Chapter 6: THE MAKING OF A MASK

Nanatiling nakapatong ang vow booklet sa nightstand, mukhang magkakaroon na ng alikabok dahil hindi man lang ito nabubuksan; ang gintong character na naka-emboss dito ay tila nang-aasar kay Bella tuwing napapatingin siya rito: “My Vows.” Mga salitang hindi niya kailanman isinulat. Mga pangakong hindi pinili, pinag-isipan o galing sa puso. At tatlong araw mula ngayon, muli na naman siyang magsasalita—ihaharap ang sarili sa libong tao, media, press; at this time itong mga tao na ito ay walang pagdadalawang-isip na wasakin siya at sirain sa isang pagkakamali lamang.

Nakaupo siya sa tapat ng mahogany desk sa isa sa private studies ng penthouse, nakabukas ang notebook sa harap niya. Tila parang langit na walang ulap ang mga pahina nito: blangko—na para bang inaasar din siya, gaya ng pang-aasar ng vow booklet.

Gumalaw na sa wakas ang kanyang kamay at isinulat ang iilang salita: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

 

Kailangan ba English talaga ’to? Mauubos yata ang grammar ko, turan ni Bella sa sarili.

Wala pa man isang talata ang sinusulat niya ay tumigil na siya at nairita, bago i-cross out ang mga nasulat. Wala pa man, feeling niya ang kanyang mga sinusulat ay walang laman, mahinang pakinggan at mali sa pandinig. Hindi siya si Marisella—polished and charming—na kayang mapasunod ang mga tao sa isang ngiti lamang. Siya si Bella, ang kapatid na nabubuhay sa anino at ngayon napipilitang mapunta sa spotlight na para kay Bella ay parang sentensya ng kamatayan.

Bumukas ang pintuan ng study kaya napaupo nang maayos si Bella.

“Pathetic,” ana ng Englishero niyang asawa, low, cold, cruel, cutting.

Pinagmasdan ni Bella na pumasok si Leon sa study; wala na ang coat na suot, nakataas ang sleeves niya pero kahit gano’n he controlled the room at parang lumiit ang study nang pumasok siya dahil sa dala nitong command at control. Napatingin ito sa notebook ni Isabella. “You’ve written nothing, wife.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

“Trying doesn’t win wars,” matalim na sagot ni Leon. “And make no mistake, wife, this is war. The board, the media, the sharks circling Veyra Global—they’ll devour weakness the moment they smell it. You cannot give them blood.”

Nanikip ang lalamunan ni Bella sa narinig. “Then bakit ako? Why ask me to do this? I’ll only humiliate you, you know that.”

Ilang segundo ang lumipas na para bang may anghel na dumaan sa pagitan nila. Umigting ang panga ni Leon at medyo nanliit ang mga mata, lumapit siya sa mesa—sapat ang lapit ng kanyang mukha para maamoy ni Bella ang amoy niya: clean, sharp, dominant, commanding.

“Because you’re my wife,” turan niya na parang kutsilyong nakabalot sa gintong tela ang pagkakasabi. “And whether you like it or not, you wear my name. You will not dishonor it.”

Her heart hammered. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she never wanted his name, that it was forced upon her like chains. But the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she asked, voice trembling, “And if I fail?”

Leon’s lips curved into the faintest, cruelest of smiles. “Then you’ll learn not to fail again, wife.”

Tumayo nang tuwid si Leon at may sinenyas sa may pintuan. Dalawang tao ang pumasok—isang babae na mukhang nasa forties, may matalim na mata at may dalang clipboard, at isang binata na may dalang stack ng folders.

“This is Mrs. Santiago, head of our public relations team,” Leon introduced. “She’ll prepare you for the gala. Diction, posture, composure—you will absorb everything she teaches you.”

Ang takong ng babae ay naglilikha ng tunog mula sa marmol na sahig ng study habang palapit siya kay Bella, nakatitig na para bang sinusuri siya. “She’s stiff,” turan ni Mrs. Santiago nang walang abog-abog. “Mukha pang kabado. That won’t do.”

Leon’s gaze lingered on Bella. “Then fix her.”

The next hours blurred into a relentless drill. Bella was forced to practice greetings, to stand with her shoulders straight, to hold eye contact without flinching.

“Again,” Mrs. Santiago commanded as Bella stumbled over a simple introduction.

Bella’s throat was raw, palms damp with sweat. She tried to force confidence into her tone, but it came out shaky.

Mrs. Santiago shook her head. “You sound like a girl begging for approval. Dapat maging isang babae ka na parang sa’yo ’yung mismong kumpanya, ’yung mismong boardroom. Dapat makita pa lang nila ang postura mo, alam na nila na hindi ka dapat bastusin.”

Bella clenched her fists. “I’m not Marisella kaya please…” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Napataas ang kilay ni Mrs. Santiago. But Leon, who had been silently observing from the corner, finally spoke.

“No,” he said, stepping forward, his voice low and deliberate. “You are not Marisella. She ran. You stayed. That makes you mine. And mine does not cower, wife.”

Parang mga kidlat na tumama ang mga salita ni Leon sa kanya.

Bella looked down, her voice almost breaking. “I didn’t stay. I was trapped. Hindi ko g-ginusto ’to.”

Leon tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “And yet here you are, wife. That means you endure. Endurance, Isabella, is more powerful than charm.”

For a moment, their eyes locked—his dark, unreadable, hers filled with fear and something she didn’t want to name. Then he released her, stepping back, na para bang may nakita si Leon sa mga mata niya kaya mabilis itong napaatras.

“Continue,” he ordered Mrs. Santiago.

By evening, Bella’s throat burned from endless repetition. She collapsed onto the bed, the notebook discarded at her side. Her speech was still a mess of half-sentences and crossed-out lines.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her head—Para sa atin. Para sa kapatid mo. You are our only hope.

Marisella’s cryptic whisper haunted her still—Kailanganin mo ’yan more than I do?

And Leon’s words carved themselves into her bones—Mine does not cower.

She buried her face in her hands, wishing for escape, wishing for silence. But there was none. Only the weight of his name pressing heavier and heavier on her chest.

The door opened softly. She tensed, thinking it was Mrs. Santiago again. But it was Leon.

He leaned against the doorway, watching her. His eyes softened—not gentle, never gentle, but something less sharp than usual. It was… something new yet familiar.

“You think I set you up to fail,” he said quietly, hindi inaalis ang titig kay Bella.

Bella froze hearing the words from Leon.

“But I don’t,” tuloy niya at lumapit. “If you succeed at that gala, it won’t just silence the world. It will prove something to me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Ano?”

“That you deserve to stand beside me, wife.”

The words landed heavy, not a compliment but a challenge.

Leon brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering just a second too long. “Three days, wife. Don’t waste them.”

When he left, Bella sat in silence, her heart a storm.

She hated him. She feared him. But a tiny, traitorous part of her wanted—needed—to prove him wrong. Gustong patunayan ng ego niya na sisiw lang ang pinagagawa ni Leon sa kanya. At may isa pa siyang gustong patunayan:

To prove she wasn’t just his substitute bride.

But the terrifying question remained: If she succeeded, would she still belong to herself? Or would she belong even more to him?