Kabanata 3: Fake-Fiance

Napakurap si Frances, staring directly into Rafael’s dark, uncompromising eyes habang unti-unting nagpa-process sa utak niya ang sinabi nito.

Engagement. Fake fiancée. Mob wife in the making.

“Teka lang, hold your horses, Kuya Iceberg,” Frances said, her voice jumping two octaves higher as she tried to lean back—which was entirely impossible dahil nakakulong pa rin siya sa bisig ng lalaki.

“Fiancée agad?! Hindi ba pwedeng intern muna? Like, entry-level hostage with room for career growth? Diretso agad sa board of directors ng kasalan? Ni hindi nga tayo dumaan sa getting-to-know-you stage!”

Rafael didn’t budge. He looked down at her with that deadpan, aristocratic coldness, his expression as unreadable as an encrypted file.

“We skip the pleasantries, Francesca,” he said smoothly, his tone flat and authoritative. “The Moretti family is ruthless, but they are traditionalists. A casual fling is disposable. An employee is replaceable. A fiancée carries the Valderama name. Touch you, and it’s a declaration of total war.”

“Eh paano kung gusto ko lang mag-work from home safely sa province? Like, magtago sa Baguio, magtanim ng strawberries, totally off the grid?”

“They own the ports, the bus terminals, and the local police in three provinces,” Rafael stated, cold and matter-of-fact. “You wouldn’t make it past the Balintawak tollgate alive.”

Frances groaned, throwing her head back in sheer defeat. “Grabe naman ’yang threat level niyo, nationwide coverage. Walang dead spot?”

“None.”

“At saka, hello? Look at me!” Ininguso niya ang suot niyang neon pink hoodie na may bahagyang mantika ng samgyupsal at ang pastel Crocs niya sa sahig. “Mukha ba akong asawa ng billionaire cartel lord? People will look at us and think you’re sponsoring my college tuition under an outreach program! Magiging meme tayo sa T*****r, Boss!”

The corner of Rafael’s mouth gave a faint, dangerous twitch—the closest he ever came to an actual smirk. Without releasing her waist, he used his free hand to catch a stray strand of hair falling across her face, tucking it behind her ear with slow, calculating precision.

“Tomorrow morning, an entire styling team from Milan will be here to fix that,” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against her collarbone. “You will wear the diamonds, you will stand by my side, and you will play the part of the only woman who has ever managed to hold my attention.”

Napakapit si Frances sa silk shirt nito purely on instinct, conscious sa bigat ng titig ni Rafael na parang kayang tunawin kahit ang pinakamatigas na yelo sa Pasig.

“Hold your attention?” bulong niya, eyebrows lifting slightly despite her racing pulse. “More like held your wrist against my will. May paid leave ba ’tong fiancé position? May 13th month pay? HMO package with mental health coverage? Kasi feeling ko magkaka-PTSD ako sa business model niyo.”

Rafael leaned down slightly, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, his breath warm against the freezing chill of the penthouse.

“Unlimited budget, full cartel protection, and anything you ask for,” he whispered, his tone dropping into something far darker, heavy with a silent promise. “Except your freedom.”

Frances swallowed hard, feeling the cold steel of the penthouse floor beneath her Crocs, the absurd smell of Korean BBQ still lingering in the air, and the absolute, iron-clad certainty na wala na nga siyang kawala.

She let out a long, dramatic sigh against his chest.

“Fine,” she muttered, looking up at him with pure resignation. “Pero sagot mo ang unli-cheese dip sa wedding reception. Deal-breaker ’yon, Bossing.”

Rafael looked down at her, the cold ice in his gaze finally cracking into something uncomfortably close to amusement.

“Deal, tesoro.”