Chapter 3

“Some promises are made in silence, but fate always hears them.”

Arielle stood in front of the mirror, her hands cold against the lace fabric of the dress her mother insisted she try on. The soft ivory gown shimmered faintly under the light — elegant, timeless, and entirely wrong.

It wasn’t that she hated the dress.

She just couldn’t see herself in it — couldn’t imagine walking down an aisle toward a man she barely knew, a man who looked at her as if love was something he’d already outgrown.

Her mother, Celina, fussed over her veil, eyes misty.

“Anak, you look beautiful,” she whispered. “You’ll make your lola proud.”

Arielle forced a smile. “Ma, hindi ko pa nga siya pinapakasalan.”

“Soon,” Celina said softly, smoothing the fabric near her shoulders. “We may not have much, but this union... it gives us a future.”

Future.

Arielle wanted to believe that word still meant something — that it wasn’t just a pretty disguise for debt and sacrifice.

Across the city, Evan stood in front of his father’s study again.

This time, there was no arguing. The decision had been made. The wedding date had been chosen — exactly one month from today.

Arthur Monteverde had arranged everything: the venue, the designer, the media coverage. Everything had been planned to perfection, just like his business deals.

“You’ll attend the press luncheon with her tomorrow,” Arthur said firmly, sliding a folder toward his son. “We’ll announce the engagement officially.”

Evan scanned the document lazily. “A press luncheon? You’re turning this into a circus.”

Arthur didn’t blink. “Into an empire.”

Evan gave a humorless smile. “Same thing, to you.”

Arthur ignored the jab. “The world must see unity between our families. She is your partner now, whether you like it or not.”

Evan looked at the photo paper-clipped inside the folder — Arielle’s face captured from the engagement dinner.

Soft eyes. Determined mouth.

There was something about her expression — the way she held herself with quiet strength — that unsettled him.

He closed the folder. “I’ll be there.”

---

The next day, the luncheon was held at *La Galerie*, one of Makati’s most exclusive hotels. Photographers, reporters, and guests filled the room with the buzz of curiosity — everyone eager to witness the union of wealth and debt, of power and promise.

Arielle arrived early, wearing a pale blue dress that shimmered when she moved. Her father adjusted his tie nervously beside her.

“Just smile, hija,” he whispered. “This is a good day.”

She nodded, though her stomach twisted. A good day.

It was a phrase people used when they wanted to hide the truth.

When Evan arrived, the atmosphere shifted. He walked in wearing a tailored black suit, posture straight, expression unreadable. The cameras loved him — the perfect heir with the perfect jawline and an aura of control.

Arielle felt his presence before she even saw him.

When their eyes met across the room, she looked away first.

“Miss Santos,” he greeted as he approached, voice polite but distant.

“Mr. Monteverde,” she replied, her tone equally formal.

“Shall we?” he gestured toward the table prepared for the announcement.

They sat side by side — two strangers pretending to share a dream.

Flashbulbs went off. Questions flew from every direction.

“Miss Santos, how did you two meet?”

“Mr. Monteverde, is this an arranged marriage?”

“Do you believe love will grow between you?”

Evan smiled slightly, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “We believe in partnership. Love is something we’ll discover in time.”

Arielle followed his lead. “Sometimes, love isn’t instant. Sometimes, it’s built — like trust.”

Her answer surprised him. He turned slightly, meeting her gaze. For the first time, she didn’t look nervous. She looked... brave.

After the event, as the crowd dispersed, Evan found her standing alone by the hallway window, watching the city below.

“You handled them well,” he said quietly.

She didn’t look at him. “I learned how to smile when I want to cry. It helps.”

He raised a brow. “That’s a dangerous skill.”

She finally met his gaze. “You learn danger when you grow up without options.”

There was no bitterness in her tone — just truth.

And that truth lingered in his chest longer than he expected.

Days passed quickly after that.

The wedding preparations became a spectacle — fittings, magazine interviews, family dinners. Every step seemed to draw them closer, yet somehow, they both felt further apart.

One night, while reviewing business contracts, Evan received a call from Cassandra.

“So, it’s true,” she said, her voice laced with mock sweetness. “You’re really going to marry her.”

“Don’t start, Cass.”

“Oh, I’m not judging. I just didn’t think you’d let your father pull your strings like this.”

Evan’s tone darkened. “I told you, this isn’t your concern.”

“Maybe not. But I’m curious,” she teased. “Do you even like her?”

He hesitated — just a beat too long.

Cassandra laughed softly. “That’s what I thought. Careful, Evan. Sometimes pretending too well becomes real.”

When the line went dead, Evan stared at his phone.

Pretending.

He’d done it all his life — for family, for business, for survival.

But with Arielle, something about pretending felt different. Harder.

Meanwhile, at the Santos household, Celina hummed as she packed wedding invitations. Arielle sat quietly, scrolling through her phone until she saw the latest online headline:

“Monteverde Heir and Santos Daughter: Love or Obligation?”

She sighed. The comments were worse — strangers debating her worth, her intentions, her looks.

Gold digger. Social climber. Lucky girl.

She locked her phone and whispered to herself, “They don’t even know me.”

Her father entered the room, noticing her expression. “Don’t mind them, anak. People will always talk. What matters is that we’re doing what’s right.”

“Right,” she repeated softly, though she wasn’t sure anymore what "right" meant.

A week later, during the final fitting for their wedding attire, Arielle and Evan stood side by side in the designer’s studio.

The seamstress fussed over the hem of Arielle’s gown while Evan adjusted his cufflinks impatiently.

“You don’t have to look so miserable,” Arielle murmured without looking at him.

He smirked faintly. “You don’t have to look so calm.”

“I’m not calm,” she said. “I’m surviving.”

He glanced at her reflection in the mirror — the way she stood tall, eyes steady despite the tremor in her hands.

“Then you’re doing it better than most.”

Their eyes met again in the glass, and for a brief second, something unspoken passed between them — a flicker of recognition, of shared loneliness.

It wasn’t love.

Not yet.

But it was something real — something neither of them could name.

That night, as Arielle packed her things for the move to the Monteverde estate, she found herself staring out the window, the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

In another part of the city, Evan did the same — two souls in different worlds, both wondering the same thing:

What happens when the heart is forced to obey?

The answer would come soon —

in the vows they would speak,

in the promises they would break,

and in the love they never meant to find.