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Fifty
Huling Na-update:
2025-07-24 00:00:00I did not sleep the night after the interview. Sleep felt like a thing that belonged to other people, to lives less entangled. I stayed dressed, lying flat on top of my sheets, staring at the ceiling while the shadows in my room stretched and shifted. It felt as if the dark itself was listening, like the silence had grown into something sentient, waiting for me to move or speak or give it permission to release me.
My phone started vibrating sometime around four. Mentions. Notifications. An alert from Lena that had been tagged “not urgent,” which told me it absolutely was. I sat up slowly and opened it, heart already bracing. The article had been published. Mode Verité did not use loud fonts or exclamation points. Their headline whispered with precision.Integrity Is Not a Campaign: Inside the Quiet Revolution at Cross Atelier.I read it once through with stillness in my body and a heart that beat faster with every paragraph. Then I read it again, slower. A
Pinakabagong kabanata
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Fifty three
I did not sleep much that night.Even with Julian beside me, even with the quiet weight of his hand draped loosely over my hip, the stillness of the room felt too fragile to trust. My body stayed curled against him, but my mind paced. I watched the dark ceiling fade into gray, and the gray give way to that faint blue light that only ever shows up just before morning.He shifted once, half-awake, murmuring something I could not make out. I didn’t respond, but my hand found his. I held it for a while, pressing my thumb softly to his knuckles, grounding myself in that simple contact. He settled back into sleep almost immediately. I envied him for it.By the time the city began to hum beneath our windows, I was already up, already moving. I showered quietly, tying my hair back with the thin silk ribbon I kept in the top drawer. My hands shook when I reached for my earrings, not out of fear, but something else. Something like resolve. My body knew what today wo
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Fifty two
I woke to the soft weight of Julian’s hand draped loosely over my waist. The room was still dim, with only the early morning light sneaking in through the linen curtains, but I didn’t move. My breath stayed even, quiet, as I let myself feel the hush that existed between us before the world stirred. His palm was warm. Familiar. Grounding in a way I hadn’t known I would ever come to need.We hadn’t spoken about it the first night I stayed. There had been no discussion. No drawn lines. No defined shift. Only the gravity of the day that had come before, the unraveling that happened quietly once the door had shut behind us. And since then, it had become natural. Undramatic. He never crossed into my space unless I invited him. He never assumed. But I had stopped pulling away.There was a peace to the mornings that didn’t exist anywhere else. No calls. No urgent alerts from Claudia. No half-breathed panic from Simone. Just the warmth of a body I trusted beside me, and the
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Fifty one
By the time the sunlight had fully reached the floors of the boutique, I could feel the pressure of the day beginning to settle against my chest like a weight I had already agreed to carry. Not because I wanted to, but because it was mine. It belonged to me in a way that was no longer avoidable.The article had shifted something. Not just outside, not just in the public conversation, but inside us. Inside me. It was no longer about silence or waiting or reacting. There was a current now, moving under our feet, and I knew that if I didn’t walk forward with it, it would drag me instead.Julian had gone back to his office just after we returned from the courtyard. He hadn’t said much beyond that quiet promise. The kind that does not beg for answers. The kind that leaves room for breath.Simone was still scanning the online threads, her fingers flying across the keyboard with sharp precision. Claudia was on the phone in the backroom, voice low and clipped, spe
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Fifty
I did not sleep the night after the interview. Sleep felt like a thing that belonged to other people, to lives less entangled. I stayed dressed, lying flat on top of my sheets, staring at the ceiling while the shadows in my room stretched and shifted. It felt as if the dark itself was listening, like the silence had grown into something sentient, waiting for me to move or speak or give it permission to release me.My phone started vibrating sometime around four. Mentions. Notifications. An alert from Lena that had been tagged “not urgent,” which told me it absolutely was. I sat up slowly and opened it, heart already bracing. The article had been published. Mode Verité did not use loud fonts or exclamation points. Their headline whispered with precision.Integrity Is Not a Campaign: Inside the Quiet Revolution at Cross Atelier.I read it once through with stillness in my body and a heart that beat faster with every paragraph. Then I read it again, slower. A
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Forty nine
The day began with a stillness that unsettled me more than any storm could have. The boutique was quiet, too quiet, like the silence that comes right before glass shatters. I stood in the fitting room hallway, fingers trailing lightly along the grain of the wall, trying to ground myself in the physical space I had fought so hard to reclaim. It felt surreal, this calm, as though the walls themselves were bracing for something they already sensed coming. Claudia was the first to arrive. She didn’t speak right away, just handed me a folder with tight lips and eyes that avoided mine. I opened it slowly, already knowing I would not like what I saw. Inside were printed screenshots of a thread spreading quickly across the industry’s internal forums, the kind usually reserved for suppliers, PR firms, and event coordinators. Someone had leaked partial financial records. Not current ones, but old enough to be misleading and carefully selected to suggest mismanagement, overspending, and a cash
He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge Forty eight
I didn’t sleep the night the press coverage broke. I tried—God, I tried—but my body stayed wired, half-braced, as if the walls might fall in at any moment. My thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw headlines layered on headlines, their sharp fonts cutting through my skin like they had been designed to wound. By morning, I was already dressed. I hadn’t even undressed, really. I had pulled on a soft wrap and wandered barefoot through the boutique in silence, checking each room, touching each rail, letting my fingers brush against the fabrics we had chosen with such care. I didn’t need to do it. But I did. Just to remind myself this place still existed. That I still existed in it. Julian found me before the others arrived. I didn’t hear him come in, but when I turned around at the end of the hall, he was already there. Not in a suit. Just in a dark sweater and slacks, his sleeves pushed up, the sharp lines of his face softened by whatever long night he’d had. He di
