Chapter 3

• SOMEHOW, the short moment of leaving Vista Querencia has been my peace for over the years. In the same way that I do now when I'm in the mall, I'm strolling leisurely while considering what I want to buy. There aren't any eyes looking or following. The air felt lighter here, untainted by judgment or expectations. It was a fragile kind of freedom, but still freedom nonetheless.
• I wanted to get new office supplies and clothing. Yes, I feel under pressure and also eager. Dressing nicely felt like armor—something to brace myself with before facing my new assignment. Even if I doubted myself internally, I wanted the world to see someone confident, composed, and capable.
• First, I went into the renowned store where business apparel is sold. I picked out the clothes I wanted right away and gave them to the assistant who was walking behind me. One, two, three... until it became six. Then I made the decision to pay for what I picked since I had nothing else to select. The assistant watched me with a polite smile, unaware of the raging thoughts behind my calm demeanor. Picking clothes became strangely therapeutic; choosing pieces that reflected the version of myself I wanted to become.
• "Php 56, 600.00, Madam," the cashier said. Her voice was soft, rehearsed, like someone used to dealing with wealthy customers. I barely flinched at the price—money, at least, was something my family provided. In rare moments like this, I allowed myself to benefit from it.
• I retrieved my card from my purse. I smiled slightly as I gave the woman the item. She used the machine to swipe it, and the receipt printed up immediately. The familiar beep from the POS sounded like confirmation—confirmation that I could take one more step toward building the image I needed. If only confidence could be bought as easily as clothes.
• I think the only benefit of being a Dagsinal is this. I can easily purchase the things I want because our family is wealthy. Wealth wasn’t comfort, though—it was closer to a gilded cage. Still, I didn’t deny the convenience it granted when preparing for a mission that could change my life’s trajectory. Even if this luxury wasn’t truly mine, I had to use it.
• I then proceeded to the shop where the shoes were. I selected one pair of stilettos, one pair of kitten heels, and one pair of almond-toe pumps while toting the enormous paper bag. Each pair I chose felt symbolic—strength, subtlety, and elegance. Shoes could dictate posture, and posture could dictate presence. I would need every ounce of confidence I could project.
• "Total of Php 72, 000.00, Ma'am." The clerk’s polite tone remained steady, unaffected by the price's enormity. I realized that, in this world, numbers lost their meaning when you belonged to a wealthy family. But I always knew the money wasn’t truly mine—it merely passed through me.
• Like what I did at the clothing store, I paid it using my card—or should I say father's card. The metal card glinted under the lights, a reminder of a privilege tied to pain. I wondered how differently life would feel if this spender’s freedom came from my own efforts rather than a name I never asked to inherit.
• At last, I entered in a famous bag shop. I was searching for something good when a certain Hermès bag caught my attention. The leather looked smooth, pristine, almost glowing under the store lights. It was elegant, structured—exactly the kind of bag a businesswoman should carry. My fingers hovered over it, imagining how it would complete my ensemble.
• "I want this." My voice carried soft certainty. Treating myself after the morning’s emotional weight felt deserved. I reached out, expecting the moment to be normal—simple, straightforward. But nothing in my life ever stayed normal for long.
• "I will take this." I looked at the individual who spoke after me. Like me, he indicated the bag I had selected. His voice was smooth but carried an edge, like someone who rarely heard the word “no.” Instantly, annoyance prickled at my skin. Of all the items in the store, he wanted the same one.
• Wearing a white V-neck T-shirt paired with a faded denim jean, the man raised his eyebrow at me. His posture exuded confidence, the kind that came naturally to people who grew up with power. I could feel his gaze assess me, not with interest but challenge. My own eyebrow twitched upward reflexively, refusing to bow down.
• He looks familiar, though. His presence dug into the back of my mind like a half-forgotten name. There was something about the sharpness of his features, the way he held himself. But I couldn’t place him fully yet; the familiarity hovered just out of reach.
• The woman who helped me apologized profusely. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, Sir. As of right now, that's the only one accessible." I could sense by her tone that she wanted someone to be understanding of both of us. Her nervous hands fidgeted slightly, clearly dreading a conflict between two determined customers.
• "I will take it," the guy spoke to me. His tone was final, as if announcing something inevitable rather than negotiable. I felt my patience stretch thin. I wasn't in the mood to let some entitled stranger bulldoze me after the morning I’d had.
• I gave him a sophisticated look. His manner was not friendly. His approach was cold, transactional—like he was ordering a drink instead of negotiating ownership. I wasn’t about to let someone like him override me without even a courtesy discussion.
• I quickly had the chance to look at his face. He has thick brows, hazel dark hooded eyes, and lips that are the ideal size. His jawline was sharp, and his aura exuded the kind of confidence most men forced but he seemed born with. It was irritating how attractive he was. Attractive yet an asshole.
• "Mister whoever you are," I started and took the bag by myself. "I picked this first so I should get it, right?" I tried to explain as I showed him the bag. My tone remained controlled, but annoyance simmered beneath it. His eyes flickered with something unreadable—amusement? Irritation? I wasn’t sure.
• He fixed me with a stare as his jaw clenched. He abruptly seized the bag from me and gave it to the woman who was looking after him, which caught me off guard. He was also startled, so he didn't react right away. The motion was swift and disrespectful, the kind that made my blood boil instantly.
• "It's not about who chose it first, Miss. It's about who paid it first," he stated. His voice was low, almost dismissive, like he was educating a child about basic rules. My fingers curled tightly. I wanted to snap back, to tell him he wasn’t impressing anyone—but the shock held me frozen.
• My mouth dropped open. What? The audacity of his words hit me like cold water. Who did he think he was? Money wasn’t the issue—I simply refused to bow down to arrogance.
• "Miguel, give her a billion." He turned away after speaking to the man on the side, which I had not previously noticed. The instruction was absurd, almost insulting. As if I was someone who could be paid off. As if he could throw money at any inconvenience until it disappeared.
• The woman who was taking care of him followed walking, carrying the bag that we both chose. She looked torn between obeying him and pitying me. But ultimately, people always obeyed money. Her steps were quick, almost apologetic, as she disappeared behind him.
• I blinked twice. What did just happen? The unfairness hit me full force, bubbling into frustration. I wasn’t about to let this scene end with me looking defeated. Not today.
• "Ma'am," the man who was still standing behind me said and then handed me a check. His hand hovered awkwardly, as if he also realized how ridiculous his employer’s instruction was. The check felt heavy in the air, like an insult wrapped as a gift.
• I let out a short laugh and shook my head in disbelief. Annoyance gradually consumed me when I looked in the direction of the mister who grabbed my bag. My pride roared louder than my reason. That man crossed a line, and I refused to be bought like an object that could be dismissed.
• Yeah, a positive asshole. The phrase cemented itself in my head instantly. Attractive? Yes. Wealthy? Obviously. Respectful? Absolutely not. It made my blood simmer beautifully.
• Out of nowhere, I grabbed my purse and took out my card. Without further ado, I walked towards the man who is now done with his purchase. As he did, I grabbed the paper bag he was holding and just slipped my card into his pocket. My movements were swift, fueled by pure indignation. If he wanted to play dirty, I could play filthier.
• "I never once hated a gay before. Only now, only you. You even ordered your boyfriend to pay me!" I hissed. My voice sliced through the silence between us. The insult left my lips before I could think twice—they were a reflex to his arrogance. His eyes widened, his façade cracking for the first time.
• His eyes slowly widened in shock. For a brief second, his perfect composure slipped, revealing real surprise. Maybe even offense. Good. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of what he made me feel.
• "This bag is mine," I stated and left the shop, leaving him dumbfounded. I walked with sharp strides, refusing to look back. The adrenaline burned through me like wildfire, equal parts humiliation and triumph. Whether or not he chased after me didn’t matter—I had claimed what was rightfully mine.
• He ruined my day! The frustration lingered long after I exited the store. The encounter replayed in my mind, making my pulse race. I didn’t know who he was, but one thing was certain—if life was cruel enough, fate would make me see him again.