PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Truth is loudest when spoken in silence—at the exact moment everyone else chooses to stay quiet.

That thought echoed in my head the moment I stepped into the hall. Isa ako sa mga unang dumating.

As expected, the Montenegro Group of Companies never did anything halfway. Lahat ng nasa paligid ay sinadyang magpabilib. From the towering chandeliers dripping with light to the gilded hotel walls na tila kumukutitap sa bawat flash ng camera, every corner of the five-star venue in Makati screamed one thing—power. Even the music, a refined classical piece playing softly in the background, felt orchestrated not for ambience but for control.

This wasn't just a press conference. This was theater. This was performance. And this—was my moment.

I adjusted the press badge hanging heavily around my neck, the weight of it reminding me of my purpose. Sa kamay ko, mahigpit kong hinawakan ang recorder—my weapon. My pulse beat faster, not from intimidation, but because of one singular reason I came here today.

Mr. Theodore Zayne Montenegro.

The name alone carried an empire. Kilalang-kilala sa corporate world—powerful, untouchable, and ruthless enough to silence both rumors and people. He was the golden heir of the Montenegro legacy. Pero hindi ako ang tipong madaling patahimikin. I wasn't here to flatter. I wasn't here to be another friendly voice in the media crowd.

I was here to uncover.

Uncover the truth that thrives in the shadows.

Sa unahan ng function hall, a sleek stage stood beneath the massive Montenegro Group backdrop. Among the glossy folders on our seats, a bold phrase stared back at me, Strategic Vision 2030: A Brighter Future, A Stronger Legacy.

Legacy. Brighter. Stronger. Such beautiful words.

But whose future? And at what cost?

"Journalists and members of the media, thank you for joining us today," the PR representative began, her tone polished, rehearsed. "We'll begin shortly. Mr. Zayne Montenegro will be with us in a few minutes."

Around me, the room buzzed with frantic preparation. Cameramen adjusted tripods, live stream crews tested feeds, veteran reporters compared notes. Faces I recognized from business magazines, lifestyle sections, even entertainment outlets. But I wasn't here to blend in.

I was here to ask the question no one else would dare speak aloud.

Then the lights dimmed. The music stilled. And there he was.

Theodore Zayne Montenegro.

He emerged from the shadows like he owned not just the stage, but the entire city outside its glass walls. Naka-black tailored suit, no tie, the picture of effortless confidence. Tall. Composed. Every step deliberate, every glance commanding. The kind of presence that made people straighten their backs without realizing it.

"Magandang umaga sa inyong lahat," his voice rolled low across the hall—smooth, deep, dangerous. "Thank you for being here as we unveil the next decade of the Montenegro Group's expansion."

Polite applause echoed, a scripted formality. But I didn't clap. I studied him instead. The precise cadence of his speech, the way his hand rested lightly on the podium, the ease with which he commanded silence—it was like watching a statesman on a campaign stage. Calculated. Controlled.

"We believe in sustainable progress, inclusive growth, and building a future where innovation meets tradition."

Beautiful promises. Empty words.

When the floor opened for questions, the usual chorus began, "Mr. Montenegro, how will this impact employment rates?"

"Are you planning to expand outside the Philippines?"

"Can you give us last quarter's figures?"

Predictable. Safe. PR-fed.

I rose to my feet. My voice cut through the air, firm and clear.

"Andra Enriquez, The Daily Truth." Dozens of heads turned. Murmurs rippled. I had just shifted the air in the room.

Mr. Montenegro's gaze snapped to mine. For the first time that morning, something flickered across his face. Recognition? Annoyance? Curiosity? Whatever it was, he didn't hide it.

"Yes, Ms. Enriquez," he said slowly. "You have a question?"

"Yes." My grip tightened around my recorder. "You mentioned inclusive growth. Can you define that in relation to the recent displacement of multiple families in North San Pascual, where one of your commercial centers is being built? Ang ilan po sa kanila ay wala pa ring relokasyon hanggang ngayon."

Silence. The kind that claws through the air. The PR team stiffened. The cameras shifted.

And in that silence, my thought returned like a strike of thunder, Truth is loudest when spoken in silence—at the exact moment everyone else chooses to stay quiet.

Zayne Montenegro didn't flinch. But I saw it—the minute clench of his jaw, the sharp glint in his eyes.

He leaned closer to the mic, his tone steady, but laced with steel.

"We are aware of the situation in San Pascual. We are coordinating with the local government units and housing agencies. All our projects comply with legal protocols."

"Legal, yes," I countered, my voice cutting sharp. "But ethical? Do those families count as part of the 'inclusive growth' you're promising today?" Gasps broke through the hall. Reporters exchanged startled glances.

The PR assistant rushed to cut me off, but he raised a hand, stopping them. His eyes never left mine.

"Would you like a one-on-one interview after this conference, Ms. Enriquez?" His lips curved, not in kindness, but in challenge. "You seem... passionate."

Not a compliment. A provocation.

"Only if you're willing to answer the real questions," I fired back.

"I never run from questions," his voice dropped, velvety, dangerous. "But not all answers are black and white."

"Neither are the consequences."

Our standoff lingered in the silence. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded—an acknowledgment of defiance. Or an invitation to war.

"Noted," he murmured. "We'll speak after this."

The rest of the conference blurred. For everyone else, it continued with the usual script. But for me, it was over. The battle lines had been drawn.

Later, in the reserved media lounge, I waited. My recorder was on, notebook ready. My heartbeat loud in my ears.

Zayne Montenegro entered with the same dominance as he had onstage. But here, stripped of the spotlight, he felt sharper. More dangerous.

He sat across from me, his gaze unwavering. No small talk. No pretense.

"You're not like the rest," he said.

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Depends how deep you plan to dig."

"As deep as I need to," I replied. "This isn't just about business. This is about lives."

His eyes gleamed. "You want the truth? You'll get it. But be careful, Ms. Enriquez. When you chase shadows, you sometimes find darkness you're not ready for."

I held his stare, my pulse thrumming. "I don't chase shadows. I chase the fire."

For a fraction of a second, something shifted in his gaze—interest. Intrigue.

"This will be fun," he murmured.

I closed my notebook. "I'm not here for fun. I'm here for answers."

He leaned back, still watching me like a predator studying prey.

"Then let's see if you're ready for the truth."

When I finally walked out, my heels struck the marble floor like the echo of a gavel. Heavy. Final.

The recorder buzzed quietly inside my bag. Evidence of what had begun.

This wasn't just a story anymore. This was the start of a war.

And I had just declared it—against Theodore Zayne Montenegro.