Owned by the billionaire heir ( series 3)

Wildest dreams

Spg ..Not suitable for young readers✍️🤭

I

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Caspian Louis Velasquez POV

I tap the wooden spoon against the rim of the pot, watching butter melt into liquid gold around the shrimp. The sauce thickens slowly, clinging exactly the way it should.

Perfect lang ang pwede.

That’s what I always tell my line cooks.

Outside the glass walls of the mansion, the gardens glow under warm string lights. Elegant. Controlled. Prestigious.

Inside this kitchen — this is where I breathe.

Heir daw ako ng Congrego State empire. Future CEO. Future board chairman.

Pero dito lang ako totoo.

Sa pagitan ng apoy at kawali.

Ten years na mula nang mawala si Mom.

I catch my reflection in the stainless lid — same face, same eyes that used to look for her in every doorway.

Dad’s voice echoes in my head.

“Waste of time yang pagluluto mo.”

Tonight is his engagement party.

And every dish I prepared? Para sa kanya.

Not for praise.

Not for critics.

Just maybe… just maybe… he’ll look at me and see something worth keeping.

I scan the spread.

Antipasto. Caprese skewers. Bruschetta.

Filipino touches in between — adobo croquettes, paper-thin lumpia, halo-halo tiramisu.

Mom’s favorites.

Dad probably forgot.

The kitchen door slams open.

“Bro!” Cassiane bursts in, phone in hand, ponytail bouncing. “Food critique is arriving in fifteen minutes! Ito na chance mo to shut them up!”

I roll my eyes. “The hell do I care about critics?”

“Maybe you should,” she mutters softly. “Especially if you want Dad to notice.”

Before I can answer—

“Sorry for interrupting.”

The voice slices through the air.

Cool. Controlled. Slightly amused.

I turn.

Red gown flowing behind her like liquid flame. A black lace mask hides half her face, but her eyes—

Her eyes don’t bow.

“I’m here to taste the food,” she says casually.

No introduction.

No hesitation.

She takes a spoon from the soup I spent hours perfecting.

Tastes it.

Pauses.

Then sets the bowl down.

“Ang pangit ng lasa,” she says calmly. “Chef ka ba talaga?”

Something inside me tightens.

No one has ever said that to me.

I gesture subtly for Cassiane to leave.

The door closes.

Silence.

I step closer to her, slow, deliberate.

“Say that again,” I murmur.

She tilts her chin up. “Absurd.”

That smirk.

That confidence.

I grip the counter beside her head, trapping her between steel and heat.

“You walk into my kitchen,” I say quietly, “and insult my work?”

“And you think I’m wrong?” she fires back.

The tension snaps.

I kiss her.

Not gently.

Not politely.

It’s a challenge. A collision. A clash of pride.

For a second I expect her to push me away.

She doesn’t.

She responds.

Fierce. Matching. Unafraid.

Her fingers curl into my collar, pulling me closer instead.

My breath falters.

The air between us thickens, heavy with unspoken things.

The kitchen — my sacred space — becomes dangerous territory.

Her hand slides to my chest. I feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her gown.

“Still think it’s pangit?” I whisper near her ear.

She inhales sharply.

“You cook with ego,” she murmurs. “Not emotion.”

That hits harder than the insult.

I lean my forehead against hers.

“And what do you know about my emotions?”

She looks at me — really looks at me.

“Enough.”

The door outside slams somewhere down the hall.

Reality crashes back.

We pull apart slowly.

Breathing uneven.

Her gown slightly disheveled.

My shirt half-open.

We stare at each other like we just committed something reckless.

“Name,” I demand softly.

She smiles beneath the mask.

“Malalaman mo mamaya.”

And just like that—

Everything shatters.

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Heavy footsteps.

Dad appears from the hallway, already in his black tuxedo.

His jaw tight.

His eyes burning.

He doesn’t even ask.

A sharp elbow to my stomach.

A punch to my jaw.

I stagger.

“Sinabi ko na sa’yo!” he roars. “Umalis ka na dito! Punta ka ng Batanes at huwag ka nang bumalik!”

Before I can stand straight—

I hear it.

The unmistakable click.

A gun.

The masked woman steps out from the side hall just in time to see it.

“Stop!” she shouts.

I move instinctively, stepping in front of her.

The shot fires.

A burst of heat explodes in my arm.

I drop to one knee.

Dad stares at me for one cold second.

Then walks away.

Like nothing happened.

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Two hours later.

Bandaged.

Bruised.

Still standing.

I adjust my grey tuxedo and red mask, hiding the swelling in my jaw.

Tonight I’ll finally meet the woman Dad plans to marry.

The grand hall is dazzling.

Music. Laughter. Politics disguised as celebration.

And then—

A hand touches my shoulder.

I turn.

Blue cocktail dress.

Red mask.

Her.

“Ako si Camille,” she says softly.

The name settles into my chest.

“Dance?” she asks.

We move to the center floor as a slow waltz begins.

Her hand fits perfectly in mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the host announces. “Let’s welcome our hosts — Mr. Arden Velasquez and his fiancée, Miss Claire Moretti!”

I freeze.

Dad steps forward, smiling for cameras.

Beside him—

A young woman in white.

Too young.

Too polished.

Too strategic.

Camille’s fingers tighten around mine.

Then—

BOOM.

An explosion at the far end of the hall.

Screams erupt.

Smoke floods the ceiling.

I pull my concealed gun from behind my tuxedo.

“Stay here,” I tell Camille firmly. I kiss her forehead quickly. “Babalik ako.”

I run toward the smoke.

The hallway is dark now, filled with thick gray haze.

A figure steps out slowly.

All black.

Masked.

Applauding.

“Bravo, Caspian,” the stranger says mockingly. “Chef ka nga talaga. Marunong kang magluto ng gulo.”

A gun is raised.

Pointed directly at my chest.

“Hindi ka makakatakas sa multo ng pamilya mo. Ang kasalanan ng ama mo… ikaw ang magbabayad.”

My pulse pounds.

I take one step back.

And that’s when I see it.

On his finger.

A ring.

The Velasquez crest.

My breath stops.

Impossible.

Behind me, through the smoke, I hear Camille scream—

“Caspian—!”

The masked man’s finger tightens on the trigger.

Time slows.

—

Black.

Silence.

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