Chapter 2: Whispers of the Past

The humid air of Manila wrapped around Sarah Reynolds like a familiar embrace as her plane touched down after five long years abroad.

She had spent those years chasing inspiration across Europe, her paintbrushes capturing the raw beauty of sunlit coasts and shadowed alleys.

But now, home called her back to the Philippines, to the woman who had raised her single-handedly through every hardship.

Sarah hailed a taxi straight from the airport, her heart quickening at the thought of seeing her mother, Eleanor.

Eleanor's modest apartment in Quezon City buzzed with energy the moment Sarah stepped through the door.

The older woman, still vibrant at forty-five with her silver-streaked hair tied in a loose bun and eyes sparkling like polished onyx, threw her arms around her daughter.

"Sarah! My baby girl, you're finally home!" Eleanor squealed, pulling back to cup Sarah's face, her thumbs brushing away an imaginary tear.

"Five years—feels like a lifetime. Look at you, even more stunning than I remember. Those European men must have been falling at your feet."

Sarah laughed, dropping her suitcase by the door and sinking into the worn but comfortable couch. The apartment hadn't changed much: faded family photos on the walls, the scent of adobo lingering from lunch, and Eleanor's endless chatter filling the space.

"Mom, it's good to be back. I've missed this—missed you." She kicked off her shoes, feeling the cool tile under her feet.

Eleanor bustled into the kitchen, pouring iced calamansi for them both before settling beside her daughter. Her excitement bubbled over immediately, words tumbling out like a river after a storm.

"Oh, Sarah, you won't believe what's been happening here. I've met someone—someone incredible. His name's Dimmy, and he's... God, where do I even start? He's beautiful, in that rugged, older way. So masculine, with broad shoulders and hands that could crush you or caress you just right. And seductive? Honey, the way he looks at you, it's like he's undressing your soul."

Sarah sipped her drink, smiling at her mother's glow. Eleanor had always been open about her loves and losses, but this sounded different—deeper.

"Sounds like he's got you hooked, Mom. Tell me more."

Eleanor's cheeks flushed as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though the apartment was empty save for them.

"We met in Boracay six months ago. I was there on a little getaway, trying to clear my head after that mess with your uncle's cousin—remember? Dimmy was at the beach bar, all salt-kissed skin and that deep voice ordering rum. We talked all night, and by the second evening... well, let's just say the sex was mind-blowing. He took me back to his cabana, and from the moment he kissed me, I knew I was done for. Pinned me against the wall, his mouth on my neck, hands everywhere. And his cock—Sarah, it's huge, thick and long, stretching me in ways I haven't felt since I was your age. He fucked me slow at first, then hard, making me scream his name until I couldn't think straight. Best lay of my life, and that's no exaggeration."

Sarah's laughter rang out, light and teasing, though a faint warmth crept up her neck. Her mother's candor was nothing new, but the vivid details painted a picture that stirred something unexpected in her—a flicker of memory from her own recent escapades in Spain.

She pushed it aside, focusing on Eleanor's joy.

"Whoa, Mom, TMI! But seriously, just be sure about this guy. I don't want to see you in another heartbreak. You've been through enough."

Eleanor waved a hand dismissively, her laugh rich and unburdened.

"I'm sure, Sarah. More than sure. He's different—treats me like a queen. And you know what? I'm planning to introduce him to you by the end of the month. We're talking wedding, can you believe it? A simple ceremony, but it'll be perfect. You'll love him, I just know it."

Her eyes danced with anticipation, already envisioning the future.

Sarah nodded, hugging her mother tightly.

"I'm happy for you, Mom. Really." But as the days blurred into a whirlwind of reconnection, a subtle unease settled in her chest.

The description echoed too closely with a certain night in Spain, but she dismissed it as coincidence. Damian Thorne? No, that man was a fleeting passion, left behind in a tangled hotel bed.

The next two weeks flew by in a haze of activity.

Sarah dove back into her art, her Manila studio alive with canvases splashed in bold colors. Word of her return spread quickly among the elite circles, and soon her calendar brimmed with meetings.

Millionaire clients—tycoons from Makati's skyscrapers and shipping magnates from Cebu—flocked to her, drawn by the exotic flair her European travels had infused into her work.

She negotiated commissions for massive murals depicting Manila's chaotic beauty, her beauty and talent sealing deals over lunches at rooftop bistros.

Portraits of sultry socialites and abstract explosions of tropical storms—each piece sold for sums that made her head spin. Amid the hustle, thoughts of her mother's beau faded to the background, replaced by the thrill of creation.

Then, the day of the introduction arrived. Eleanor had chosen a luxury hotel in the heart of the city, its marble lobby gleaming under crystal chandeliers.

The restaurant within was an oasis of elegance: linen-draped tables overlooking a manicured garden, soft jazz floating through the air, and waiters in crisp uniforms gliding silently.

Sarah smoothed her sundress—a simple black number that hugged her curves—as she and her mother were seated at a corner table.

Eleanor's excitement was evident as she fidgeted with her necklace, her floral blouse standing out against the room's muted colors.

"Sarah, he's here," Eleanor uttered in a breathless whisper as she turned to face the doorway.

"I know you'll like him. He's everything I said and more."

Sarah turned, a polite smile curving her lips, ready to appraise this mystery man who had captured her mother's heart. Minutes stretched as the door swung open again, and then—he walked in.

Damian Thorne.

The world tilted. His tall frame filled the doorway, dressed in a tailored linen shirt that strained against his broad chest, dark hair tousled just so, and those piercing eyes scanning the room.

The same eyes that had locked onto hers in a Spanish gallery, the same hands that had gripped her hips in the dim hotel room, thrusting deep as she moaned beneath him. Shock froze Sarah's face, her blood roaring in her ears.

He hadn't seen them yet, striding forward with that confident gait, but the recognition hit her like a tidal wave.

How? Why? The one-night stand from Spain—the raw, pounding fuck that had left her sore and sated—was her mother's fiancé? Panic clawed at her throat as Damian's gaze finally landed on their table, his expression shifting from casual to something darker, hungrier, as their eyes met.