Chapter 2
It was the day before February. We had just returned to the Philippines after celebrating New Year’s Eve—and my birthday—in Japan. The plan was to stay abroad until March, but Daddy insisted we cut the trip short.
“There’s an important event we can’t afford to miss,” he had said.
Our whole family was invited. Even Kuya, who was usually tied up with work, would be attending.
I should have known then—it wasn’t just any gathering.
The Robles family would be there.
That alone explained everything.
The Robles weren’t just another wealthy clan. They were an institution. An unshakable pillar of power, their name carried weight in every sector that mattered—business, politics, media. And at the center of their empire was Robles Political Consultancy.
RPC didn’t just work with politicians. They created them. From small-town mayors to the highest offices in the country, if someone was in power, chances were they had the Robles’ backing. They controlled narratives, shaped elections, and ensured that only those who served their interests remained in power.
For years, our media company had benefited from their influence—amplifying the voices they wanted heard, controlling the stories they wanted told.
But we weren’t the only ones.
And that was the problem.
We weren’t their only media provider.
Nasa biyahe na kami papunta sa party. It was just a few hours away from our ancestral house in Cebu. Kasalukuyang nagbabadya ang bagyo—the air was thick, heavy with the weight of an impending storm.
Flashes of lightning tore through the darkened sky, illuminating the rolling clouds for a split second before everything plunged back into shadows. Thunder rumbled, deep and resonant, as if the sky itself was growling.
I leaned against the car window, watching the chaos unfold outside. There was something mesmerizing about it—the way the lightning cut through the darkness, wild and untamed. It struck without warning, unpredictable, impossible to control.
For a moment, I wondered if storms ever hesitated before they crashed down. If they ever felt the weight of inevitability.
The thought lingered longer than I expected.
These gatherings were never unpredictable. I had been to countless parties like this—grand gatherings, powerful families, polite conversations laced with hidden agendas. I knew the routine by heart.
And yet, as the storm rumbled overhead, I couldn't shake the feeling that something about tonight would be different. A shift in the air, subtle but undeniable.
I just didn’t know what it was yet.
"Do you understand, Aiah?" Daddy had told me before the trip. "This party isn’t just about appearances. It’s about securing our place. The Robles don’t need us—we need them. And I intend to change that."
That was why we were here.
To maintain our connection.
I was busy socializing when Daddy called my name.
The grand hall was alive with chatter, glasses clinking, laughter threading through conversations like a well-rehearsed symphony.
Pagharap ko, naroon na sila.
“The Robles cousins,” anunsyo ni Daddy.
Four girls stood before me, their presence polished and deliberate, each carrying the weight of their lineage.
Their names were introduced one by one.
Colet, the eldest—sharp, poised, and composed. Her features were angular, her expression measured, as if every glance was a calculation. She exuded the kind of confidence that needed no validation. Next was Gwen—tall and effortlessly refined. She had Colet’s sharpness but softened with an air of politeness. There was grace in the way she smiled, in how she spoke—like someone raised to charm without revealing too much.Then Mikha—a blend of the two. She carried both Colet’s precision and Gwen’s warmth, balancing sophistication with approachability. Among them, she seemed the easiest to talk to, the one who could slip seamlessly between formalities and familiarity. They were distinct in their ways, yet bound by the same unspoken expectation—to carry themselves with grace, to represent the family well.
And then came the last.
I remember shaking hands with the first three. And I hadn’t meant to hesitate with the last one. The introductions had been smooth until now—handshakes, polite smiles, the careful balance of warmth and formality. Colet’s grip had been firm. Gwen’s, poised. Mikha's, a mix of both.
But when it was her turn, something made me pause.
Maybe it was the way she stood, effortlessly tall, her presence heavier than her silence. Or maybe it was the way her dark eyes met mine—unreadable, unmoving. Like she wasn’t particularly interested. Like this whole exchange was nothing but an obligation.
"Aiah, come on. Say hello to Jhoanna," Daddy said, his tone noticeably softer than before.
Perhaps she was the only true Robles here—despite them all being cousins. Colet was a Vergara. Gwen, an Apuli. Mikha, a Lim.
But Jhoanna?
Siya ang nag-iisang Robles.
I didn’t realize I had been hesitating until I heard it.
And Jhoanna didn’t wait.
"Nice to meet you," she said, voice low, smooth, and somehow cold. A smile never touched her lips—unlike her cousins, who had all acknowledged me with polite warmth. She barely lingered, barely looked at me, before shifting her attention elsewhere, already done with this exchange. No unnecessary pleasantries. No warmth. Just a greeting stripped to its barest form, yet carrying an elegance that demanded attention.
The first three women smiled—soft, polite, predictable.
But the last one?
She barely glanced at me, her expression unreadable. Trivial, even. Like she was somewhere else, like she had been dragged here against her will. She should’ve blended in. Yet, she stood out more than anyone else. Maybe it was her height, or the sharpness of her face, or the way she carried herself—untouched by the room’s golden warmth.
Or maybe it was the way she looked at me.
Not with curiosity. Not with disdain.
But with nothing at all.
Colet was composed. Gwen was polite. Mikha was welcoming. Jhoanna was something else entirely.
She was the storm that didn’t yield, the ocean that couldn’t be mapped, the wildfire that refused to be contained.
Like a storm at the edge of the horizon, distant yet inevitable, her presence crackled in the air.
And I—
I was caught in it before I could even think of running.