Chapter 4
1144 Words
The courthouse lobby was a circus again, pero may napansin si Selena na bago. Banners. Placards. Crowds of Damien’s supporters chanting his name as if the trial were a campaign rally.
“Vergara! Vergara! Our Governor, our savior!”
The sound was deafening, halos yumanig ang marble walls habang naglakad siya, flanked by her staff. Ang mga magsasakang kasama niya sa press conference ay natabunan, ang kanilang boses nalunod sa sigaw ng katapatan na ilang taon nang itinanim ni Damien.
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere was no less charged. Naiinis na ang hukom, swollen ang press pool, at bawat salita ay tiyak na headline bukas.
Selena kept her voice calm habang ipinapakita ang susunod na ebidensya—financial statements na tumutukoy sa shell companies na konektado diretso sa pamilya Vergara. Each slide tightened the noose a little further.
Pero si Damien, hindi natinag. Nang siya ang bumangon para mag-cross, dala niya ang easy grace ng isang lalaking ipinanganak para mag-utos.
“Your Honor,” he said smoothly, “my esteemed opponent would have you believe na ang complex corporate structures ay ebidensya ng corruption. Pero hindi ba’t ganyan ang standard practice sa business worldwide?”
Selena’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Standard practice, Governor, usually doesn’t involve transferring millions into offshore accounts under your cousin’s name.”
May bulungan sa loob ng courtroom. Damien’s smirk deepened, pero tumalim ang mga mata niya.
He leaned casually on the lectern, lowering his voice—sapat para sa unang rows lang makarinig, pero of course the microphones caught everything. “You’ve always had a way of making me sound guilty, Selena. Even when I wasn’t.”
The implication hung heavy in the air, alaala ng nakaraan na silang dalawa lang ang nakakaintindi.
Selena didn’t blink. “The difference is this time, Damien, you are.”
The judge banged the gavel. “Counselors! Stay on the case, not on each other.”
The rest of the session dragged like a stormcloud. Selena struck blow after blow with evidence, habang si Damien ay ginawang sandata ang charisma, twisting every weakness into strength. Hindi na lang ito trial—it was theater, at bawat spectator may pinapanigan na.
Pagdating ng adjournment, Selena braced herself para sa crowd. Pero ngayong pagkakataon, hindi siya ang unang sinugod ng mga reporter. Lahat dumiretso kay Damien, whose entourage swept him into the center of flashing lights.
“Governor, how do you respond to the new financial evidence?”
“Are you afraid of losing the case?”
Damien raised his hand, silencing them with practiced ease. His voice solemn, sakto lang ang bigat ng humility.
“I will not deny mistakes may have been made,” he said. “Pero tanong ko—does a mistake erase years of service? Does one accusation outweigh the schools, the hospitals, the livelihoods we’ve built together?”
The crowd cheered, para bang sermon sa simbahan.
Selena clenched her jaw, watching from the courthouse steps. He was untouchable—not because he was innocent, pero dahil marunong siyang baluktutin ang mundo para maniwala.
Pero hindi habangbuhay.
She stepped forward nang may mikropono na ring tumapat sa kanya. Her voice cut clean through the chaos.
“Mistakes?” she repeated coldly. “Destroying families is not a mistake. It is a crime. At hindi ko kailangan ng crowd para tabunan ang katotohanan. Ang hawak ko—ang batas.”
Her words landed sharp, unforgiving. For a moment, natahimik ang lahat. Cameras zoomed, pens scratched, at ang ngiti ni Damien flickered—enough para malaman niyang tinamaan siya.
Pero umapir ito. Softly. Slowly. Para bang naaliw sa tapang ng kalaban.
“Always so fiery, Selena,” he murmured as their paths crossed, mababa ang tono para sa kanya lang. “Careful. Fire burns brightest right before it dies.”
She didn’t stop walking. Hindi lumingon. Pero ramdam niya ang racing pulse, bawat t***k paalala—this wasn’t just a battle for justice.
It was a war of wills.
At wala sa kanila ang handang sumuko.
The press erupted again habang papunta siya sa kotse. Questions flew like arrows.
“Ms. Alcaraz, are you accusing the Governor directly?”
“May pruweba ba kayo o salita lang?”
“Is this personal between you and Governor Vergara?”
She kept her expression composed, pero halos mabali ang hawak niya sa briefcase. Every question was a trap—at alam niya kung kaninong kamay ang nagtulak sa mga patibong na iyon.
Damien’s.
Pag-upo niya sa likod ng kotse, halos hindi makaalis ang driver dahil sa kapal ng tao. May pumapalo sa bintana, may mikroponong kumakatok sa salamin.
Pero sa gitna ng chaos, nakita niya ulit si Damien. Nakapwesto sa likod ng flashing cameras, surrounded by aides, basking sa crowd na parang koronasyon niya. At kahit maraming matang nakatutok sa kanya, sa kanya nakatutok ang mga mata nito. Steady. Smiling. Claiming.
Her phone buzzed bago pa makalayo ang sasakyan. News alert.
Governor Vergara shows humility as trial heats up. Selena Alcaraz accused of political vendetta.
Selena’s jaw clenched. The story had flipped in less than ten minutes. Mas mabilis, mas malakas, mas ruthless ang makina niya.
“Ma’am,” her paralegal said nervously beside her, “they’re framing you as bitter. Puno na ang social media ng hashtags—#StandWithVergara, #JusticeNotJealousy…”
Selena closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle. Bitter. Jealous. Female rage painted as hysteria. Lumang armas, pero epektibo pa rin.
Not this time.
“Call every contact we have,” she ordered coldly. “Gusto ko bukas, front page ay ebidensya, hindi opinyon. Leak the documents, testimonies—lahat. Kung gusto niyang lunurin ako sa perception, lulunurin ko siya sa proof.”
That night, the city buzzed. Screens sa bawat café replayed Damien’s speech, radio dissected Selena’s tone, pundits debated sino ba talaga ang kontrabida.
Pero sa tahimik ng opisina, Selena spread her evidence across the desk like a battlefield map. Land deeds, financial transfers, sworn statements—bawat isa sandata, matalim, hindi mapapasinungalingan.
She was tired, her body heavy with weeks of war. Pero mas maliwanag ang apoy sa dibdib niya.
For every headline he twisted, she would strike harder. For every smear, she would answer with truth.
Pero approaching midnight, isang maliit na sobre ang dumulas sa ilalim ng pintuan. No name. No return address. Just her name scrawled in bold.
Selena froze. Dahan-dahan niya itong binuksan.
Inside—isang litrato. Siya, sixteen. Nasa sunlit garden, tumatawa. At katabi niya—si Damien. Mas bata, pero dala na ang parehong nakamamatay na ngiti.
Sa likod, in handwriting she recognized instantly, four words:
“The past never dies.”
Selena’s chest tightened, alaala biglang bumangga.
Hindi lang sa korte o media nakikipagdigma si Damien.
Pinaaalala niyang mas malalim pa ang battlefield nila—sa mga anino ng kanilang nakaraan.
At hinahamon siyang aminin iyon.
- Writer
