CHAPTER 1
1104 Words
“I SAID—I want you to find this man!”
Her voice echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room of her house—her home of almost a year now. She had this estate built in Tacloban when she decided to step away from the spotlight. She stopped accepting acting projects, not because she was tired of fame, but because there was something she had to do. Something important. Something unresolved. Something that haunted her.
“B-But—”
She cut him off coldly. tsked.
“No buts, Bryan! Just find this man. I want to know his job, his social status, and most importantly—whether he’s single!” she snapped. His hesitation was grating. If he hadn’t been her father’s personal bodyguard, she would’ve slapped him by now.
He was two years older than her, but she didn’t care.
“Your father might find out about this,” Bryan muttered, his head lowered.
She rolled her eyes. He was seriously testing her patience.
“He’ll only know if you tell him!” she hissed. “And if you don’t want to lose your job, then do what I asked!”
She opened her luxury handbag—a Louis Vuitton she’d bought in Paris for ₱987,000—and pulled out a thick envelope.
“There,” she said sharply, tossing it onto the glass coffee table. Inside was ₱50,000 in cash. “Consider it an incentive. Just find him. And fast.”
“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Bryan mumbled, then quickly left the room.
As soon as the door shut, she slumped onto the couch, massaging her temples.
What she needed now was a drink.
She stood and headed to the kitchen, stopping at the mini bar. After a second, she rose from her stool and opened the secondary fridge—the one reserved exclusively for alcohol. The other fridge was, of course, for food.
She grabbed a bottle of Alfonso.
Her nerves needed calming.
“I won’t stop… not until you feel what I once felt,” she whispered under her breath, clenching her jaw.
---
“Zai, you really should get married,” said Hermionelle cheerfully. “Look at us—we already have families. Honestly? It’s the best thing.”
Zaira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They were at the mall, shopping—a trip she had agreed to, not realizing it would turn into a “let’s pressure Zaira to settle down” kind of day.
“You two know I don’t have any plans for that,” she said flatly. “I’m happy as I am. My time will come too—eventually.” She gestured at Hermionelle, who was holding her one-year-old daughter, and Georgia, who was visibly pregnant.
The two exchanged a smug high-five, laughing.
Zaira regretted coming along.
“Just hurry up and pay so I can go home,” she snapped, pushing a shopping cart filled with makeup and a Korean-style floral dress. As always, people stared as she walked by.
Of course they did. She was Zaira—the most notorious villainess in Philippine showbiz. Everyone knew her. Everyone had an opinion.
“Wait for us, Zai!” her friends called.
“Then walk faster,” she muttered, clearly irritated.
Thankfully, there wasn’t a long line, and she was helped quickly.
“That will be ₱10,278, ma’am,” the cashier said.
Zaira sighed, pulled out her Prada wallet, and handed over her credit card. The transaction was completed in seconds.
“Thank you,” the cashier said politely.
She gave a curt nod in return.
“Zai, wait up!” Hermionelle caught up, bags in hand.
“I’ll be in the lobby,” Zaira replied, already walking away.
She took her sunglasses—tucked into the neckline of her square-neck midi dress—and slipped them on.
“That’s Zaira!” a girl whispered excitedly nearby.
“OMG! It’s really her!”
“Let’s get a picture!”
Zaira rolled her eyes. She hated being approached randomly. If it wasn’t a fan meet, she didn’t want to engage.
“Ate Zai, can we take a photo?”
She stopped and turned slowly to face them.
“If you have nothing better to do, stop pestering me,” she said coldly. “We celebrities need privacy too. You can’t just run up to us like this every time. Try to respect that.”
“A-Ate—”
“I said stop.” Her voice sharpened. “I don’t want to hear it. Just go away.”
The girls looked stunned and embarrassed. One looked like she was about to cry.
Zaira swallowed a hint of guilt—but she stood her ground.
People around them had begun whispering. No doubt, she was already trending again for her "attitude."
“What?!” she snapped at a group staring nearby. They quickly looked away.
_____
Back in the car, her friends tried to lighten the mood.
“Zai, let’s eat?” Georgia asked softly from the backseat.
Zaira was driving, while Hermionelle and Georgia rode comfortably in the back.
“Where to?” she asked, checking the rearview mirror.
“Let’s try something different,” Georgia said.
“What are you craving, preggo?” Zaira teased.
“Thai food. How about Khalid Thai Restaurant?”
Khalid?
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Who owns that place?” she asked suddenly.
“Some Thai businessman. He’s usually abroad,” Georgia answered.
“Thailand’s pride,” Hermionelle joked.
“Rich people,” Zaira muttered. But inside, her heart was racing.
*Who was that man?*
“Da-da.”
All three women turned. It was Hermionelle’s baby.
“Da-da!” she repeated, grinning.
“Oh my god, she said her first word!” Georgia gasped.
Hermionelle hugged her daughter tightly, glowing with joy.
Zaira smiled to herself. The little girl was adorable—her father’s features with her mother’s eyes. This kid was going to grow up beautiful.
Her full name?
[Aubrielle Jeerawat Urassaya Villablanca Carian.]
Like a princess.
---
“ZAIRA! What did you do?!”
Roel, her longtime manager, burst into her condo, clearly fuming.
Zaira barely looked up from her phone.
“I just wanted some peace and quiet,” she said, tossing her shopping bags on the couch.
“You humiliated fans—again!”
“I just wanted a normal day. That’s all.”
Roel paced, rubbing his temples. “You don’t treat people that way. Especially not your fans. They’re the reason you’re still relevant!”
“I am nice—to fans who see me at fan meets.”
- Writer
