Prologue

Prologue

Lucy’s POV

Luciandra Azalea Valmonte Sander.

Every time I hear my full name being introduced at conferences, sa mga boardroom, or in glossy magazines, may maliit pa ring kirot na hindi nawawala. Not because I’m ashamed—far from it. I’ve worked blood, sweat, and tears to deserve that name. But because behind every syllable of Architect Sander hides a past I’ve spent years burying.

There was a time I wasn’t anyone. Just Lucy. Just a maid.

Pero ngayon, I stand tall.

The thirty-first floor of Yu Holdings smelled faintly of polished wood and old money. Golden afternoon light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the boardroom. From up here, Manila was sprawling and alive—cars inching along EDSA, jeepneys and buses fighting for space, pedestrians rushing home. The chaos felt far away. In here, it was all precision. Cold air-conditioning. Crystal water glasses. And in front of me, three of the most powerful developers in the country.

Their suits screamed wealth. Their silence screamed judgment.

I took my place at the head of the table, smoothed the lapels of my white blazer, and clicked the remote in my hand. The screen behind me flickered to life, displaying the 3D render of my latest project.

“This,” I began, my voice calm, confident, “is The Summit Tower. More than just a building—it is a statement. A landmark that will redefine Ortigas Center for the next generation.”

The holographic model rotated slowly. A sleek tower of glass and steel, curving like a wave arrested in motion.

“The design draws inspiration from Philippine waters—fluid, resilient, unstoppable. Its façade is crafted from low-emission glass panels, reducing energy consumption by thirty percent. Each floor is a marriage of sustainability and sophistication.

I paused, letting them take it in.

“At night,” I continued, “the tower will glow like a beacon, a light across the city skyline—symbolizing progress, vision, and possibility.”

For a moment, no one spoke. I studied their faces—measured, calculating, skeptical.

Then Mr. Yu, notorious for tearing down young architects, cleared his throat. “And traffic? Ortigas is already choking.”

I clicked to the next slide without hesitation. “We’ve integrated four levels of underground parking. In addition, there will be a designated bay connected directly to the Ortigas MRT. This isn’t just about building a tower—it’s about building a system that anticipates tomorrow’s problems today.”

The room fell quiet. Even the hum of the projector seemed louder.

Finally, Mr. Yu leaned back, fingers steepled. His expression softened into something rare—a smile. “Impressive, Architect Sander. Very impressive.”

My chest swelled, though I kept my voice neutral. “Thank you, sir.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of numbers, nods, and handshakes. By the time I packed my laptop, the deal was practically sealed. Another victory. Another proof that I wasn’t just surviving—I was winning.

But just as I slid my phone into my bag, it buzzed with a new message.

From: Ate Rosa

Max is waiting for you. He wants to show you his drawing.

And just like that, the armor of Architect Sander cracked, replaced by something softer.

Mommy.

The drive home was its usual battle. Manila traffic was an unforgiving beast. Jeepneys cut across lanes, motorcycles threaded dangerously between cars, horns blared in chaotic rhythm. But tonight, I barely noticed. My thoughts were somewhere else.

Seven years.

That’s how long I’ve carried my secret. Seven years since I walked out of the Creed mansion with nothing but a heavy heart and the life growing inside me.

I could still remember that night—my shaking hands, my tears soaking the pillow, the sound of Mrs. Creed’s cold voice telling me I didn’t belong. Felix’s silence.

I had no money. No support. No direction. Just fear.

But then, Max.

The first time I held him, small and fragile in my arms, I felt something shift inside me. He wasn’t just my son. He was my compass. My anchor. My reason to keep fighting even when the world laughed at the idea of a maid-turned-architect.

I clawed my way through sleepless nights, juggling drafting jobs and classes. I endured rejection after rejection—“you don’t have the right degree,” “you don’t have the right connections,” “you’re just a single mother.”

But every time I wanted to quit, I saw Max’s face. And I pushed harder.

Now, I drove my own SUV. I wore power suits. I signed billion-peso contracts.

Yet nothing in this world compared to the joy of hearing my son’s laughter when I opened our front door.

The condo smelled faintly of vanilla candles when I stepped inside. But what hit me harder was the sound.

“Mommy!”

Max barreled into me, arms wrapping tight around my waist. His hair was a little wild, his smile wide and bright. And his eyes—God, those eyes—hazel and piercing, a mirror of the man I tried so hard to erase from my heart.

Every time I looked at him, I saw the man I couldn’t forget.

“Baby,” I breathed, hugging him close, letting his warmth erase the weight of the day. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more!” he giggled, tugging at my hand. “Come, Mommy! Look what I made!”

On the table in the living room lay a piece of paper. Crayon lines formed a tall tower, windows drawn like grids, surrounded by two stick figures. Him and me.

“Wow,” I whispered, kneeling beside him. “Ang galing naman ng anak ko. Are you going to be an architect too?”

Max puffed out his chest proudly. “Yes! Pero I’ll make our house the tallest so you don’t have to work so hard anymore.”

The words pierced me. I smiled anyway, smoothing his hair. “Sweetheart, I don’t mind working hard. Everything I do is for you.”

His eyes searched mine. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

After dinner, we curled up on the couch. He colored another drawing while I reviewed notes on my tablet. The TV murmured in the background, but all I could hear was his little voice.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why don’t I have a daddy?”

My fingers froze. The question landed like a stone in my chest.

I forced a steady breath. “Not all families look the same, baby. Some have a mommy and daddy, some just a mommy, some just a daddy. Ours…” I kissed his head, “ours has the best thing—love.”

He thought about it for a moment. Then he smiled, content. “Okay. As long as I have you.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. If only he knew. If only he knew the truth about the man whose blood ran in his veins.

Felix Creed.

The name alone made my heart twist.

Later that night, after stories and prayers, Max drifted off, hugging his stuffed lion. I lingered by the door, watching him breathe in the soft glow of his nightlight. My son. My secret. My greatest love.

I closed the door gently and leaned against the wall, whispering to myself.

“Luciandra Azalea Valmonte Sander.” A name that meant strength, independence, success. But beneath the polished title, I was still Lucy. The girl who once gave her heart to Felix Creed and lost everything.

And though I tried to bury the past, I knew one truth, the past always claws its way back.

I padded softly to my study, intending only to check tomorrow’s schedule before bed. The condo was quiet, the city lights glittering beyond the glass windows. I opened my laptop, sipped the last of my coffee, and pulled up my inbox.

At first, it looked ordinary. Work emails. Client updates. Spam.

But then my eyes froze on one subject line.

From: Creed Holdings, Inc.

Subject: Formal Invitation – Architectural Gala & Bidding

My stomach lurched. My hand hovered over the trackpad, trembling before I finally clicked it open.

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

CC: [e-mail]; [e-mail]

Date: September 18, 2025, 9:42 PM

Subject: Formal Invitation – Architectural Gala & Bidding

Dear Architect Sander,

On behalf of Creed Holdings, Inc., we are pleased to formally invite you to participate in our upcoming Architectural Gala and Bidding Event, to be held on October 5, 2025, 7:00 PM, at the Grand Ballroom, Creed Tower, Makati City.

The Gala will showcase top architectural firms and independent practitioners, and will open exclusive opportunities for high-profile projects under the Creed Holdings umbrella.

Given your esteemed reputation and proven expertise in the field, your presence and participation are highly anticipated. Kindly confirm your attendance on or before September 30, 2025.

We look forward to the possibility of working closely with you.

Sincerely,

Angela Villareal

Executive Assistant to the CEO

Creed Holdings, Inc.

Approved by:

Felix A. Creed

Chief Executive Officer

Creed Holdings, Inc.

[e-mail]

My chest tightened. The letters blurred before my eyes, but one detail stood out clear as day.

CC: [e-mail].

His name. His signature. His shadow seeping back into my carefully built world.

I slammed the laptop shut, my pulse racing, my mind screaming one question I couldn’t silence.

Does he know?