Collision of Hearts

Chapter 13

It was past midnight when we pulled into the underground parking of the abandoned museum in Escolta.

Old marble. Cracked statues. Faded paintings on the walls like ghosts of a Manila that had forgotten itself.

No one would think to meet here.

And I chose the person.

Camila de Leon.

My longest-serving assistant. My shadow. My last line of truth.

Sa loob ng tatlong taon, siya ang nag-aayos ng lahat — from my board schedules to burying confidential reports. She knew things others didn’t. She kept secrets no one else could.

Kaya kung may iisang taong puwedeng magsabi sa akin ng katotohanan tungkol sa Monteverde ngayon… siya ‘yon.

Camila was already waiting—nakatayo sa likod ng isang rusted elevator shaft, hooded, clutching a leather case like it was a bomb. Hindi siya gumalaw agad nang lumapit kami. But when her eyes met mine—nag-pause siya. As if she’d seen a ghost.

“Boss…”

My throat clenched. “Camila.”

She looked like she wanted to cry, pero pinigilan niya. "You’re really alive."

“Barely,” I said. “Pero sapat para palayasin ang mga buwitre sa kompanya natin.”

Damon stood just behind me—silent, unreadable. His presence was enough to keep Camila cautious.

"Safe tayo dito?" tanong niya.

“Encrypted jammers,” sagot ni Damon. “Perimeter’s clean. You can talk.”

Huminga si Camila, then handed me the leather case. Mabigat. And when I opened it, the weight doubled.

Inside: legal documents, court files, corporate memos… and a single Manila Bulletin front page with my photo in black and white.

"MISSING HEIRESS PRESUMED DEAD — MONTEVERDE EMPIRE IN MOURNING."

Nanginig ang kamay ko.

“You were right,” bulong ni Camila. “Elian filed for a presumptive death declaration last month.”

"How?" I asked. "That's not legal—"

“He used Rule 107, Section 1 ng Civil Code. 'Presumption of death for purposes of succession' after just four months kung may extraordinary danger of death — like a plane crash."

My jaw tightened. "He used my blood to rush his inheritance."

“That’s not all,” dagdag niya. “Pinatawag ang board last week. Naglabas ng notarized will—faked, we believe—na nagsasabing if anything happens to you, full control goes to him as interim CEO.”

I felt my knees threaten to buckle. Damon caught me by the waist, steady.

Camila swallowed. “He’s freezing your private accounts. Redirecting global funds. Restructuring everything under his name. And the scariest part? No one’s fighting back. Kasi sa mata ng mundo, patay ka na.”

Tahimik akong napaupo sa lumang bench. The marble felt like ice.

“He had the death articles printed in ten media outlets. With photo ops. Candlelight vigils. Even a f*****g tribute concert in Makati.” Camila’s voice cracked. “It was... it was disgusting.”

I closed my eyes. He made my death a PR campaign.

“Your mother’s old fund?” she added. “He absorbed it into Monteverde Strategic Holdings. Sold off the Italian vineyards. Liquidated your Paris condo.”

“What about the foundation?”

“Dissolved last week. On paper, for ‘reallocation of charitable resources.’ But we both know—”

“He buried everything I built,” I whispered.

Damon spoke then, low and sharp. “What about the board? No objections?”

“None. Elian gave them what they wanted—bigger cuts, less transparency. They toasted to your ghost, ma’am.”

I stood up slowly, clutching the newspaper. “Then it’s time they realize I’m not a ghost.”

---

Silence hung for a beat.

Camila took a shaky breath. “I’ve been funneling what intel I could, quietly. But we’re running out of time. He’s planning a press conference in three days to officially declare you dead. Publicly. With full state acknowledgment.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll never let that happen.”

“I need a full list of the board members still in Manila,” I ordered. “And all routes Elian takes between his penthouse and the tower.”

Camila nodded. “You’re planning to confront him?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I turned to Damon. “Do we still have your old blacksite on Pasong Tamo?”

He gave a small nod.

“Prep it,” I said. “We bring the war home now.”

Later that night, inside the safehouse…

I stared at the death certificate copy Camila had given me.

It bore my name. My birthday. My blood type. My death.

Signed, stamped, notarized.

“Skyra Monteverde, presumed deceased due to air disaster.”

Declared by my brother.

Damon sat beside me, silent for a long time.

Then finally: “They killed you on paper.”

I looked at him, eyes cold.

“Now I’ll kill them in reality.”

Dumidilim na ang langit sa labas ng safehouse. Mula sa loob ng one-way glass window ng study, tanaw ko ang siksik na lungsod. Busina. Ulan. Ilaw ng billboard na kumikislap sa dilim.

Pero wala akong naririnig.

Tahimik ang paligid, pero hindi ang utak ko. Hindi ang dibdib ko.

They declared me dead.

Elian declared me dead.

And now, I was going to rise like a f*cking curse they couldn’t escape.

A soft knock.

Damon opened the door. His jaw clenched, eyes sharp — until he saw who it was. Then he stepped aside.

“Atty. Renzo Morales,” sabi niya, motioning him inside.

My heart calmed a little at the sight of the man who'd defended my empire since I turned 21. Sharp suit, darker eyes, and a mind wired like a weapon. Kung may isa pa akong pinagkakatiwalaan sa mundong ‘to bukod kay Damon, siya ‘yon.

“Skyra…” Halos hindi siya makapaniwala. “God. You’re alive.”

“Barely,” I said with a tight smile. “But alive enough to sue the living hell out of my brother.”

Tumango si Renzo, then sat down across from me, opening his briefcase slowly. “I received anonymous intel days ago na may irregular filings si Elian. Corporate shifts. Succession paperwork. I requested internal audits discreetly… pero na-block agad. Parang may shadow firewall sa buong Monteverde legal division.”

“Because he’s planted someone on the inside,” sagot ko. “We need to gut the board.”

“Before that,” Renzo said calmly, “we need to bring you back. Legally. Right now, Skyra Monteverde is dead on record. Which means you have no voting rights, no accounts, no legal presence.”

“He erased me,” I whispered.

“No,” Renzo corrected. “He tried. But he failed.”

He pulled out a brown envelope and slid it toward me.

“Inside this are your original biometric ID scans, birth certificate, and a notarized contract na pinirmahan mo before your last international deal. It has your signature, retinal scan, and voice print. It predates the crash. If authenticated, it’s enough to begin a revocation of death declaration.”

I flipped through it, my fingers cold. My life, reduced to records, documents, lines of ink.

“I want more than that,” I said.

Renzo’s brow lifted. “You want retribution.”

“No,” I said, voice like steel. “I want resurrection. In full armor. And I want to drag every traitor into the light.”

Damon crossed his arms. “We’re prepping a blacksite for private interrogations. No leaks. No liabilities. We’ll start with the assistant treasurer who signed the death clause.”

Renzo leaned forward. “And while you do that… I’ll begin filing an injunction to freeze Elian’s new access points. But I need your verbal consent.”

“You have it,” I said.

“And Skyra,” dagdag niya, eyes sharp now, “I need you to be seen.”

Napakunot ang noo ko. “Why?”

“Because in this world,” sabi niya, “truth isn’t enough. People don’t believe what’s proven. They believe what they see. You want to stop Elian’s declaration? Then the world has to see you alive before he stands in front of the cameras.”

“So I make an appearance,” I said slowly.

“No,” Damon cut in, voice dark. “She’ll be a target.”

Renzo held his ground. “And if she hides, Elian wins. Permanently.”

Tumayo ako. Lumapit sa glass window. Tinapik ang cellphone ko sa palad.

“What if I do both?” I asked. “Let him have his press conference. Let him say I’m gone.”

“And then?” Renzo asked.

“I crash it,” I whispered, “live. In black. With every camera rolling. With the press, the board, the world watching.”

Damon let out a slow breath. “You want to haunt your own funeral.”

I turned to face them.

“No,” I said, fire blooming in my chest. “I want to burn the whole f*cking chapel.”

Camila reentered the room, handing a secured tablet. “Ma’am, confirmation just came in. Monteverde Tower’s rooftop is being cleaned and staged for the media launch. Date: two days from now.”

Renzo smiled slightly. “Then we have 48 hours to rearm your identity.”

“Give me my legal armor,” I said, eyes glowing. “I’ll do the rest.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

In the war room beneath the safehouse.

The legal papers were spread on the table. Damon stood over blueprints of the tower, Renzo on the line with three international partners, and Camila cross-checking names against their loyalty history.

And me?

I sat in silence, reviewing my own eulogy — the one Elian wrote for me.

"He thought declaring me dead was a checkmate," I said aloud.

Damon glanced at me. “What is it now?”

I met his eyes.

“No,” I said. “It was just my opening move.”

Monteverde Tower Rooftop Press Conference

Skyra POV

The elevator doors slid open to a high-pitched whine.

I stepped into the rooftop of Monteverde Tower — my tower — like a ghost walking into her own funeral.

The late afternoon sun cast a brutal glare on the white press stage that had been erected for this event. Everything was too perfect — the white backdrop, the gold Monteverde logo, the dozens of reporters with their cameras and drones, the live stream feeds broadcasting my death in real time.

Security flanked the sides. The Board sat in a sleek row of black leather chairs. Elian stood at the center, in a pristine black suit, with a white rose pinned on his chest.

The mourning brother.

The grieving hero.

And the bastard who tried to erase me.

I walked straight through the aisle between press crews. No announcement. No music. Just the stiletto click of my heels on marble, slicing through the buzz of whispers that began to ripple.

“Is that—?”

“Wait—”

“Holy sh*t.”

“Skyra?”

“She’s—She’s—”

I didn’t blink.

I was dressed in combat couture — high-collared black power dress stitched with Kevlar lining and silver-threaded mesh. Hair pulled back in a cold, regal twist. Eyes sharp as obsidian. The choker Damon gave me glinted under the sunlight — not just an accessory, but a shield.

A weapon.

My voice rang out. Cold. Clear.

“Did I interrupt something?”

Gasps echoed.

The media froze. Flashes exploded. Phones dropped. Security guards stumbled toward their earpieces.

But the only one who moved—

—was Elian.

He turned around, slowly, face drained of blood. For the first time since we were children, I saw him look genuinely terrified.

And then, like a true snake—

“Ate?!”

He dropped the mic and ran to me.

Parang may nanonood na pelikula. The whole rooftop held its breath as Elian raced forward, his suit flapping, his voice cracking with manufactured emotion.

“God! Ate, you’re alive! I thought—I thought—”

I didn’t flinch as he crushed me in a dramatic embrace.

He wrapped his arms around me like a desperate brother reunited with his savior.

But I knew that grip. I knew how it tightened, how it shifted. It wasn’t love. It was panic. A madman trying to hold on to a version of the story he could still control.

I leaned in and whispered into his ear.

“You planned my crash. You forged my will. You used my name to fund a military takeover.”

His breath hitched. His arms froze.

“And now…” I smiled against his cheek, “I’m here to take it all back.”

I slowly pulled away from his embrace.

Our eyes locked.

Elian’s voice cracked into the mic, hand shaking. “Skyra… my sister… She’s alive! Praise God—our prayers were answered.”

He turned to the crowd.

The press went insane.

Cameras zoomed. Questions fired. Reporters were crying. Some of the board members stood in shock, others looking for the nearest exit. But I raised one hand.

Silence.

“Thank you for the memorial,” I said, stepping toward the center of the stage. “It’s flattering, really. The flowers, the speeches, the succession paperwork you didn’t think I’d ever see.”

Elian’s smile faded, just slightly.

I pulled out a thin tablet from my coat pocket — the one Renzo gave me — and tapped the screen. The LED screen behind me flickered.

Boom.

A slideshow appeared.

📁 Monteverde Holdings Board Minutes

📁 Skyra Monteverde: Death Declaration Filing

📁 Elian Monteverde – Emergency Succession Clauses

📁 Financial Logs – Redirected Funds (Defense Division, Offshore Accounts)

I turned to the crowd again, my voice razor-sharp.

“These documents were filed while I was unconscious. Under the assumption that I had died in a crash… a crash now believed to be sabotage.”

Elian stepped forward. “That’s a lie—! That’s not—”

I held up a hand. He froze.

“I came here today not to expose my brother—” I turned to face him fully now, the crowd watching every twitch on his face— “but to remind the world that I am not dead. And I am not afraid.”

I let those words fall like thunder.

Not a single sound followed — not even the wind.

Then, from behind the side column—

Damon stepped out.

All black. No tie. Eyes locked on Elian.

His mere presence made the guards hesitate. Some instinct in them knew: this man kills for a living.

He stood beside me. No words. Just presence.

I turned back to the cameras.

“Effective immediately, all prior succession documents are void. A legal injunction has been filed. My biometric ID has been reverified. And any attempt to override my ownership will be treated as corporate treason.”

I smiled slowly.

“Smile, Elian. You’re on live broadcast.”

His face twisted.

He whispered harshly, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

I whispered back, “I’m rewriting the ending.”

Back inside the building

We entered the executive lift. Damon stood behind me. Elian was escorted by security to the internal holding floor—still pretending to be confused, emotional, “worried.”

But I saw through it.

As the elevator rose, I could feel the city below shifting.

Because the queen they tried to bury just clawed her way out of the grave…

…and now, she’s about to burn down the throne.

The double glass doors to the Executive Boardroom creaked open with a hiss of hydraulics. Familiar. Sterile. Intimidating.

But I didn’t flinch.

Not anymore.

Twelve men and women sat at the long obsidian conference table — the so-called “monarchs” of Monteverde Holdings. All of them had worn black suits, black ties, somber pins during the press conference. Mourning me. Or rather, what they thought was left of me.

They didn’t rise.

Good.

Let them sit in their cowardice.

Only one seat was empty — mine. At the head of the table, beneath the golden Monteverde crest etched into the wall behind.

Elian’s chair had already been removed.

A silent signal from Damon. My command.

I stepped forward, every inch the woman they feared but couldn’t forget. My heels clicked across the marble, echoing like a metronome of reckoning. I didn’t need to announce my presence.

They already knew who I was.

“Gentlemen. Ladies.” I didn’t bother smiling. “Let’s begin.”

A few exchanged nervous glances. Mr. Alvarez, the CFO, cleared his throat. “Miss Monteverde… We weren’t aware—”

“That I was alive?” I finished for him, taking my seat with calculated grace. “Yes. You weren’t. That was the point.”

I leaned forward, eyes scanning each of them. “And now, since I’m very much not buried six feet underground, let’s talk about what happened in my absence.”

A screen behind me flickered to life.

Damon stood by the far end of the room, arms crossed, black tablet in hand. A silent sentinel.

“Slide one,” I said.

Damon tapped his screen.

📁 Emergency Succession Protocol – Activated without body retrieval.

📁 Forged psychological report: “Skyra Monteverde – Mentally Unstable” (unsigned, illegal)

📁 Board approval for military venture using off-ledger accounts

📁 Major asset liquidation under Elian Monteverde’s signature

Murmurs rippled.

The General Counsel paled. Ms. Ramirez from Legal visibly gripped the arms of her chair.

I rose from my seat.

“I gave each of you power for a reason,” I said quietly. “You were meant to protect the company in times of crisis. Not feast on its bones.”

Silence.

“You signed documents you didn’t read. You authorized transfers you couldn’t trace. Some of you didn’t speak up. Others participated.”

I walked around the table — slowly — like a panther sizing up the herd.

“You allowed a grieving brother to override a living sister’s legacy. For what? Bonuses? Titles? Protection?”

No one answered.

So I slammed a folder onto the table.

It echoed.

“Effective today,” I said, voice like cut steel, “six of you are suspended pending investigation. Three of you are demoted. And two of you—” I turned to Alvarez and Ramirez, “—are terminated. Security will escort you out now.”

Gasps. Protests. Stammered excuses.

But I didn’t care.

Because the door behind them opened — and two black-suited security officers stepped inside without a word.

“You can call your lawyers,” I said. “But you’re no longer part of my board.”

Alvarez stood, red-faced. “You can’t do this—!”

I met his eyes with a calm that terrified even me.

“I died, Mr. Alvarez. I came back. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

He went pale. Security led him out.

The door closed again, silence reclaiming the room.

I took my seat once more, folding my hands neatly in front of me.

“For the rest of you still seated… I don’t expect loyalty out of fear. I expect it from understanding.”

I looked at them — not as enemies, but as witnesses.

“Monteverde Holdings is not a corpse to divide. It is a legacy. My family’s name may have drowned in blood, but I will not let it be dragged through greed and cowardice.”

I glanced at Damon. He gave the subtlest nod.

I turned back to the board.

“Elian is being investigated. Charges are coming. Until then, he is no longer permitted within ten kilometers of this building.”

“And the investors?” someone dared ask. “The press?”

“They saw me rise from the grave,” I answered. “They’ll fall in line. And if they don’t—”

I stood again, fire simmering beneath my voice.

“—then they were never worth standing beside me in the first place.”

The board was silent.

Defeated.

Awed.

And I…?

I finally sat back in my chair.

My chair.

And for the first time since the crash, I exhaled.

Not in grief.

But in control.