Semua Bab The Man I Swore to Hate: Bab 21 - Bab 30

I didn’t slam the door on my way out of the community center because there wasn’t a door to slam. Just an old bamboo curtain that swished annoyingly as I stalked through it, my sandals kicking up dust and my pride trailing behind like an angry cat. I didn't even agree to attend this charity just so it can fix my reputation! He was behind me. Of course he was.“Don’t follow me,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the barangay basketball court to hear.Perion didn’t answer. Just walked. Big, silent, annoying strides. Like a robot programmed to ruin my life.I spun around so fast I almost tripped on the hem of my skirt. “Seriously? You have nothing better to do? I’m sixteen, not six.”“Miss, you’re sixteen and publicly threatened the mayor’s daughter during parlor games,” he said calmly. “So no, I don’t have better things to do.”I glared at him. “She said I cheated.”“You did cheat.”“It was Trip to Jerusalem!”His brows lifted like he couldn't believe he had to explain this. “You kno

The sun blazed against my skin. Engines roared like thunder in the distance, the scent of fuel and burnt rubber clinging to the summer air.The race drew out every thrill-seeker from town and beyond. Dust swirled in chaotic clouds as a car lined up at the starting strip, the hoods popped, decals gleaming under the harsh sun. Rocco was smoking hot, with his sleeves rolled up, cocky grin in place, his driver’s suit slung low on his hips like he was born to win. The crowd cheered as he stepped outside his cobalt-blue ride, waving to me like he was some movie star.“That's amazing, babe!” I called out, my voice lost in the screams and screeches of tires warming up.He was easy on the eyes, easy on the ears. The mayor’s son knew how to flatter, how to pose for the town’s collective gaze. He looked good beside me. That was enough for now.The crowd stood behind cordoned-off lines, the wind thick with dust and gasoline. This wasn’t like the polished city tracks or the organized chaos of the

I opted to don high fashion couture, a devastatingly revealing yet glamorous emerald-green dress, custom-made from a posh designer house. It was punctuated with dangling earrings studded with brilliant-cut diamonds, sleek soft waves in my hair, and bold red lipstick. To offset the majestic and dramatic ensemble, I chose muted yet impactful towering gold stilettos from Jimmy Choo—and, of course, that eternal twinkle in my eye that no one could resist falling in love with.Before Mercede was introduced to the public as the fiancée of the firstborn, she was first presented to the in-laws of this powerful family as a gesture of their respect. They were all polite and adorably accommodating to everyone and everything.“Where’s our son, honey?” asked the Signor to his wife. The current head of House Mastrandrea, Ivanoe Mastrandrea, exuded a haughty, prideful, and dangerous air. Though, undeniably, he was classically handsome.“He is on his way.”Clad in a traditional tuxedo, the Signor appe

Even if I could speak every language on Earth and in heaven, it would mean nothing without love, I’d just be making noise. If I had the ability to predict the future, understood all mysteries, knew everything there is to know, and had such strong faith that I could move mountains, but lacked love, then I’d be nothing at all. If I gave away all my possessions to help the poor or even gave my body as a sacrifice, I could claim to be selfless, but without love, it would all be meaningless. Love is patient and kind. It doesn’t envy, brag, act arrogantly, or behave rudely. It doesn’t insist on getting its own way. Love isn’t easily angered and doesn’t keep track of wrongs. It doesn’t find joy in injustice but celebrates when truth wins. Love doesn’t quit, never loses hope, always stays strong, and keeps going no matter what.It’s strange how the world can forget the girl you were, and fall in love with the version you reinvent.Five years ago, I was locked away on an island, a scandal clin

Three days later, they brought my father into court in shackles.It wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t violent. But it made for better headlines.The marble halls of the courthouse were flooded with press, armed with their lenses and long-range microphones. Protesters screamed outside the gates while media vans clogged the steps like vultures waiting to feast. The banners called him a thief, a monster, a symbol of everything wrong with power.I didn’t speak to anyone. Not to the reporters who shoved microphones into my face. Not to my aunt, who clutched her pearls like prayer beads. And not to the family friends who were suddenly too busy to show up. I walked into that courtroom alone, with Perion close behind.He didn’t wear a suit. Just a black button-up, sleeves rolled, like he was prepared to fight his way out. The look in his eyes dared anyone to come close.I sat in the gallery, first row, still and silent.And then the trial began.They read the charges like a script—corporate fraud,