SECRETLY MARRIED TO A BILLIONAIRE FIREFIGHTER

CHAPTER 1: POLARIS STADIUM

“Tori! Tori!”

“Tori!”

“More…more…more!”

The Polaris Stadium, owned by the Rodriguez family, trembled under the weight of thousands of voices. Tonight was Tori Herrera’s homecoming concert, and her fans weren’t holding back.

Tori Herrera, daughter of legendary singer-actress Marigold Herrera and ‘90s matinee king Christopher De Silva. She debuted at seventeen and was immediately labeled what everyone loves to hate: a nepo baby. Privileged. Connected.

They said she only got this far because of her last name.

Three years later, she proved them wrong.

She wasn’t famous because she was Marigold’s daughter.

She was famous because when she sang, the whole country listened.

It had only been a week since she got back from "The Other Side" — her anniversary world tour.

Sweat clung to her skin. Her chest rose and fell as she lifted one hand to the crowd, the other gripping the microphone a fan gifted her on her last birthday.

“Thank you, guys!” she grinned, and the stadium erupted again. “You guys are awesome, you know that?” She waved to the upper box, catching her breath.

“I love you, Tori!” someone screamed.

Tori blew a flying kiss and the roar that followed nearly shook the lights from the ceiling.

“I love you too!” she called into a camera. “And to everyone watching at home — I love you guys too!”

She pushed the damp hair from her face and blew another kiss before walking to the edge of the stage. A staff member handed her water.

“Thank you,” she murmured, drank, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You want more?”

“MORE!” the crowd answered as one.

Tori smiled and nodded to a waiting staff member, who brought her a guitar.

She took it with a quiet “thank you,” then turned back to the sea of light — thousands of phone flashlights swaying.

“You know, this isn’t on "The Other Side" ,” she said softly.

The noise died. Everyone could feel the shift. The air got heavier. Her smile faded. The light in her eyes dimmed.

This was Tori’s magic. She could change the entire mood of a room with one song.

“This one’s for the people who loved hard, got hurt, tried to move on… but the memories won’t let them,” she said. A small, sad smile. “It’s called "Lost" .”

She cleared her throat and began to play.

All the memories I tried to keep

All the bad things that I did

All the breakable lies

And now, I lost you… yeah

Her eyes closed. Every word hurts.

When the last chord faded, she quickly brushed away a tear before anyone could see.

“I think that’s all for tonight, guys,” she said, voice rough. Then she turned and walked off fast.

---

Backstage was quieter, but no less chaotic.

Tori handed the guitar to a staff member and shrugged off her blazer, left in a black tube top.

“That was amazing, Tori,” Ember, her manager, said as she met her. “You—”

“I want to go home, Ember.”

Ember stopped walking. “What? But the after-party—”

“I’m not in the mood. I just want to go to bed. Please.”

“No, you can’t,” Ember said, already frowning. “The heads of Crystal Music are there. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

One of Sid’s six bodyguards opened the dressing room door for them. Tori sat in front of the mirror and started taking off her earrings.

“I’m not going, Ember. I’m tired.” Her tone left no room for argument as the makeup artist began wiping her face.

“But—”

“Can we talk about this later? I really can’t tonight.”

The door opened before Ember could reply. Sid stood there, holding flowers and smiling like he owned the room. Which, technically, he did.

“Hi, sweetheart. You were incredible tonight.” He nodded at Ember, who sighed and stepped back.

Tori gestured for her PA, Jessa, to take the bouquet.

Sid’s smile twitched, then recovered when he caught her eyes in the mirror.

“Still not coming to the after-party?”

Tori shrugged. “I’m going home, Sid. That’s final. My flight to Guimaras is early tomorrow. I need rest.”

Sid sighed. “Fine. I’ll drive you home.”

“Don’t bother. I’m sure you’re needed—”

“You’re more important.” His voice was firm. “I’m driving you. Whether you like it or not.”

Tori hesitated, then nodded.

“Alright.”

---

*WELCOME TO SAN LORENZO*

The words were carved into the arched concrete at the town entrance.

Tori clicked her tongue and gripped her black purse.

One month of vacation. She can do this.

It was past 10 AM when she landed in Iloilo where her Uncle Ansen was waiting for her. From the airport, they went straight to the pier, then boarded a pump boat to Guimaras.

At the Jordan port, Uncle Mon was waiting for them with the Montero. Uncle Ansen rode shotgun as Tori took the back seat and immediately closed her eyes.

Exhaustion from rehearsals and the tour pulled her under fast.

Tori woke up to the heat pressing against the car window.

Groggily, she looked around. The car wasn’t moving and she was alone.

She fished her phone from her bag and called Uncle Ansen.

“Uncle—”

“Stay in the car, Tori,” he cut in, voice tight. “We’ll be right back.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a fire. It’s smoky. Just stay there.”

And just like that, the line went dead.

Tori looked around and realized that they were parked near the ancestral house. Thick smoke rolled in the distance as people were trying to put it out with buckets.

Then she heard sirens. A fire truck screamed past.

Her gaze caught on the man hanging off the back.

Firefighter uniform and unfairly handsome. The kind that made models look average.

Tori let out a small smile.

“Well… this month just got interesting.”

She reclined the seat, turned on her portable fan, and fell asleep again.

When she woke up, the smoke was gone. The road was almost clear. The fire truck was still up ahead, but no firefighters in sight.

Then she heard her phone rang. Everett.

She smiled and stepped out of the Montero to catch some air as she answered the call.

“Hey, how was the flight?”

“It was good,” she said, looking down. That’s when she realized she’d stepped on a ripe mango. “I think I’m gonna like it here. I’ve been here before, when—”

She stepped back and collided with someone.

“Ah!” Tori screamed in horror.

A hand caught her wrist followed by arm locked around her waist, hauling her upright.

“Hey.”

The voice was cold. Irritated.

Tori jerked away. “Keep your hands off me!”

If she hadn’t steadied herself, she would’ve hit the pavement.

“Tsk.”

But Tori wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at her phone on the ground — cracked screen, soaked from the hose he’d dropped to catch her.

Her eyes lifted slowly.

And froze.

It was him.

The firefighter from the truck.

Oh. My. God!

“Tori?”

Both of them turned.

“Uncle,” Tori said quickly, tearing her gaze away. “Is everything okay?”

Uncle Ansen nodded, then looked past her.

“Thank you so much for responding, Taj.”

Taj.

So that was his name.