the value of craftsmanship and can meet tight deadlines?” she asked, repeating the exact words Amara had used when they first spoke.
Amara didn’t flinch. “I never said it was a design job,” she replied evenly.
“So you were misleading me?” Saoirse's voice sharpened, her frustration rising.
“I was ensuring you came here with an open mind,” Amara corrected. “If I had told you outright, would you have even agreed to this meeting?”
Saoirse opened her mouth, then shut it. She would have ignored the offer.
Still, this was absurd. “You’re asking me to marry someone I don’t even know? That’s insane.”
“I understand your hesitation,” Amara said, her tone soothing, but firm.
“Hesitation?” Saoirse let out another laugh, this one hollow. “That’s an understatement.”
Amara remained calm. “Before you reject the idea outright, Miss Alba, I want you to at least look at the financial terms.”
She pushed the folder closer. Saoirse hesitated, then exhaled and flipped it open. Her eyes skimmed the neatly typed contract—until they landed on the figure under compensation.
Her breath caught.
“Five million pesos?” she whispered, barely audible. The number lingered, heavy, dangerous—like a forbidden fruit within reach.
“That’s just the base amount,” Amara said persuasively. “You would also have access to a monthly allowance, a place to live, and healthcare benefits for you and your sister. After one year, the marriage will be annulled. You’ll be free to move on—with financial security.”
Saoirse swallowed hard. Five million pesos. It was more money than she’d ever seen, more than enough to pay off Andrea’s medical bills. Enough to finally open the boutique she’d always dreamed of. Enough to change everything.
But the idea of marrying a stranger—even for a year—felt like crossing an invisible line she wasn’t sure she could live with.
“This... this feels wrong.” Saoirse's voice shook as the weight of the decision settled heavily on her chest.
Amara leaned forward, her expression softening, and for the first time, Saoirse saw the empathy in her eyes. “I know it’s unconventional. But think of what this could mean for you and your sister. I’ve reviewed your background, Saoirse. You’re hardworking, talented, and resilient. You’ve done everything you can. But sometimes, hardwork alone isn’t enough to break the cycle. This could be the answer you’ve been waiting for.”
Saoirse stared at the contract, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Andrea’s face, her younger sister’s bright smile, her unwavering belief in Saoirse's dreams, flashed in her mind.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Amara nodded, her expression understanding, yet firm. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. Take the contract home, read it carefully, and think about it. But I’ll be honest—the client doesn’t have much time. If you’re interested, you’ll need to give me your answer by the end of the week.”
Saoirse stood, clutching the folder tightly, her hand trembling. “Thank you... for the opportunity. I’ll think about it.”
The jeepney ride home felt longer than usual. Saoirse could hardly recall leaving Amara's office or making her way to the jeepney stop—everything felt like a blur. Her mind swirled with thoughts, each one colliding into the next as she clung to the folder like a live wire, its weight pressing into her palms, sending jolts of uncertainty through her. What would Andrea think if she knew about this? Would she call it an act of desperation, or a necessary sacrifice? Could I live with myself if I went through with it without letting her know?
When she got home, Andrea was sprawled on the floor mat, flipping through an old magazine. She looked up with a smile.
“Ate, you’re home early! Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet,” Saoirse said, setting her bag on the table.
Andrea’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the folder. “What’s that?”
“Ah, nothing,” Saoirse said quickly, trying to hide the contract. “Just some papers from work.”
Andrea didn’t press further, but her curious gaze remained, and Saoirse felt the weight of the unspoken question between them.
Later that night, after Andrea had gone to bed, Saoirse sat at the small dining table, the contract spread out in front of her. She read through every clause, every condition, her stomach twisting with unease.
The agreement was straightforward. She would marry Richard John Demonteverde, a CEO whose name she vaguely recognized from the news. They would live together for one year, attend public events as a couple, and maintain the illusion of a happy marriage. Afterward, they would part ways, no questions asked.
Five million pesos.
Her hands trembled as she thought of the hospital bills piling up, the nights she had gone to bed hungry so Andrea could eat, the countless times she had put her dreams on hold to survive another day. But the number— five million —was undeniable. It could be the answer to everything—the end of the struggle, the start of something better.
She picked up her phone, hesitating for a moment before typing Richard John Demonteverde into the search bar. If she was seriously considering this, she at least needed to know more about the man she was supposed to marry.
Then she remembered Andrea’s voice, soft but firm from a conversation weeks ago.
"Ate, you always say I shouldn’t push myself too hard, that I should focus on getting better. But what about you? You’re always working, always exhausted. When will you stop sacrificing everything for me?"
But now, the words hit differently. When would it stop? When would she stop choosing survival over living?
Her thumb hovered over the search button.
Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned off the phone. She’d look him up later. Right now, all she could see was the contract in front of her—and the chance to finally give Andrea the life she deserved.
The next morning, the crackling sound of oil filled their tiny kitchen as Saoirse carefully flipped a piece of dried fish in the pan, its golden skin crisping under the heat. The sharp, salty aroma mixed with the rich scent of sautéed red onions and ripe tomatoes, softening as they melded with the fluffy scrambled eggs she was stirring. Beside the plate of fish, she set a small dish of shrimp paste—its pungent scent sharp, a staple that added depth to their simple meal.
As she moved to plate the food, Andrea’s cheerful voice broke the silence.
“Ate, I was thinking,” Andrea said, spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread. “Maybe we should take a break from the hospital visits. I know you love me, but the expenses... I don’t want to be the reason you're struggling.”
Saoirse's chest tightened. Andrea was only eighteen, too young to be worrying about bills and sacrifices.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Saoirse said firmly, though her voice quivered slightly. “I’ll take care of it, okay?”
Andrea nodded, but the doubt in her eyes was clear. Saoirse knew it wasn’t okay. Nothing felt okay.
Saoirse spent the rest of the day thinking about the offer. By the time the sun set, she had made her decision.
Two days later, Saoirse stood in front of Amara’s office once again. Her palms were sweaty, and her heart raced, but her resolve was firm. She stepped inside, greeted the receptionist, and was quickly ushered into the same conference room.
Amara greeted her with a knowing smile. “Miss Alba. I take it you’ve made your decision?”
Saoirse took a deep breath, gripping the contract in her hand. “I’ll do it.”
Amara’s smile widened. “You’ve made the right choice, Saoirse. I’ll make the necessary arrangements, and we’ll set up a meeting with your fiancé soon.”
The word “fiancé” felt foreign on her skin, like a borrowed identity she wasn’t sure she could wear. She was stepping into the unknown, agreeing to a life she had never imagined for herself.
But as she thought of Andrea and the future she could now provide, she knew there was no turning back.
The price of survival had been set.
And she had just agreed to pay it.
- Writer
