CHAPTER 2: THE HOLLOW THRONE

The morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of Rafael Villarigo's house, but the warmth it brought was temporary and entirely artificial. For three years, this house had been a sanctuary of quiet order—filled with the scent of freshly washed linens, jasmine, and the savory aroma of home-cooked meals.

Today, the only scents lingering in the air were expensive French perfume and overwhelming chaos.

Sofia Astor stood in the middle of the living room, wearing a radiant and triumphant smile. Her luggage—all monogrammed, bright pink, and excessively numerous—was neatly stacked near the foyer. She took a deep breath as she admired the entire house she had coveted for thirty-six months.

At last, Isabella De La Vega's ghost had been banished from these walls. Finally, the rightful queen had claimed her throne.

"Move that vase to the left," Sofia ordered, waving her perfectly manicured hand at a young woman wearing a pristine black-and-white maid's uniform. "No, the other left. And make sure you dust the mantel twice. I cannot stand a single speck of dirt."

Determined to secure her comfort, Sofia wasted no time. The very moment the ink dried on Rafael and Sabel's divorce papers, she immediately contacted a premium domestic staffing agency.

Before noon, she had hired an entire household staff: a head housekeeper, a laundress, and a professional cook.

If Sabel wanted to play the martyr by scrubbing floors and burning her arms over a hot stove, that was her problem. Sofia was a modern, sophisticated career woman. She was Rafael's secretary, his corporate partner, and now, his live-in lover.

She was not a servant.

"Oh, be careful with that!" Sofia shrieked when a maid carried in a velvet-lined pet carrier.

She quickly approached, opened its gate, and lifted out a chubby white Persian cat wearing a diamond-encrusted collar.

"Come here, my sweet Tummy. Look at your new kingdom. No more hiding in the shadows, my baby. This is all ours now."

Sofia spent the entire afternoon redecorating. She removed Sabel's handwoven curtains and replaced them with heavy, dark drapes. She rearranged the furniture, throwing away the old, cozy layout to make room for a minimalist, avant-garde aesthetic she had seen in a luxury catalog.

By nightfall, she was utterly exhausted despite having done nothing but issue orders all day.

She entered the master bedroom, spent a long time soaking in her bath, and changed into a plunging rose-colored silk dress that left very little to the imagination. She left her hair pinned up in large satin curlers before lying on the bed and admiring her reflection in a compact mirror.

She was completely satisfied with herself.

She expected Rafael to be blinded by her beauty and efficiency the moment he walked through the door.

At exactly seven in the evening, the heavy front door swung open.

Rafael entered his home, his shoulders slumped after a brutal day at Villarigo Construction. The absence of Sabel's covert financial support was beginning to take its toll. Two of his major suppliers had suddenly tightened their credit terms that afternoon and demanded immediate wire transfers.

He needed peace. He needed the familiar comfort he usually felt the moment he stepped through his front door.

But instead of finding relief, he froze.

The familiar, warm yellow lighting of his foyer had been replaced by harsh white LED track lights. The soft, comforting scent of vanilla had completely disappeared, replaced by a chemical lavender fragrance.

"Good evening, Sir," greeted an unfamiliar maid in uniform as she stepped forward to take his briefcase.

Rafael instinctively pulled his briefcase away, his eyes narrowing in confusion and defensive anger.

"What is going on here? Who the hell are you?"

Before the frightened maid could answer, the sound of high heels echoed down the grand staircase.

Sofia was descending, looking like a living portrait of vanity. The satin curlers in her hair bounced with every step, while her silky dress accentuated her figure.

"Hi, Honey! You're finally home," Sofia whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his jaw.

The strong scent of her musky perfume and vanity body spray surrounded him.

Rafael did not return her embrace.

Instead, he slowly but firmly pushed her away while continuing to examine the living room.

Another maid was sweeping the dining area, while an older woman wearing a chef's apron peeked out from the kitchen.

"What is the meaning of this, Sofia? Who are these people?"

Rafael's voice carried a sharp edge—the coldness of a man who felt his own territory had been invaded without permission.

Sofia pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly in a carefully practiced display of vulnerability.

"Our maids, silly. I'm not used to doing household chores, Honey. I have a demanding job at your company, so I hired a maid service to take care of the cleaning, cooking, and laundry. Besides, no one would be here to look after my precious Tummy all day."

As if on cue, the white Persian cat walked across the expensive hardwood floor, letting out a loud meow.

Rafael felt a headache beginning to form.

"But I'm not used to having strangers in my private spaces, Sofia. This is my home. More importantly, why didn't you consider the bigger picture and consult me first? Why didn't you even inform me before making such a major change?"

Sofia's expression immediately fell, her eyes becoming misty as though she were the most wronged person in the world.

She took a step backward, playing with the fabric of her silk dress.

"I'm sorry, Honey... I truly am. I just thought that now that you've divorced Sabel, I finally have the right to handle these things. Especially here in our home. I wanted everything to be perfect for us. But if my presence and decisions are nothing but a burden to you... don't worry. I'll send them away right now."

Seeing that she was on the verge of tears, Rafael's anger softened, replaced by overwhelming exhaustion.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and released a heavy sigh.

"No... don't do that. Fine, let them stay. Just leave it."

He paused, glanced at the new curtains, then looked back at her.

"But next time, Sofia, before making any major decisions about this house, discuss them with me first. That's what Sabel used to do. She never did anything without making sure I knew about it."

The mention of his ex-wife's name struck Sofia's pride like a splash of ice-cold water.

Her sadness was replaced by a sharper, more jealous emotion. She lowered her gaze, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness.

"But I'm not Sabel," Sofia whispered, her voice laced with calculated sorrow. "I wasn't made to be a submissive housewife like her. I'm a professional woman. I'm used to working, and I have far more value and purpose in your multimillion-peso company than she ever did."

Rafael looked at Sofia—the satin curlers in her hair, the seductive silk dress, and the cat at her feet.

For a brief moment, a memory of Sabel crossed his mind.

Sabel, with her hair tied back in a simple clip, her apron stained with flour, greeting him with a beautiful smile and a glass of cold water.

A sudden wave of irritation washed over him.

"Fine. Forget what I said," Rafael muttered, wanting to end the conversation. "Let's just have dinner before going to bed. I'm exhausted."

They sat at the dining table, which Sofia had arranged with expensive cutlery she had recently unboxed.

The new cook served a plate of roasted chicken accompanied by steamed vegetables.

Sofia smiled brightly as she served Rafael a generous portion.

Rafael took a bite of the chicken.

It was dry, overly seasoned, and completely lacking in flavor. The vegetables were far too soft.

Instinctively, his taste buds searched for the rich and delicious flavor of the adobo Sabel had spent four hours preparing—the very meal he had allowed to fall onto the office floor the previous night.

He chewed slowly, the food tasting like ashes in his mouth.

"How is it, Honey? The chef used to work at a high-end bistro in the city," Sofia proudly remarked, playing with her glass of white wine.

Rafael put down his fork, having completely lost his appetite.

"It's fine. But I think I'm still full from my late lunch at the office. I'll just skip dinner and go upstairs to get some rest."

The smile disappeared from Sofia's face as Rafael stood up and walked away without even looking back.

Sitting alone at the enormous dining table, surrounded by her hired household staff and expensive decorations, Sofia felt an unfamiliar chill.

She had the crown, and she had the throne—but her kingdom had suddenly become terribly cold.

On the other side of the city, behind the enormous iron gates of the De La Vega Estate, an entirely different world was unfolding.

Isabella slowly awakened, the silk sheets of her childhood canopy bed feeling cool against her skin.

For the past three years, her mornings had begun at five, always rushed and dictated by Rafael's schedule—making his coffee, ironing his clothes, and preparing his meals.

Today, she had slept until ten in the morning without anyone disturbing her.

She was finally safe.

She spent her afternoon reclaiming her true self.

Accompanied by a personal stylist and three armed bodyguards, she embarked on an exclusive shopping spree at the most prestigious boutiques in the capital.

She filled her wardrobe with bespoke designer pieces, silk blouses, and tailored suits.

Sabel's simple, faded housewife clothes were permanently discarded into the incinerator.

Fresh and elegantly dressed in an ivory mid-length dress, Isabella descended the grand marble staircase toward the formal dining area.

The long mahogany table was practically groaning under the weight of an exquisite feast—shrimp sinigang, crispy pata, fresh grouper, and dozens of traditional Filipino dishes, all prepared by the estate's trusted chefs.

At the head of the table sat Don Sebastian De La Vega.

His silver hair was neatly combed back, and his sharp eyes immediately softened the moment he saw his daughter approaching.

"Papa," Isabella said with a sweet smile, walking over to kiss her father on the cheek before taking the seat to his right.

She glanced at the enormous spread of food and chuckled softly.

"Papa, why did you ask the kitchen to prepare so much food? There are only two of us. This is such a waste."

Don Sebastian let out a loud, joyful laugh, his eyes shining with affection.

"You've truly grown accustomed to a life of scarcity and saving, my child. Look at how mature and practical you've become. But this is the De La Vega household, isn't it? We do not budget comfort."

Isabella lowered her head, a soft, nostalgic smile appearing on her lips.

"Yes... I'm sorry, Papa. I suppose I'm just still adjusting to returning to this life so suddenly."

Don Sebastian turned to face her, his gaze filled with immense pride and fierce protectiveness.

"My daughter, your return is a momentous occasion that deserves a grand celebration. I want to host a formal gala to announce your return to high society and officially introduce you as the sole heir who will oversee our corporate operations."

He paused before continuing.

"And besides... Adrian is arriving tomorrow. I know that boy has had deep feelings for you for a very long time. Even back then, he was the only man I ever wanted to see by your side."

A lovely blush spread across Isabella's cheeks at the mention of her childhood friend's name.

She quickly looked down at her glass of water, trying to maintain her composure.

"Papa, please... Adrian is just a very dear friend," Isabella gently protested, although her heart fluttered slightly. "Besides, I've only just gotten divorced. The ink on the papers hasn't even dried yet. Right now, all I want is to devote my energy to my new responsibilities and learning about our businesses."

"Yes, I understand that, my child," Don Sebastian sighed, resting his hands on the table. "But you must understand that I'm not getting any younger. My hair has already turned white, and the only dream I have left before I leave this world is to hold my grandchild in my arms."

The word grandchild struck a painful and sensitive part of Isabella's heart.

The memory of Rafael's cruel and mocking voice calling her barren echoed through her mind, threatening to bring back the tears she had promised herself she would never shed again.

Her smile disappeared, replaced by profound sadness.

"Papa... that's impossible," Isabella whispered, her voice becoming fragile. "I'm barren. During the three years Rafael and I were together, we were never blessed with a child. The doctors... they said something was wrong with my body."

"No! That is absolute nonsense!" Don Sebastian shouted, slamming his fist against the table as his anger as a father suddenly erupted.

"I don't care what those low-class clinics told you while you were living under that bastard's roof! I'll personally summon the finest medical minds, the top fertility specialists, and the most elite doctors in the entire country to examine your condition. We will spare no expense, Isabella. Don't you dare let the lies of that worthless man determine your value!"

Seeing her father's boundless love, the heavy burden in Isabella's heart finally began to disappear.

She reached out and gently held her father's large, aged hand. A genuine and radiant smile illuminated her face.

"Thank you so much, Papa. I love you so much," Isabella said, her voice growing hoarse with emotion. "I'm sorry for turning my back on you and abandoning our family three years ago for a man who never deserved me."

Don Sebastian placed his other hand over hers, enclosing her small hand within his large, warm palms.

His eyes were filled with unwavering sincerity.

"You are my one and only heir, Isabella. You are my greatest treasure, my child," Don Sebastian declared, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Everything I have built, every piece of land, every shipyard, and every factory belongs to you. You haven't lost three years; you've simply learned a lesson. And tomorrow, when Adrian arrives, we will begin the process of gradually bringing Villarigo Construction to its knees."

Isabella looked at her father, feeling the immense strength of De La Vega blood flowing through her veins.

The shadow of the submissive housewife had finally disappeared.

Lady Isabella had returned, and she was ready for war.