Professor Arceta

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Vergara mansion, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Colet sat at the breakfast table, picking at her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Her father, Don Alvaro Vergara, was seated at the head of the table, sipping his coffee in measured silence.

It was an uneasy calm, one that Colet knew wouldn’t last.

“I still don’t see why you’re wasting your time going to school,” Alvaro said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. He didn’t even look up from his coffee. “You should be focusing on your training. That’s where your future is.”

Colet set her fork down, her jaw tightening. “I already agreed to your plan,” she said evenly, though her hands were clenched into fists under the table. “I’m here, I’m doing the training, and I’m being the daughter you want me to be. Let me do what I want.”

Alvaro raised an eyebrow, finally looking up at her. “What you want?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “School is a distraction, Colet. It’s not going to help you survive in this world. Everything you need to know, I can teach you right here.”

“I’m not just your weapon,” Colet snapped, her voice rising. “I need something for myself—something that’s mine. School is the only place I feel normal.”

Her words hung in the air, the defiance in her voice daring him to argue.

Alvaro leaned back in his chair, studying her with a calculating expression. Then, as if a thought had struck him, his lips curled into a sly smirk.

“Professor Aiah Arceta,” he said slowly, his voice suddenly sharp. “She’s the one who’s got your attention, huh?”

Colet froze, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to remain calm, though her mind was racing. “What are you talking about?”

Alvaro’s smirk widened. “Don’t play dumb, hija. You’ve been different ever since you started at that school. Focused one minute, distracted the next. It wasn’t hard to figure out who was behind it.”

Colet stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Wag mo siyang gagalawin,” she said firmly, her voice trembling with both anger and fear.

Alvaro’s expression shifted to one of mock innocence. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “In fact, I’m glad. It’s about time you took an interest in someone.”

Colet’s eyes narrowed, her chest heaving. “Don’t use her to control me,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not,” Alvaro said smoothly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement at her reaction. “But you should remember, Colet—attachments can be a weakness in this world. Don’t let her be yours.”

Colet stormed out of the dining room, her father’s words echoing in her ears.

Colet arrived on campus with a storm cloud hanging over her. She kept her hoodie pulled tight around her, her steps purposeful as she made her way to the art studio.

Inside, the familiar smell of paint and turpentine greeted her. It was a small comfort, a brief escape from the chaos of her family’s demands.

But her peace was short-lived. As she set up her easel, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Colet.”

Her heart sank. She turned slowly to see Professor Aiah Arceta, standing by the door with a hesitant expression.

“Ma’am,” Colet said curtly, quickly turning back to her canvas.

Aiah stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. “I haven’t seen you in days,” she said, her voice quiet. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” Colet replied shortly, focusing on her brush.

“You don’t look fine,” Aiah said, her voice tinged with concern. “And that bandage on your arm—”

“It’s nothing,” Colet interrupted, her tone sharp. “I’m here now, so let’s just leave it at that.”

Aiah hesitated, her chest tightening at Colet’s defensive posture. She wanted to press further, but before she could, Colet spoke again.

“Why do you care, ma’am?” Colet asked bitterly, turning to face her. Her eyes flicked to Aiah’s hand, where the engagement ring glinted under the studio lights. Her lips curled into a humorless smile. “Oh, right. You’re just doing your job.”

Aiah instinctively moved her hand behind her back, but it was too late. Colet’s gaze lingered on the spot where the ring had been.

“Colet,” Aiah began, her voice soft and pleading.

“Save it, ma’am,” Colet said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “I get it. You’ve made your choice. So stop pretending like you care about me.”

“That’s not fair,” Aiah said, stepping closer. “You don’t understand—”

“No, ma’am,” Colet interrupted, her voice breaking. “You don’t understand. You don’t get to care about me only when it’s convenient for you.”

The room fell silent, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

Finally, Colet grabbed her bag and walked out, leaving Aiah standing alone in the empty studio, the weight of her choices pressing heavily on her chest.

Outside the studio, Colet leaned against the wall, her chest heaving. Her father’s warning played on repeat in her mind: “Attachments can be a weakness.”

She hated how true it felt in that moment.

But as much as she wanted to walk away from Aiah—for her safety and her own—she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was already too late.