Chapter 1: The Night That Shouldn’t Happen

Umambon sa Baguio. Hindi yung tipong ulan na may kulog o kidlat, kundi yung ambon na parang sinasadya kang yakapin. Malamig, tahimik, at tila pinapaalala sa’yo kung gaano ka kalungkot kapag mag-isa ka.

Si Lia Santiago ay nakaupo sa far end ng Luna Azul, isang hidden bar sa Baguio na kilala lang ng mga local artists at ng mga gustong tumakas sa ingay ng siyudad. Halos maramdaman mo ang faint scent ng coffee at whiskey na humahalo sa wet pine air. Jazz music floated softly sa background, at ang low hum ng mga boses at clinking glasses ay nag-create ng cozy, almost intimate vibe.

Her heels were off. Her black silk dress clung to her damp skin. Her hair, slightly messy from the drizzle, framed her tired face. Pero ang pinakamasakit ay hindi lamig ng hangin—kundi ang bigat ng pusong basag. Siya’y hindi dapat narito. Dapat ay nagpa-plan na siya ng wedding—fitting gown, flowers, suppliers. Pero ngayon, ang dala niya ay smudged red lipstick, tired eyes, at isang aura ng pagod sa mundo.

“Last shot na ‘to, Lia. Promise,” sabi ni Mara, best friend niya since college, habang inaabot ang tequila. “After this, dance tayo. Tapos hanap ka ng lalaking hindi mo kailangang pakasalan.”

Lia laughed hollowly. “Or yung hindi ako lolokohin. Especially not with my cousin.”

Mara winced. “Ouch. Too soon.”

“Too real,” she muttered, downing the shot. The tequila burned, pero mas gusto niya ‘yung hapdi na may hangganan kaysa sa sakit na iniwan ni Carlo—lalaking pinangarap niyang pakasalan pero pinili ang pinsan niya.

“Bathroom lang ako,” sabi niya, tumayo at naglakad papunta sa hallway. Sa mirror, nakita niya ang sarili: smudged eyeliner, red eyes, forced smile. This isn’t you, Lia. But maybe tonight, it’s okay not to be you.

Pagbalik niya, napansin niya siya.

A man sitting alone at the far end of the bar, dim light touching his sharp features. Tall, broad-shouldered, black button-down sleeves rolled up, expensive watch glinting. Pero hindi ang presyo ang nakakuha ng atensyon niya—kundi ang mga mata. Dark, steady, unreadable. Yet, something magnetic in the way he looked.

He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t ogling. He was simply… watching. Parang nakikita ka niya sa ilalim ng lahat ng layers—dress, makeup, forced laugh.

And Lia, who swore she’d never flirt again, didn’t look away. She walked straight to him, bare feet silent against the polished floor.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“You already are,” he replied, eyebrow arched.

“You looked lonely.”

“And you look like you’re trying not to be.”

His voice—deep, smooth, commanding without shouting. She knew this one wasn’t just handsome. He’s dangerous.

“Are you a therapist?” she teased.

“No,” he said, sipping whiskey. “But I listen well.”

“Good. Kasi, I’m not in the mood for small talk. Just… distraction.”

He turned fully. “What kind of distraction?”

She leaned closer. Close enough for him to smell tequila on her breath, vanilla on her skin. “The kind that makes me forget my name.”

He chuckled, low, controlled. “Dangerous.”

“Perfect.”

They talked, laughed, and shared bits of pain without names. No past, just tonight. Their chemistry was instant, electric. Every glance, every touch across the bar, built tension thick enough to cut through.

Rain intensified. He offered his coat. She declined. Pero nang i-extend niya ang kamay at sinabi, “Let’s get out of here,” hindi siya nagdalawang-isip.

Outside, under the rain, city lights blurred behind the mist. Every step felt like rebellion; every drop like permission to sin.

The hotel room smelled faintly of cedar and luxury linen. Dimly lit, curtains drawn. Silence was electric. Clothes fell: dress, shirt, bra, belt. Every layer removed wasn’t just fabric—it was a memory, a heartbreak she was burning away.

His lips on hers—hungry yet patient. Every kiss is a question. Every touch is an answer.

“Okay ka lang?” he whispered, lips brushing her collarbone.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

Their bodies spoke louder than words. Her fingers traced his back; his hands memorized her curves. The outside world disappeared. Rain became background music to a wordless confession.

She forgot her pain. Her name. That she once belonged to someone else. Only this stranger existed.

When it was over, tangled in white sheets, she rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Don’t ask my name.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t tell me yours.”

“I won’t.”

“You already are someone else tonight.”

“You already are,” he whispered back.

Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains. Empty. He was gone.

A note: Thank you for the night. No regrets.

A velvet box. She opened it. Inside: a wedding ring. On her finger.

Her phone buzzed: Vivian: Sweetheart, don’t forget Sunday brunch. I want you to finally meet Rafael.

Rafael. Her tita-mom’s live-in partner. The stranger.

The night that shouldn’t have happened had just begun.