Ruz's POV
The sun was setting outside the car window, casting long shadows across the street, like the universe was trying too hard to distract us from what was coming.
Kairo was still out there somewhere, watching, waiting patiently for the right opportunity to come after us.
Tomorrow was Liam's birthday.
Tomorrow, Kairo won't stay in the shadows anymore. He would come for Liam, and this time, he would try to finish what he had started.
Liam's house was secure now. Guards stood at every entrance, cameras covered every corner, and alarms protected every window. His mother had hired a private security team. Kuya had insisted on it.
After the warehouse incident, no one was taking chances anymore.
But protection wasn't the same as safety.
And safety wasn't the same as peace.
The car hummed beneath me as Adrian drove, calm and controlled as always.
We were almost home when Adrian turned into the parking lot.
Then he stopped.
"What the hell."
I looked up.
A car was parked in our usual spot. Not just any car,
A Mercedes. Black. Sleek.
Expensive one.
Adrian pulled into the nearest empty space and cut the engine. He stared at the Mercedes like it had personally insulted him.
"Whose car is this?" he asked.
I shrugged.
"How would I know? Maybe Tito bought it for me. As a pre-birthday present."
Adrian turned to look at me. His expression was flat. Unimpressed.
"Papa will buy practical things for a practical person."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that mean?"
"It means your face is useless."
"My face is not useless."
"Your face has no practical application."
"My face can make people uncomfortable."
"That's not a practical application. That's a personality flaw."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"You're hilarious," I said dryly.
"I know."
I sighed. "Let's go inside."
We got out of the car. I walked toward the front door. The Mercedes sat there, gleaming in the evening light, it's windows tinted so dark I couldn't see inside.
I didn't like surprises.
Why did I have a feeling this was going to be a very big surprise?
The hallway was quiet.
The kind of quiet that meant something was happening in the other room, and everyone was pretending to be calm while secretly panicking.
I heard Tita's soft laugh, Tito's deeper rumble, and another voice I didn't recognize. Male. Older. Familiar in a way that made my stomach clench.
I stepped into the living room.
And froze.
Business tycoon Rafael Mendoza sat on our couch.
He was dressed in a tailored suit, his silver hair combed neatly back, his posture straight and commanding.
My father.
I'd only ever seen him in photos since I was ten.
Beside him sat a girl.
Michelle Mendoza.
Young. Fifteen years old. Dark hair, bright eyes, a smile that took up her whole face.
She was wearing a pastel dress that looked like it came from a boutique.
Tita sat across from them, her expression warm but guarded. Tito sat beside her, his hand resting on her knee.
Kuya stood near the window, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Michelle looked up.
Saw me.
And screamed.
"RICHII..."
She launched herself off the couch and ran toward me so fast that I barely had time to brace myself.
Her arms wrapped tightly around me, hugging me with enough force to make my ribs protest.
"I MISS YOU! I MISS YOU SO MUCH! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE HERE? WHY DIDN'T YOU COME VISIT? I WOULD HAVE COME EARLIER IF I KNEW....."
I hugged her back.
Because that was Michelle.
My Michi.
My half-sister.
Last time I saw her, I was eight years old and she was five. We had spent one afternoon together, one single afternoon before papa whisked her away to another country, another life, another world.
We had kept in touch. Texts. Video calls. Birthday wishes and holiday greetings.
But we hadn't seen each other in ten years.
"I miss you too, Michii," I said, my voice quieter than hers. "How are you?"
She pulled back, her eyes shining.
"I'm good! I'm great! I'm here! Look at you, you're so tall! And your hair and your eyebrow.....wait....what happened to your eyebrow?"
"I had an accident."
"Accident?"
"With a trimmer."
She looked confused. Then she shrugged.
"It looks... cool. Very villainous energy. I like it."
Behind me, Adrian cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Maybe I'm not important anymore. I think I should leave."
Michelle's head snapped toward him.
"ADRI!"
"ADRIII...."
She launched herself at him next, wrapping her arms around his neck. Adrian stumbled back, caught off guard, his arms flailing before he finally hugged her back.
"I miss you too, Adri," she said into his shoulder.
Adrian shot me a helpless look over her head.
I shrugged.
"You're on your own," I said.
"Traitor," he mouthed.
Papa stood up from the couch.
He was tall. Imposing. The kind of man who filled a room without trying, who commanded attention without speaking, who made people want to impress him and fear him in equal measure.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
Neither of us spoke for approximately three seconds.
Then
"How have you been?" he asked.
"Fine."
"School?"
"Fine."
"Your aunt and uncle? They're taking good care of you?"
"Fine."
He looked at me.
"You keep saying fine."
"Because things are fine."
"Your face says otherwise."
"My face is fine too."
"You have marks on your face and arms, that's not fine."
"I got it from saving a friend."
"From what?"
"From people who wanted to hurt him."
"People?" His voice sharpened. "What people? How many? Where?"
I didn't answer.
"Richelle...."
"I said I'm fine."
"You're not answering my questions."
"Because they're none of your business."
"You're my daughter."
"No, I'm not"
Quit for a moment
Then he turned to Tita and Tito.
His expression hardened, disappointment flickering across his face.
"So this is how you raised my daughter?" he asked. "She's being disrespectful toward her own father and arguing back with me."
That was the moment I lost control of my emotions.
The words spilled out before I could stop them.
"Don't you dare."
"What?" he asked.
"Don't you dare say anything against them."
Everyone froze.
My voice shook, but I didn't back down.
I took a step forward.
"When you left me and walked away, they were the ones who stayed by my side."
I pointed toward Tita and Tito.
"When I woke up screaming in the middle of the night out of fear, they were there to calm me down, When I felt stuck or lost, they were the ones who gave me courage and cheered me on, not you."
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.
"When I needed someone to remind me that I mattered, they were there. When I needed a family, they became one."
I looked him straight in the eye.
"You have no right to say any of those things about them."
The hallway fell silent.
I looked at Tita.
At her gentle eyes and worried expression. Tears shimmered in them, but she blinked them away, trying to stay strong.
Then I looked at Tito.
His jaw was clenched, and I could see the tension in his shoulders. He was trying to stay composed for everyone else's sake, but I knew him well enough to recognize the hurt behind his calm expression.
I turned to Kuya.
His hand tightened around his phone, his knuckles turning white. His gaze remained steady, unwavering. Then he gave me the slightest nod.
A silent promise.
I'm here.
I'm not leaving.
Whatever happens, I'm here.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly.
"No," I cut him off.
His expression flickered.
"Ruz..."
Tita stood up immediately.
Angry.
Protective.
"You can't force her like this, Rafael," she said sharply.
"She is my daughter Regina. I have every right…" Papa started.
"Stop it, Rafael," she cut him off immediately.
Her voice rose, firm and unshakable.
"You don't get to walk back into her life after years of being gone and expect everything to be okay."
She stepped closer, her eyes burning with restrained anger.
"You have no idea what she has gone through all these years. You don't know anything about her, about her past, about what she had to become just to survive alone."
"I want to go to my room," I said.
"Ruz..."
"I want to go to my room," I repeated sharply. "Now."
Tita turned to me immediately, her expression softening.
"Of course," she said gently. "Adrian, can you…"
"I'll go with her," Adrian interrupted before she could finish.
A pause fell over the room, thick and suffocating.
I turned toward the stairs.
I didn't look back.
But as I climbed the first few steps, I heard Tita's voice behind me.
"She is not your ten-year-old little Richelle anymore," Tita said more quietly now, but every word landed heavier than the last. "She is Ruz now."
Her voice softened, but there was no less conviction in it.
"And there is no childhood left in her anymore."
The words hit like a physical blow.
I paused on the stairs, my hand tightening around the railing.
For the first time since stepping into the house, Papa's voice lost all authority.
"What do I do then?" he asked quietly. "If I can't fix it... if I can't force it... what am I supposed to do?"
Tita sighed, some of the anger leaving her expression.
"You give her time," she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. "If you truly want a relationship with her, then be patient. Let her come to you when she's ready."
There was a long silence.
"...You're right," Papa said quietly.
There was no argument left in his voice.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment.
Then I continued upstairs.
Adrian followed close behind.
Neither of us looked back.
The door closed behind me.
I stood in the middle of my room, staring at nothing.
I feel everything at a time, the anger, the hurt, the confusion all.
The tiny, traitorous part of me that wanted to believe him, that wanted to give him a chance, that still remembered being ten years old and waiting for him to come back.
Adrian stood by the door. He didn't say anything.
He knew better.
"The nerve," I said finally. "The absolute nerve. He disappears for years. He leaves me with Lola while he goes to another country and builds a new life.
And now he shows up like nothing happened and wants to talk?"
Adrian didn't answer.
"He wants to talk," I repeated. "Like he didn't miss my entire childhood. Like he didn't..."
My voice cracked.
Adrian moved then. Crossed the room in three steps and pulled me into a hug. Not a gentle hug, a firm one. The kind that said I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
You're not alone.
I didn't cry.
I wanted to.
But I didn't.
"What do I do?" I asked.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't decide yet."
I pulled back. And looked at him.
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just never listen."
I snorted.
"That's not wisdom. That's sarcasm."
He almost smiled.
"You gonna be okay?"
"No."
"Good. Honesty is the first step."
I sat down on my bed. He sat beside me.
We stayed like that for a while.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Tito's voice: "Ruz? Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. His arms were crossed. His expression was not angry, not disappointed. Just... tired.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"No."
"Good. Honesty is the first step."
I looked at Adrian.
"You two are the same person."
Adrian shrugged.
"He taught me everything I know."
"Unfortunately," Tito added.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Tito walked over and sat on the other side of me. I was sandwiched between two people who loved me, and somehow that made the anger feel smaller.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do," Tito said. "That's not my job. My job is to love you, support you and catch you when you fall."
He paused.
"But I will tell you this, your father loves you. He's made mistakes, big ones, but still he is your father and he loves you. And he's trying."
"He should have tried sooner."
"Yes, he should."
"He should have been there."
" You're right."
"He should have...."
"I know," Tito said. "I know."
I was quiet for a moment.
"He wants me to live with him," I said.
Adrian stiffened beside me.
Tito's expression didn't change. "I know."
"He told you?"
"Before you came in. He asked us."
"Wanted to know what we thought."
"And?"
Tito looked at me. "We told him it wasn't our decision. It's yours."
I stared at the wall.
"I don't want to live with him."
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It can be."
"He's my father."
"And you're our daughter," Tito said.
"Adopted or not, blood or not, you're ours. That doesn't change if you go live with him. That doesn't change if you stay here. You will always be ours."
I looked at him.
At his kind eyes, his gentle smile, the way he had never once made me feel like a burden or a mistake or an obligation.
"I love you," I said.
He blinked, surprised.
"I love you too," he said softly. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "Now go talk to your father. He's been waiting in the hallway for ten minutes."
I turned toward the door.
It was slightly open.
Papa stood in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, his head bowed.
He had heard everything.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, he straightened and stepped into the room.
He sat carefully on the chair near my desk.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
Adrian had left with Tito reluctantly, pausing at the doorway long enough to give me a look that clearly said, Call me if you need me.
Then the door closed.
And it was just the two of us.
Father and daughter.
Strangers who shared blood.
The silence stretched between us.
Heavy.
Awkward.
Painful.
Papa broke it first.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You already said that."
His gaze dropped to his clasped hands.
"I'll say it again." His voice was quiet, stripped of the confidence he usually carried. "I'm sorry. For leaving. For not being there. For not fighting harder to keep you."
I didn't answer.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"When your mother disappeared..." He paused, as if the memory itself hurt. "I didn't know what to do. I was lost. Angry. Scared."
His voice cracked.
"I couldn't protect her. I couldn't save her. And I was afraid that if I stayed..." He swallowed hard. "I would fail you too."
I stared at him.
"So you left."
My voice was flat.
"You left me with Lola Gloria."
He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.
"I thought you would be safe there.
Protected. Loved."
I laughed bitterly.
"I was loved," I said. "I was also called a burden. Unwanted. A mistake."
His expression shifted.
Confusion.
Then horror.
"By relatives who whispered loud enough for me to hear," I continued. "Loud enough to make sure I understood exactly what they thought of me."
His face went pale.
"Every day," I said quietly. "Every single day."
I looked away from him.
"'Poor child. No mother. No father. What will become of her?'"
I swallowed.
"'She's difficult.'"
My throat tightened.
"'She's troubled.'"
I blinked rapidly.
"'She's not really one of us.'"
Papa stood abruptly.
"No..."
I pushed myself off the bed and walked toward the window.
Outside, the sky had darkened into shades of blue and gray.
"I didn't know," he whispered.
I stared through the glass.
"You didn't ask."
Behind me, silence.
Then,
"I..."
"You didn't call," I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts to steady it.
"You didn't visit."
I wrapped my arms around myself.
"You didn't write."
My reflection stared back at me through the window.
Older.
Harder.
"You didn't do anything except send money and pretend that it was enough."
I finally turned to face him.
His shoulders had slumped.
His eyes were red.
"You're right," he said.
"I know."
He looked at me then.
Really looked at me.
At the bruises on my arms.
The scar near my eyebrow.
The guarded way I held myself.
Signs of a life he had never witnessed.
"You're right about all of it," he admitted.
"I was a coward."
His voice broke.
"I was selfish."
He sat down heavily in the chair again.
"I told myself I was protecting you." He shook his head. "But really..."
He let out a shaky breath.
"I was protecting myself."
He looked down at his hands.
"From the guilt."
A pause.
"From the grief."
Another pause.
"From the reminder of everything I had lost."
I didn't say anything.
Because for the first time since he had arrived...
he wasn't defending himself.
He wasn't making excuses.
He was simply telling the truth.
"I can't change the past," he said quietly.
His eyes met mine.
"I can't go back and become the father you needed."
He swallowed hard.
"I can't undo the years I missed."
His voice softened.
"But I can try to be better."
He took a shaky breath.
"Starting now."
A long silence followed.
Then,
"Why now?" I asked.
"Because your grandfather."
I blinked.
"What?"
He died last month," Papa said quietly.
"Eduardo Mendoza. My father. Your grandfather."
I stared at him.
Shocked.
The name echoed in my head.
Eduardo Mendoza.
No.
That couldn't be right.
My stomach dropped.
I had met him.
Without ever knowing who he was.
Images flashed through my mind, the business meeting six months ago, the older man with the sharp eyes and commanding presence, the one who had watched everything from the sidelines without saying much.
I remembered the way he had looked at me.
Observant.
Curious.
Calculating.
As if he were trying to solve a puzzle.
I had thought he was just another businessman. Another executive from a rival company.
I had never imagined…
"He made a will before he died," Papa continued. "And in that will... he left something for you."
"For me?"
"He accepted you as his first grandchild." His voice was quiet now, careful. "He made you his heir. He named you the future CEO of Mendoza Enterprise."
The words didn't make sense.
I shook my head.
"That's not possible," I said. "We didn't even meet properly."
Papa looked at me for a long moment.
"He knew you," he said softly. "He just... watch you quietly. And he finds something in you."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
"He saw the way you think. The way you strategize. He saw the way you turned a losing deal into a victory." A faint smile appeared on his face. "And he decided that you were the one."
I stared at him.
"Why didn't he tell me?" I asked.
"He was going to." Papa's expression darkened. "But something stopped him. I asked him to bring you to him, but he refused. Then..." His voice faltered. "He ran out of time."
My hands began to shake.
"What stopped him?"
"I don't know," Papa admitted. "He never told me. Whenever I asked, he would only say that he wanted to learn more about you."
"About me?"
Papa nodded.
"He left a note for you," he said. "I found it with his will after his death. When he saw you at that meeting, he learned who you were. He was angry with me. Furious."
His eyes lowered. "For keeping you away. For hiding you from him."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
"He wanted you to have this."
I took it.
The envelope was heavy.
Cream-colored paper. Thick and expensive.
My name was written neatly across the front in old, shaky handwriting.
Richelle Mendoza.
I didn't open it.
Not yet.
"What else?" I asked.
Papa hesitated.
"When you turn eighteen... in two months... you'll need to come to Obsidian Capital. Meet with the lawyers.
Accept the inheritance. Accept your rights."
"And if I don't?"
His expression tightened.
"Then the company goes to someone else. Someone who doesn't deserve it. Someone who will destroy everything your great-grandfather built."
I turned toward him.
"You're not telling me everything."
He met my gaze.
"No," he admitted. "I'm not. Coz I'm still trying to understand... trying to process." He paused. "But I promise you, I'll tell you everything. Soon."
I looked down at the envelope in my hands.
"Two months," I said quietly.
"Two months."
"I'll think about it."
He nodded slowly.
Then he stood and walked toward the door.
"Richelle."
I looked up.
His eyes were filled with regret.
"I am sorry," he said. "For everything."
And then he left.
I sat on my bed.
The envelope remained in my hands.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then, with trembling fingers, I opened it.
The paper inside was old, yellowed at the edges. The handwriting was shaky from age or perhaps something else.
Dearest Richelle,
If you are reading this, I am already gone.
I am sorry I never had the chance to say these things to you in person. I am sorry I never truly got to know you the way I wanted to.
I saw you first at the business meeting. Do you remember? Our first meeting. You didn't know who I was then.
That day, I learned something that changed everything. You are my granddaughter. My son's daughter. The one he never told me about. The one he kept hidden from me.
I was angry at him. I am still angry at him. For keeping you away from me. For denying me the chance to know you.
But I am also grateful.
Because if he had told me about you sooner, I might have put him in a position where he had no choice but to choose.
You reminded me of myself.
Before the world hardened me. Before business became war, and family became an obligation.
The way you walked into that room as if you belonged there. The way you spoke without fear, without hesitation, without asking for permission.
I saw how you dismantled grown men with nothing but words, strategy, and a smile that never quite reached your eyes.
The way you spoke to me… as if you owned the place.
That day, I made my decision.
I chose you.
My heir. My legacy. The future of everything my father built.
Not because you are my blood. Not because you are family.
But because you are you.
The girl who walks into rooms like she owns them. The girl who fights for what she believes in. The girl who refuses to break, no matter how hard the world tries.
I believe in you, Richelle.
More than I have ever believed in anyone.
Do not let anyone tell you that you do not belong.
Do not let anyone tell you that you are not enough.
Do not let anyone tell you that you cannot.
Because you can.
You will.
And I will be watching.
With love,
Your grandfather,
Eduardo Mendoza
P.S.
I know about the Red Night the night the entire underworld refuses to speak of, even in their dreams.
I know about the things you never told even those closest to you, because you were afraid of losing them.
I know what you endured during the eight years after your mother's disappearance.
After I learned you were my granddaughter, I became curious about you.
So I searched. I studied. I learned.
And eventually, I discovered who you truly are.
There is something else you must know.
Your mother is still alive.
She is safe.
But I cannot tell you where she is.
Not yet.
When the time is right, she will come to you herself. Until then, trust that she is exactly where she needs to be.
There are forces moving in the shadows. Revealing her too soon would put both of you in danger.
Until then, you must prepare yourself for what is coming.
You will inherit my true empire the one I have kept hidden from the world.
The past is not finished with you. It remembers.
And soon, it will come looking for you.
When that day arrives, you cannot afford to be weak.
Become stronger.
Become sharper.
Remain vigilant.
Be careful whom you trust.
And above all…
be careful, Queen
I read the letter three times.
Then I folded it carefully and placed it on my desk.
My hands were shaking.
How did he know about my past?
How much had he discovered?
Is he knew everything?
Everything about me?
And he had never told anyone.
He had taken those secrets with him to the grave.
And now...
I had to find the answers myself.
I stood and walked downstairs.
The living room was quiet.
Tita and Tito sat together on the couch, speaking softly.
Kuya stood near the window.
Adrian leaned against the wall by the staircase, his arms crossed as he watched me carefully.
Papa remained seated in the same chair.
Michelle was curled up beside him, half asleep with her head resting on his shoulder.
Everyone looked up when I entered the room.
"I'll come with you," I said.
Papa's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"After my exams," I clarified. "But I have conditions."
His expression became serious.
"Name them."
"I'm not leaving my family. Tita, Tito, Kuya, and Adrian are my family. I'll stay with them whenever I want."
"Agreed."
"I want to know everything. About my mother. About Lolo. About everything." I looked directly at him.
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Agreed."
"I want to meet the lawyers before my birthday. I want to read the will myself. I want to understand what I'm inheriting before I inherit it."
"Agreed."
I took a steady breath.
"And I want you to apologize to Tita and Tito. For yelling at them. For questioning how they raised me. For implying they had done anything wrong."
Papa turned toward them.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I was out of line. You've raised an incredible daughter. I'm grateful to both of you. I owe you more than I can ever repay."
Tita nodded.
Tito's expression softened.
"Apology accepted," Tito said. Then he glanced at me. "Though I should warn you, returns and exchanges are not allowed."
I stared at him.
"You make me sound like a defective appliance."
"You ate an entire lemon once because someone told you it would improve your grades," Tito replied.
"In my defense, I was twelve."
"It didn't improve your grades," Adrian added helpfully.
Tita sighed. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."
For the first time that evening, a small laugh escaped the room, easing some of the heaviness that had settled over it.
Papa looked back at me.
"Is that everything?"
"For now."
He stood and walked toward me.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I know this isn't easy. I know I don't deserve this chance. But thank you."
I didn't say anything.
I didn't hug him.
But I didn't step away either.
Papa and Michelle left an hour later.
Michelle hugged me tightly before climbing into the car, promising to text every day, call every night, and visit as soon as possible.
I stood in the doorway, watching until the taillights disappeared into the darkness.
Adrian appeared beside me.
"Is everything okay?"
"No."
"Want to talk about it?"
"A lot."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Is there anything to be worried about?"
I looked out into the night.
The envelope.
The inheritance.
My mother.
The clues Lolo had left behind.
"Maybe," I said softly.
Adrian moved closer until our shoulders touched.
And we stood there together.
Siblings.
Survivors.
Watching the dark.
And waiting for whatever came next.