Fake Princess, Real Queen

Demani had been standing still for several minutes, her eyes fixed on the towering house before her. She blinked a few times, making sure she wasn’t dreaming—that she had really returned to this place, the very place that reminded her why she had become so afraid to love again.

“I can’t believe I’m back,” she whispered, staring up at the three-story house nestled high on the Antipolo mountain.

It looked exactly the same.

The first and second floors were made of solid concrete, painted pristine white. The windows were crafted from shatterproof glass, and the front door was built from a high-grade, expensive kind of wood. The third floor stood out—it was made entirely of glass. From where she stood, she had a clear view of the spacious and elegant library inside.

Her gaze dropped as she looked around the property.

Out front was a lush Zen garden with perfectly trimmed greenery. At the center, there was a small pond, with a quaint little bridge stretching over it. Lotus flowers floated on the water’s surface, and several pricey Koi swam gracefully beneath. The house was surrounded by tall trees, and just beyond them was a dense forest. She remembered how, from the third floor, the view of the Manila skyline was breathtaking.

She knew. Of course, she knew.

Because she used to live here.

She used to spend dull afternoons in that library, reading as she admired the view through the glass walls. She used to cook in that spacious, modern kitchen with its massive window overlooking the woods.

God, she missed this place. She had lived in this slice of paradise for more than a year. And with it came bittersweet memories. Happy moments. Heated, passionate nights, too.

She exhaled sharply.

No. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap. She was here for business—nothing more. She needed to see him for business reasons, and that was all. She had to keep things professional. After all, they were still legally bound.

Even though the thought of seeing him again filled her with nerves, she knew she had to get along with him—for six whole months.

Six damn months of staying in this house again.

And no matter how much she didn’t want to, she couldn’t say no.

Taking a deep breath, she entered through the automatic gate, dragging her suitcase behind her. She headed straight to the front door. Once she got there, she drew another deep breath before pressing the doorbell.

It took a while before someone finally answered—and of course, it had to be him.

Their eyes met—his were tired and indifferent.

“I’ve been waiting since this morning,” he said, expression unreadable, voice flat. “If you’d told me you’d arrive at noon, I wouldn’t have waited at the door since seven.”

Who told you to wait? I told Attorney Salviejo I’d arrive today, not at seven in the morning.

Oh, how badly she wanted to throw that back at him. Maybe even scream.

But when her gaze dropped to the electric wheelchair he was sitting in, her resolve wavered.

She wanted to give him attitude, maybe even lash out after all the hurt he caused her. But seeing him like this—weak, paralyzed—she decided to let it slide. For now.

So instead, she forced a smile. “Long time no see, Ex-Husband.”

He smirked. “Our marriage was never annulled. Technically, I’m still your husband.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I signed a paper that said we were done—that I had to move out and that we could start living separate lives. I also remember you saying you'd send the annulment papers to my parents’ house. What happened to that? Did you just run out of time or interest?”

Oops. Couldn’t stop that one from slipping out.

He shot her a bored look, then turned the joystick on his wheelchair and spun around without another word. He rolled away.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in.”

***

As soon as she stepped inside, Demani scanned the familiar space. Almost nothing had changed—the large black couch she’d chosen herself was still there, along with the round crystal-glass coffee table and mocha-colored carpet. The paintings and portraits were still up—except for one.

A pang of sadness struck her when she noticed the large wedding photo that used to hang by the stairs was gone.

Why did she even expect it to still be there? Why would he keep that piece of garbage up?

She quickly looked away and turned back to the man in the wheelchair. He was facing her again, his eyes blank as he stared, as if she was the one who ruined their marriage.

Another sigh escaped her lips.

We used to look at each other with love… What the hell happened, Van?

“Did you read the letter?”

His voice pulled her back to the present.

“I did. I understand what you need. That’s why I’m here.”

He nodded, as if they were merely discussing a business deal. And maybe they were. Her estranged husband was colder now—more distant than ever. But really, he had started pulling away long before they officially ended things.

“As Attorney Salviejo explained in the letter, I need to go back to the States for surgery on my legs. Their regulations are strict—I can’t have the operation unless I have a family member to care for me. I could hire ten nurses if I wanted to, but they wouldn’t allow it. It has to be family. And since I don’t have any other family, and we’re still legally married—you’re the only one I can turn to. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you.”

I don’t need your money. I need answers.

“Sure. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I know you can afford to pay. You know I wouldn’t do this for free. And we do need to sort out the annulment. So, maybe after your surgery.”

Van smirked. “Don’t rush things, Demani. I’ll give you what you need.”

She gave him a strained smile. “Alright. So, which guest room upstairs can I use?” She gripped her suitcase handle tightly—if only he knew how badly she wanted to throw it at him.

“Any room on the second floor. But the third floor is off-limits. It’s been closed off since the accident that left me in this wheelchair.”

Her eyes flicked to the stairs—not because she planned to argue, but because she needed to hide the sadness in her eyes.

The third floor wasn’t just the library. It was where the master bedroom was. Their room. That space held memories—of love, arguments, laughter, heartbreak. It was once their favorite part of the house.

But no—she had no reason to go up there anymore. Why would she want to hurt herself all over again?

She took a deep breath, plastered on another fake smile, and turned to him again.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare step foot in that dump. That’s where all my worst memories are anyway.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked toward the staircase, deliberately avoiding the spot where their wedding photo once hung.

“I’ll take the first room—so I can hear you if you call.”

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

She stopped halfway up the stairs when she heard that tone—that commanding tone.

Her jaw clenched.

That was the same voice he used during the last few months of their marriage. The one that drained all her respect for him.

He hadn’t always been like that. He used to be gentle, affectionate. Then one day, he changed—and never looked back.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Fuming, she spun around and raised a brow, glaring at the man below who was watching her every move.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Van Dominic Loudd. I don’t care if you’re paying me—don’t order me around like one of your employees. I don’t need your money. I could’ve said no and left you to rot. But out of the tiniest shred of decency left because of that paper that still ties us together—I came. So no, you don’t get to command me like I owe you. Have you forgotten who ruined us in the first place?”

She expected him to snap back—to smirk, throw an insult, blame her family, or say something cruel like he always used to.

But he didn’t.

He just stared at her in silence.

His face was unreadable. Emotionless. He’d gotten good at hiding how he felt.

And that, more than anything, infuriated her.