The morning sun was soft and golden, the kind that flattered everything it touched—from the silver lines in Tatay's hair to the faint blush on Leo's cheeks as she slept against her Lola's shoulder in the back seat.
In the front seat of the Bronco, Danielle adjusted the aircon vents and glanced at the notes on her phone.
Five properties. All scattered between Teresa, Tanay, and Baras. All worth a look. All maybe too much. Or maybe… just enough.
GMaps was pinned. Routes marked in yellow. Breakfast had been quick—pan de sal and instant coffee from a thermos—and now the engine hummed as the city melted away, replaced by tall trees and slow bends in the road.
"Anak, ilan ang titingnan natin?" her father asked, folding the map she had printed just in case. Old habits.
"Limang bahay po. Lahat with a bit of land."
"Di ba sabi mo Antipolo lang tayo?" her mother chimed in, eyeing her warily.
"It's still Rizal, Ma. Pero mas tahimik. Mas marami tayong space. Para kay Leo. Para sa mga tanim. Para sa atin." Her voice softened at the end. Almost apologetic.
She didn't say it out loud, but she was looking for permanence. Not just convenience. A sanctuary. Something no condo or executive unit could ever offer.
They curved through Teresa's winding streets, past quiet barangays and sari-sari stores nestled into corners. A narrow path led them to the first house—a white modern box with high gates and an unfinished garden.
Leo had woken up by then, squinting out the window.
"Is this our new house, Mama?"
Danielle smiled. Not yet, anak. But we're getting closer.
By the third property, a hillside cottage with an overlooking view of Laguna de Bay and soft winds that sang through the trees, even Tatay was nodding approvingly. He walked through the soil, scuffed his shoes on the uneven path, and murmured something about "taniman ng sili."
Dan snapped a few photos. The place didn't scream wealth—it whispered possibility.
Later that day — A roadside karinderya in Teresa, Rizal
It was a humble place tucked under trees, corrugated roof and plastic stools, but the scent of sizzling sisig and grilled tilapia carried through the air like an invitation.
Dan slid into the monobloc chair, sighing as she pinned her ponytail up and let her face catch sun. Her mom was already setting Leo's plate—rice, a little egg, the softest bits of bangus.
"I like the third one," Dan said, stirring her calamansi juice with a plastic straw. "Not perfect. But I could work with it. We could build a little garden. Maybe add a porch."
Her dad chewed thoughtfully, nodding. "Saka may bodega na. Pwede ko na rin ayusin yung tools ko."
Dan grinned. "Naman, Tay. Hindi pwede mawalan ka ng project."
They laughed.
Leo interrupted, face serious as she wiped her mouth with a tissue. "May swing po ba doon?"
Dan leaned forward and brushed her daughter's hair back. "Wala pa. Pero pag lumipat tayo, promise, si Mommy ang gagawa ng swing para sa'yo."
Leo's eyes widened, her tiny fingers clapping in excitement. "Yay!"
The food arrived, steaming and fragrant. They ate together, quietly but content. The kind of silence that meant something had settled. A choice had been made. The shadows of BGC, of pressure and privilege, now felt like a different world.
Dan glanced at her phone on the table—the company-issued one. Still nothing from Axel.
Good.
The fourth was too far in. The road barely drivable.
The fifth, tucked quietly between two hills in Tanay, had something different. There was no "For Sale" sign. Just a caretaker, waiting. A woman who said "Pinahabilin po sa akin, may interesado raw na darating. Alam na raw nila kayo."
Dan froze.
Danielle stepped lightly over the stone path, her boots muffled by soft earth. Tatay and Nanay had gone ahead with Leo, marveling at the old house's wooden beams and wide windows. The caretaker was showing them around, quiet and respectful.
But Dan lingered.
The newer structure beside the heritage home—barely finished—held the sterile scent of fresh cement and quiet opulence. Not gaudy. Just… thoughtful.
Too thoughtful.
Then the breeze came, brushing a few strands of hair across her face. She turned her head slightly—and saw it.
A wind chime. Glass, minimal. The soft clink of its bells danced gently through the cool mountain air. It caught the light, then her attention, then her breath.
A furin.
Japanese. Delicate. Intentional.
Who hangs a furin in rural Tanay?
Her eyes narrowed.
Not just anyone.
She stepped back, hand gripping her phone. Still she didn't open it. She didn't need to.
It wasn't Horizon.
It wasn't coincidence.
It was him.
She looked back at the unfinished home. At the perfectly restored stone cottage. At her parents laughing as Leo ran across the yard, arms outstretched like an airplane.
This is the one.
And that terrified her.
Because the moment she stepped across that threshold, accepted this—any of this—she wouldn't just be accepting a house. She'd be accepting him.
Axel.
His reach. His resources. His eyes.
Danielle swallowed hard.
I don't want to owe him. Not this. Not yet.
She turned back to the path where the Bronco waited, bags from their Rizal drive scattered in the trunk, her notes still open on the passenger seat.
Her mother called out from the porch.
"Anak, okay ka lang?"
Dan nodded, schooling her features into something neutral.
"Oo, Ma. Nag-iisip lang."
She turned back one last time toward the wind chime, still swaying gently. Still singing.
Then she walked away.
She hadn't said no.
But she wasn't ready to say yes either.
Not while the balance between gratitude and debt hung in the air—light as glass, sharp as truth.
–
The folder lay open on the long oak desk. Still warm from the courier. Still pristine. Axel hadn't even touched the photos. He already knew which property she would've picked.
Or… should have.
A soft knock. Nadia entered with a tablet in hand.
"She picked the third one," she said, placing it beside the folder. "The smallest. No history. No hooks. Just raw land and a fixer-upper."
Axel said nothing.
He stared at the printout. The white house with the barn was captured perfectly in the image. The fences gleamed. The wind chime—his addition—barely visible, but it was there.
He had meant it as a whisper.
A foreshadowing.
A beginning.
But Danielle had seen the whole page and not just the sentence.
And she said no.
His jaw ticked. He stood, crossing to the window where Madrid glittered below—cold, hard lights far from the foggy trails of Tanay.
"She knows," he said quietly. "She saw it."
Nadia didn't respond. Her silence was practiced. Protective.
"I kept it clean. She would've been free to buy it. No legal ties. No strings." He scoffed to himself. "No strings—bullshit. Of course there were strings. Just not the kind she could tug."
His fingers ran through his hair, disheveled now.
He was unraveling. Quietly. Internally. In that maddening, infuriating way only she could summon.
She always saw too much.
"I told you she wouldn't take it," Nadia said gently. "You can't box her. Not with land. Not with safety. Not even with a fence wrapped in lace."
Axel turned to her, sharply. "Then what? I do nothing?"
Nadia blinked once. "You wait."
He exhaled hard through his nose and returned to his desk. The photos were still there. One of Leo playing by a swing from another listing. Another of Danielle, arms crossed, talking with her father in quiet command. Sunlight on her face. Determined. Choosing a future.
One that didn't involve him.
He reached for his phone. Scrolled to the locked chat thread. No message from her, of course. No blue dots. Just the last thing Allyza sent him: the photo of Danielle in white, commanding without trying. Effortless.
He tapped the image. Zoomed in.
Still nothing.
Axel's voice was low, guttural. "She doesn't get to walk out of this untouched."
Nadia looked at him. "Are you angry she chose for herself, or that she didn't choose you?"
He didn't answer.
But the next second, he stood up again.
"Find the owner of the third property. Buy it. Quietly. I want it under Horizon's assets. If she insists on building, fine. We'll build. But we'll make damn sure she doesn't get pulled into another trap, another syndicate, another boardroom without protection."
Nadia's eyes narrowed. "So she's yours now?"
Axel looked out the window again. Quiet.
"No. But she is under my watch."
The wind chime echoed faintly from his desk drawer—the same model he'd wanted for the Tanay property.
He reached for it and set it by the window.
Let her hear it one day.
Let her know.
Danielle held a low hum in her throat as she drove, the Bronco steadily climbing the curves back toward the highlands. It was almost 3 in the afternoon. Leo had finally dozed off in the backseat, curled into her Lola's arm, while her Tatay sat up front, nodding in rhythm with the hum of the engine and the faint jazz humming from the radio.
She glanced at the time. Just enough to cook dinner with what we have.
The small vegetable patch behind their home had been generous lately. Pechay, eggplants, tomatoes clinging to their vines. And the fridge—overloaded from holiday deliveries and her mother's relentless prep—still held enough to tide them through New Year's Eve. They'd be fine.
She'd pick up a few things tomorrow. Essentials. Some fruit, more bread, maybe something sweet. Not on the 31st, no thank you. She'd learned that lesson already—long lines, last-minute chaos, the panic of people trying to fill their homes with luck.
No. She wanted quiet this time. Not luck. Just peace.
The winding roads of Rosario gave way to Cainta, then the slow crawl into Antipolo. The dips in the earth were familiar now. The haze that lingered over the hills felt like an embrace. This was home, for now. Maybe longer.
Dan kept her eyes on the road, but her thoughts drifted.
To the third property. Modest, almost forgotten. Not impressive. But real. Controllable.
She'd seen the deceit in the caretaker's eyes back at the other one. Two white fences, not one. One surrounding the house. The other stretching into the hills, miles beyond what they'd claimed.
It wasn't just land. It was offered. Gift-wrapped in subtle manipulation.
And she didn't want it.
Not like that.
A sigh slipped through her lips as she reached a familiar street corner. She slowed, letting a tricycle pass. Her hand lightly tapped the wheel, the humming now low in her chest.
"Anak," her father said gently beside her, as if reading the current in her bones. "That third one—it's enough. You'll make something of it."
Dan didn't answer. Just nodded.
They passed the tiny chapel by the rotunda, its iron gate wrapped in gold ribbon. Her thoughts circled one last time to the wind chime—the one she never touched, but noticed.
Too much. Too soon. Too close.
As they climbed the last stretch into Antipolo proper, Dan reached forward, turning down the volume on the radio. The silence was easy. Comforting.
Dinner would be light. Something simmered slowly with ginger. Maybe grilled eggplant with salted eggs. Simple. Honest.
Like the life she was trying to build.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. Leo was still asleep.
And for the first time that day, Dan smiled to herself.
Not out of triumph.
But relief.
The sun had just dipped behind the Antipolo ridge when Danielle pulled the Bronco into the driveway. The scent of dried earth and guava leaves met her as soon as she stepped down. The house glowed amber through the windows—modest, a little worn, but alive.
Her mother moved first, waking Leo gently and carrying her inside. Dan's father stayed back a moment, taking the vegetables they'd picked up from the roadside stand near Cainta. There was no conversation—just the language of family. The rhythm of return.
Inside, the kitchen warmed quickly with motion. Water running. Knives clicking. A kettle whistling like it had something urgent to say.
Dan peeled ginger quietly over the sink. She could hear Leo giggling in the living room, arguing with her Lola about whether she could eat a banana before dinner. Her father was already in the back, snipping a few sprigs of calamansi, pulling kamote tops for sinigang.
The house smelled like rice. Like soap and soil. Like home.
She moved without thinking—slicing eggplants for grilling, chopping tomatoes and onions. Her phone stayed in the other room. She didn't need it now. For this hour, everything else could wait.
Her mother called out, "Sampaloc or kamias?"
Dan glanced up. "Kamias. Mas gusto ni Leo 'yun."
There was laughter again—this time from her father, teasing Leo for sneaking outside barefoot to help fetch leaves.
This is enough, Dan thought, stirring the pot.
A part of her believed it.
But underneath it all, a tremor. A whisper she wouldn't name. The friction of ambition and fear. Of plans made behind her back. Of gifts dressed as generosity, and shadows that watched even in peace.
—
"What she built is peaceful. But peace is just the crust. Beneath it—lava."
He stared at that line longer than he meant to.
Then closed the folder.
He would wait. But not forever.