The Vows We Never Chose のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

“Sometimes, love doesn’t arrive with flowers. Sometimes, it begins with a deal.”Arielle Santos, twenty-four years old, had always believed that life was something you paint for yourself — stroke by stroke, dream by dream. She grew up in a modest home in Quezon City, the eldest daughter of Manuel and Liza Santos, two hardworking parents who did everything to provide for their children.She wasn’t born rich, but she was born with color.Her small world was filled with the smell of oil paint, sketches pinned on walls, and quiet afternoons spent chasing sunsets with her brush. To Arielle, art wasn’t just a hobby — it was her language, her escape, her way of finding meaning in chaos.But that meaning crumbled on one ordinary evening — the night her parents asked her to sit down.“Arielle,” her father began, his voice heavy, “we need to talk.”Those words — simple but sharp — made her heart flutter with unease. Her mother sat beside him, eyes soft but nervous. The dinner table was set, but

“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 fron

“Some vows are spoken by the lips, but whispered differently by the heart.” The sound of church bells was supposed to be beautiful. But to Evan Monteverde, it felt like the slow toll of a prison gate closing. He adjusted his tie for what felt like the hundredth time, his reflection staring back from the mirror — neat, composed, emotionless. He had practiced that look for years. The look that said: “I’m fine. I’m in control. I don’t care.” “Sir, the car’s ready,” his assistant said quietly. Evan nodded, brushing a speck of lint from his sleeve. “Let’s get this over with.” He didn’t hate Arielle Santos. In fact, he barely knew her. She was simply… the cost of peace. The price to pay for silence — his father’s silence, the board’s approval, the family’s reputation. "Marry her, and everything stays in order." That’s what Arthur Monteverde had said. And Evan had learned long ago that in their family, love was a luxury no one could afford. The church was full. Every

“Some people build walls to protect themselves — others build them just to see who cares enough to tear them down.” Three days had passed since the wedding, and the Monteverde mansion had returned to its usual quiet — the kind that didn’t comfort, only echoed. Arielle woke up early as she always did. The sun was soft through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the floor. For a moment, she almost forgot everything — the deal, the vows, the expectations. Almost. She tied her hair into a bun and made her way downstairs. The house staff greeted her politely, unsure of how to address her. “Good morning, Ma’am Arielle,” the maid said shyly. Arielle smiled, gentle and genuine. “Just call me Arielle. No need for formalities.” The maid hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Ma’am— I mean, Arielle.” The young bride laughed softly. She moved toward the kitchen, curious. To her surprise, Evan was already there — sleeves rolled up, phone in hand, speaking in a low, commanding ton

“Some lies are told not to deceive the world—but to protect a heart n kkot ready to tell the truth.” A week had passed since “the rules” were made. The mansion had grown accustomed to silence—the kind that neither hurt nor healed, just *was*. Arielle kept herself busy with painting and reading; Evan drowned in work. They shared the same roof, the same meals, but not the same world. That peace—thin as glass—shattered one afternoon when a message arrived. Evan was in his office when his phone buzzed. A short text from his father: Father: Dinner. Tonight. Bring your wife. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temple. It wasn’t a request; it was a command. Meanwhile, Arielle was tending to the garden when the housekeeper approached her. “Ma’am, Mr. Evan would like to speak with you,” the woman said politely. Arielle wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. When she entered his office, Evan was standing by the window, his posture tense. “You called me?” she asked gently.