Chapter Two

The old man smirked. "Money? Name? Fame? Name it. I can give it to you. You just need to marry my son and make him act like a normal person."

Rory's brow furrowed. "What is your son? An alien? Isn't he human?"

The old man laughed again. "Ha! You're really good for my son. You have a sense of humor—and my son doesn't have one. You compliment each other perfectly!"

Rory narrowed her eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the sadness, or the fact that she wanted to entertain the old man's nonsense. She wanted to forget the pain caused by the betrayal of the people she had trusted.

"No offense, Mr—"

"I am Mr. Niccolo Dimitrios. And may I know your name?" he asked politely.

"I am Rory Salazar," Rory said, extending her hand. The old man quickly took it.

"My daughter-in-law has a beautiful name. It suits you very well, dear. You and my handsome son are a perfect match."

"Hmm. Are you tricking me? You're just being biased because he's your son."

"Haha! Of course not! Do you want me to call him right now?"

Rory grimaced. "I don't know. Up to you."

"Well, he's a busy man. But I'll try," the old man said with a laugh. "But I'm sure he'll agree to marry you—"

"What if you and your son are serial killers?"

"Oh, please! I'm not a serial killer, and neither is my son. He's just… hmm, how do I say this? Emotionless? But hey… he's human. If you doubt my son or me, you can search my name on the internet."

"Are you a politician?"

"What? Of course not!" The old man quickly defended himself. "I'm a businessman. I own a company—chains of hotels, malls, and so on."

"You're trying to scam me, aren't you?"

The old man sighed. "I'm not. Do I need to call my lawyer so you'll believe I'm not lying?"

"Maybe he's your accomplice," the young woman insisted.

"Wait," the old man said, taking out his phone. Then he called someone. After a few moments, the call was answered. He held his phone out to Rory.

"Mr. Cojuangco?!" Rory exclaimed.

The old man smiled at her. "You know him?"

Rory nodded. "He's my father's friend."

"Well, he's my lawyer—"

"What?!" Rory interrupted.

"You heard correctly, dear. I am his private lawyer," Mr. Cojuangco replied on the other end of the line. "Rest assured, he's not a scammer. In fact, your father knew him."

Rory turned to the old man. "You knew my father?"

"Well, what's your father's name?"

Something lodged in Rory's throat. It had been less than a year since her father died, so it was still painful for her to remember him.

"His name was Peter Salazar," she answered, fighting back tears.

"Ah!" the old man exclaimed. "So Peter was your father? I used to see only one of his daughters often at events back then."

Rory gave a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah. I was busy with school."

"That's what he said back then. He said you were smart and that he was very proud of you," the old man said sincerely.

Rory looked away and immediately downed her drink. Her emotions felt like they were about to explode. What if her father were here? He would definitely scold Alana. She was sure her father would take her side.

After a while, Rory lost count of how many glasses of alcohol she had drunk. She was completely losing herself in the drink, trying to forget what she had witnessed.

Rory flinched when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

She turned around.

The old man was looking at her. "Rory, I'm going to head out first. An old man like me can't keep up with your drinking." He placed something in Rory's hand—a business card. "Call this number when you're ready to be driven home, okay? And about your wedding to my son. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Sir…"

"Nonsense! Call me Papa or Dad, because I'll be your father too once you marry my son."

Rory laughed. "Sure, Papa!"

It wasn't Rory who was talking. It was the alcohol. Rory was completely out of it, but hearing someone ask her to call him "dad" made her heart swell with happiness. It had been almost a year since she'd had anyone to call that.

Mr. Niccolo left, and Rory was alone at the bar counter, drowning in alcohol while crying. Her vision was blurry from all the tears, but she didn't care if people stared at her. All she wanted was to ease the pain she was feeling right now.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" the bartender asked Rory.

But Rory just shook her head and continued crying.

The bartender scratched his forehead, glanced at the sobbing woman, then sighed. He picked up the business card in front of Rory and dialed the number on it.

"Hello, sir? Could you please come pick up Miss Rory? She's really drunk. She's at D'beat."

When the call ended, the bartender placed the card back in front of Rory. She stared at it, wondering if this was Mr. Dimitrios's driver. But she quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.

Instead, she took out her phone and stared at the photos of her and Richard. That only made her cry even harder.

"Damn you for breaking my heart," she said hoarsely. "I-I wish I had never said yes to you back then. You bastard! Out of all the women you could have been with, you had to pick my sister. You're disgusting!"

With a heavy thud, Rory collapsed and passed out from being too drunk.

Rue Rivaz sat sprawled across the long sofa, a glass of whiskey resting casually in his grip.

Beside him, his private secretary, Martin, was preoccupied with cross-checking his boss's schedule for the following day on an iPad. Suddenly, Martin’s phone vibrated with an incoming call.

Scanning the caller ID, Martin immediately looked toward his boss. "Sir, it's your father."

"Answer it," Rue instructed coldly, without so much as glancing at the secretary.

Martin nodded, quickly picking up the call and pressing the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"Martin!" the old man’s voice boomed through the speaker.

"Yes, Mr. Dimitrios?" Martin replied professionally.

"Hmm... is my son with you?"

Martin shot a glance at Rue before answering, "Yes, sir. He is sitting right beside me."

"Haha!" The old man let out a hearty laugh. "That's good! I have a favor to ask of you, Martin."

"What would that be, sir?" Martin asked nervously.

"Hmm... It's nothing too difficult. You see, I have a friend who got quite drunk. When this person calls, could you two pick them up? I've had a bit too much to drink myself and won't be able to drop them off. In fact, I've already headed home—you know how it is when you get older; your tolerance for alcohol drops. So I was hoping you two could pick up my friend? I'm sure Rue won't mind."

Martin hesitated, scratching his head in silence. The relationship between Mr. Dimitrios and his son, Rue, was notoriously strained. They had gone years without speaking, though in recent months, the elder Dimitrios had been making persistent efforts to bridge the gap. He called often—calls that Rue routinely ignored.

Because of this, Martin was thoroughly bewildered as to why Mr. Dimitrios was suddenly dropping a personal favor onto his son's shoulders.

"Mr. Dimitrios—"

Before Martin could finish his sentence, the old man hung up the call. Letting out a quiet sigh, the secretary turned back toward his boss.

"Sir..."

Rue set his crystal tumbler onto the glass coffee table. "What did my dear father say this time?"

"He mentioned he has a friend who got drunk and asked if we could pick them up," Martin reported nervously.

Rue’s brow furrowed into a sharp line. "What?"

"He said we should pick the person up once they call. It seems Mr. Dimitrios has had a bit to drink as well—he mentioned he already went home. So h-he left the responsibility to us."

Ding!

The sharp chime of Rue's personal phone echoed across the room. Both men turned their eyes toward the device resting on the table. An unregistered number flashed on the screen—undoubtedly the caller Mr. Dimitrios had warned them about.

"Answer it," Rue commanded Martin.

Martin picked up the phone and pressed the answer button. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Calix from D'beat Bar. Could you please come pick up a woman named Rory Salazar?"

"A woman?" Martin blurted out in shock. He sat up straight as he felt Rue's dark, piercing gaze locked onto him.

"Yes, sir. Could someone please come pick her up? Everything she ordered has already been settled, but she has no way to get home. She's thoroughly intoxicated and currently crying here at the bar."

Martin scratched the back of his neck nervously. "A-Alright... send me the address."

Entering the loud, chaotic bar, Rue and Martin headed straight to the main counter. Before approaching the woman passed out against the marble surface, Martin caught the bartender's attention and asked a quick question. A brief confirmation from the bartender was all Martin needed. He turned to Rue and gave a subtle nod, confirming she was indeed the woman his father had tasked them to retrieve.

Rue stared down at Rory. A momentary pause seized him as his eyes swept over her tear-stained face, before his voice cut through the noise,  "Let's go."

Before either of them could move, Rory snapped her head up. Her eyes—glazed with alcohol and heavy with unresolved pain—stared blankly as the words began pouring out of her, completely unfiltered.

"Why are men so inherently awful?! Why do you all have to cheat?! Am I ugly?! Huh?! I’m gorgeous! I’m smart... sexy... What more could be missing?!"

Rue remained dead silent, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. Amidst the thumping bass and drunken shouts of the bar, her trembling voice was the only sound echoing in his mind.

Without another word, Rue stepped forward, bent down, and effortlessly lifted Rory into a firm bridal carry to get her out of the bar.

As she settled into Rue’s chest, Rory instinctively buried her face into his suit jacket, her shoulders heaving as she began to cry softly. Through her muffled sobs, a broken whisper escaped her lips.

"It hurts so bad... Why does my heart hurt this much?"

Rue froze in his tracks, feeling the damp weight of her tears sinking straight into his shoulder.

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