Novels by April Ramos

The bass from the club below was a dull thrum beneath my feet, but my focus was locked on her. Carrie Tuazon. Standing in my suite, flushed from liquor, trembling, chin lifted in that same defiant tilt, like she still believed she could fight me off with words.The sound of the music beneath us vibrated through the floor, heavy and reckless. The rhythm pulsed like a heartbeat under the marble tiles, like the city itself was urging something to happen. My suite was insulated from the neon chaos outside, but I could still feel the echo of the crowd, the energy, the electricity of bodies moving and losing themselves in anonymity. Up here, though, nothing was anonymous. Everything was sharp. Everything was real. Her presence filled every inch of the room.She said it was a wrong turn. I didn't believe her. Nothing in Elysium was ever accidental, least of all her ending up here.Her voice had wavered when she said it. Barely. Just enough for me to see the truth hiding under her lie. People

The helicopter's blades had long since gone quiet, but Carrie's pulse still hammered in her ears.Andrew stood before her, roughened by sleepless nights, his jaw shadowed, his eyes dark. He didn't look like the Andrew Lorenzo who grinned at cameras and charmed entire rooms. He looked stripped down, raw, and unflinchingly present.He walked toward her almost in slow motion, his gaze catching on Alex's hand still resting protectively on her arm. Andrew's eyes flickered, sharp and assessing, lingering just long enough to make the tension in the air tremble."Carrie." His voice cracked but steadied. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"Alex stayed firm at her side, silent but steady, while Andrew's focus never wavered from her."No," Carrie said, her tone hard. "If you have something to say, say it in front of Alex."For a fleeting moment, she caught it, rage, jealousy, flashing behind Andrew's eyes before he swallowed it back."Kara and I," he began, his voice low and measured, "we were never any

The days in Bicol stretched long and unhurried, each one softening Carrie a little more. And somewhere in that quiet rhythm, Alex became a constant presence.Carrie woke to roosters instead of traffic, to the rustle of leaves instead of elevator chimes. She slept eight hours without nightmares. She ate meals without reading emails between bites. She realized she had forgotten what it was like to breathe deeply. Her heart, once bruised and swollen, no longer felt like a wound.He would stop by after his rounds, sometimes carrying a basket of freshly picked calamansi, other times with nothing but a lazy grin and a casual, "Let's go for a drive." He was easy to be around, never asking for more than she was ready to give. With him, silence felt comfortable instead of heavy.They drove with the windows down, warm wind whipping her hair, the scent of rice fields filling the air. He pointed out landmarks, the bakery that sold the best pan de sal, the sari-sari store run by someone who gossip

Bicol had a way of slowing Carrie's heartbeat. The mornings were cool, the air cleaner than anything in Manila, and the sky stretched wide and unbroken. She woke early, slipping into simple clothes, taking long walks through the garden her parents tended with love. She felt like she could breathe here, like the heaviness in her chest finally had room to loosen.Her parents didn't press her for explanations. They simply fed her, laughed with her, and let her sit in silence when she needed it. It was enough.It was during one of these mornings that she met Alex.He arrived in a dusty pickup, a quiet confidence about him that made him look perfectly at home among the coconut trees and the smell of earth. Her mother greeted him warmly, introducing him as "our family veterinarian." He had apparently taken over the practice from his father, who had cared for the Tuazon pets and livestock for decades.Carrie extended her hand, and Alex smiled, his grip warm and steady."You're the daughter f

Ever since the confrontation with Andrew, Carrie refused to shed another tear for him. Not in public. Not in private. She put on her brave face and wore it like armor, every smile carefully rehearsed, every word clipped and steady. If anyone noticed the shadows under her eyes, they didn't dare mention it.She threw herself into her work with a kind of desperation that almost scared her. She was everywhere at once, approving layouts, fixing pitches, reviewing articles at a pace that made her staff both grateful and terrified. People praised her for being composed, for handling pressure without flinching. No one realized she was simply distracting herself from the ache that gnawed beneath her sternum.The media, to her surprise, had gone quiet. No photos of Andrew and Kara. No stories about their supposed reconciliation or her. But Carrie wasn't naive. She knew silence didn't come for free. The Lorenzos were billionaires, with enough money to buy influence, to smooth away whispers, to b

Carrie had not wanted to attend another gala. She was still recovering from the hospital, her body fragile, but Joan had insisted. "You need to show face, Car. Let them see you are fine. Strong."Her body protested every step as she dressed. The zipper felt like armor being fastened around her. Her reflection stared back from the mirror, pale but determined. She pressed color into her cheeks, pinned her hair with steady hands, and told herself she could handle this. She had faced deadlines harsher than socialites. She had survived worse heartbreaks than gossip.So she went. Clad in black silk, chin high, she moved through the glittering crowd with practiced poise, counting the minutes until she could leave.She moved like a queen through a kingdom made of glass and rumor. The ballroom sparkled beneath chandeliers, violins carried a polished melody, laughter bubbled around champagne flutes. Every step she took reminded her of the IV needles, the flimsy hospital gown, the cold of being