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Chapter 22
Huling Na-update:
2025-05-17 16:41:54---
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Chapter 22: The Morning After Didn’t Lie
The morning had a heaviness she couldn’t explain.
Sunlight leaked in through the blinds, slanting across the bed like it had something to confess. The sheets were still twisted, still warm, still smelling like him. The ache in her body hadn’t faded, but it had shifted—turned into something sharper. Something lonelier.
Christopher was gone.
She sat up, slow like her limbs weighed more than they should. Pulled the sheet around herself even though there was no one to see her. The room was too quiet. That kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful—just empty.
For once, she didn’t want to run. But she didn’t want to stay either.
She felt sore—everywhere. But the dull ache between her thighs was nothing compared to the sharp one under her ribs.
Then—a knock. Not gentle. Not uncertain. Loud. Firm. Meant to break through.
Her heart did a strange thing in her chest.
She wrapped herself in her robe, hand hovering over the doorknob. One breath. Another.
She opened the door.
And just like that—her stomach dropped.
Victor.
The last man she ever wanted to see. Her husband’s father. The ghost that haunted their family without saying much. Always watching. Always pulling strings. His black coat was spotless. His shoes shined. His silver rings caught the light like they had something to say. But his eyes—that’s what stopped her. Cold. Flat. Cruel.
“You’ve been busy,” he said, voice low but clear.
She stared, throat tight.
“How did you find me?”
That crooked smile crawled across his face.
“You forgot who I am.”
There wasn’t any rage in his voice. Just that same chilling calm, like someone talking over a chessboard mid-move.
She went to shut the door.
He didn’t let her.
Palm flat against it. Unbothered.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Isla,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place. “But I am going to talk. You’d do well to listen.”
Her hands curled into fists. “I don’t owe you anything.”
He didn’t argue. Just walked a little further in, took in the mess. The bed. The air still thick with sex and sweat and things neither of them had said out loud.
He let out a soft laugh, one without humor. “So. It’s started.”
She went still.
“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” he asked, turning to face her again. “You thought I wouldn’t feel it when he finally crossed that line?”
Her chest tightened. She hated how he always knew too much.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped in closer, like he wanted her to feel every word.
“To remind you who he is,” Victor said, voice colder now. “Who I made him into. And what it’s going to cost if you keep pretending this can end well.”
“He’s not like you,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Victor’s face didn’t move. But his words hit like a knife.
“No. He’s worse.”
---
She stood in the shower after he left, hot water biting her skin. She didn’t move. Just leaned her head against the wall and let the sound of water drown out the noise in her head.
She remembered the way Christopher touched her. The way he said her name.
You’re not a sin.
Then why did she feel like one?
---
He didn’t come back that night.
No text. No call.
At first she waited—paced, checked her phone, left the lamp on. By the second day, she stopped hoping. Stopped pretending.
She grabbed the keys and left.
No plan. Just instinct.
She drove until the city fell away in the rearview mirror, until the buildings turned into trees and the roads twisted like they were trying to hide something.
Then she saw it—his motorcycle, tucked beneath the trees near the lake. The place he always disappeared to when things got too dark inside him.
He was there. Sitting by the water. Cigarette in one hand. A gun lying next to him like it belonged there.
He didn’t turn when she walked up.
“I thought you were smarter than this,” he muttered.
She sat beside him anyway, arms wrapped around her knees. “I thought you cared more.”
His jaw clenched.
“I do.”
“Then why’d you run?”
A drag from the cigarette. Smoke curling up between them.
“Because I wanted more.”
She frowned. “More?”
He nodded, still not looking at her. “More than this. More than hiding. More than bleeding for a life that doesn’t exist. I wanted something clean. Something good. With you. But I don’t think I can give that to you.”
She stared at the water. “You think I don’t already know that?”
He turned. Looked at her like she was something delicate he didn’t know how to hold anymore.
“I’m not scared of who you are,” she said.
“You should be.”
She took the cigarette, tossed it into the lake.
“I’m not. I’m only scared of losing you.”
Something cracked in his eyes.
He kissed her then. Not rough. Not rushed. Just… real. Quiet and dangerous in its softness.
Hope.
---
They made love again that night.
Not like before.
No heat. No games.
Just skin against skin under a canopy of pine and silence. The stars above didn’t feel so far anymore. Nothing did.
When it was over, she laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
“This won’t last,” he said.
“Then let’s make it count,” she whispered.
---
Back in the city, everything was unraveling.
Victor wasn’t done. He was pulling strings in the background—freezing their accounts, poisoning people with whispers about Isla’s sanity.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst came in the form of an email. No name. No subject line. Just a file.
She opened it.
What she found wasn’t a threat.
It was the truth.
Christopher had lied.
Not about loving her.
But about how he knew her before she ever stepped into his life.
And just like that, something broke in her.
And this time, it didn’t heal.
Pinakabagong kabanata
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