Marrying The Mafia Boss' Daugther
Years would pass, but not the flame—
It burned beneath a borrowed name.
She learned to walk with pride again,
To sharpen grace, conceal the pain.
She rose from dust with eyes of steel,
No longer begging fate to heal.
Each word they spoke, each scar they left,
She turned to strength, from all that theft.
Revenge, they say, is bitter sweet,
But oh, how sharp its taste can meet.
She didn’t need to lift a sword,
Her silence screamed, her steps restored.
And when at last they turned around,
It was too late—their king had drowned.
Sikat na Kabanata