Anri POV
The silk sheets still smelled like Lucien—warm, expensive, and faintly woodsy, the scent that clung to my skin after every night he spent here.
But he was gone today. Business meeting, he'd said. Some exhibition downtown. I didn't ask for details.
He'd kissed me on the forehead before leaving. Whispered something half-sweet, half-sarcastic like, "Don't miss me too much."
I'd laughed.
But now, brushing my teeth in his bathroom, scrolling through random Instagram stories while waiting for my coffee to brew—I saw Carla's name pop up on my screen.
FaceTime.
Incoming.
Again.
And again.
Then the third time, a text.
"Bitch. Pick up."
I frowned. Answered the call.
"Jesus, Carla. What?"
Her face appeared, hair up in a messy bun, oversized glasses sliding down her nose. Behind her was the cramped but homey kitchen of our old share house. Riane was in the background, making a smoothie with too much noise.
Carla's face, however, looked... deranged.
"Don't Jesus me," she said. "Explain."
I blinked. "Explain what?"
She turned the camera so I could see her laptop screen. My face stared back at me—from her Instagram story. The one she posted last night after the dinner Lucien planned. The four of us, smiling. Wine-flushed. Happy.
My smile. Lucien's arm around me.
And hundreds of story replies below it.
Mostly from people she knew. Or used to know.
Some in English. Some in Taglish.
"Is that Lucien Tantoco?"
"LOL what the hell Carla, spill"
"One of your friends is dating THE Lucien Tantoco???"
"Wait. THAT'S the ET Group heir?"
I froze.
For a second, I didn't even understand what she meant.
"I had no idea what they were talking about at first," Carla went on, a little breathless. "My inbox just blew up after I posted that photo. Random people from back home started messaging me."
My mind blanked.
"I didn't even know what they meant until someone sent me this."
She flipped her camera to her laptop. On-screen was a grainy screenshot from some old Manila society page. A gala photo. Lucien—no, Lucius Adrien Tantoco—stood in a tux, looking slightly bored, beside a man I'd only ever seen on Forbes lists and corporate brochures: Elliot Tantoco.
The name hit me like ice down my spine.
ET Group.
The name stamped on skyscrapers in Makati. On foundations. Schools. Hospitals. Airlines.
I blinked hard.
I wasn't even from Manila. I'd spent most of my life in Pampanga, and after that, in the suburbs of Melbourne. The Tantocos weren't just in a different world—they were in a different universe. Generational wealth. Old money. Names that moved entire economies.
I managed a weak, "...Oh."
"'Oh'?!" Carla shrieked. "OH?! That's all you're gonna say?"
"I didn't know," I said, voice hollow.
Carla watched me, eyes wide behind her smudged glasses. "Anri. What the fuck. You didn't know?"
I rubbed at my chest like I could smooth out the panic. "I mean—I knew he had money. He works as a high-up exec. I figured he had connections. But I didn't think he was—"
I trailed off.
This.
This rich.
This untouchable.
Suddenly, all the details I'd brushed off before rearranged themselves into something sharper. Clearer.
The way hotel staff subtly straightened up when he entered. The eyes on us in exclusive restaurants. His calm command in every room. The Aston Martin. The suite at Peninsula. The casual way he reserved a private dining room for me—like it was a Tuesday night and not a small production.
The Porsche.
The goddamn city apartment. Transferred in my name like it was nothing.
I felt sick.
Carla's voice dropped. "You never posted him. Is that why?"
"No. No," I said quickly. "I wasn't hiding him. I just... I didn't think I needed to. I didn't want it to be performative. It was personal. Ours. Quiet."
"But you really didn't know?"
I shook my head, lowering myself to the edge of the bed. The world tilted slightly.
"I thought he was just... one of those guys who got ahead in life early. You know? A high achiever. Smart. Strategic. I figured he had family money, sure, but I didn't think—" My breath hitched. "I didn't think I was dating someone like that."
I looked up at the window.
Sunlight streamed through, gentle and warm. But it felt distant now. Like I'd stepped out of my own life into something I wasn't prepared for.
"I thought he was someone more like me," I whispered. "Not the same, but... closer. Someone who had to work for what he has."
Carla kept going, clearly unable to help herself. "You do realize this is, like, tabloid-level drama, right? I had people from CSA and Brent messaging me. Brent, Lia. That's not even my school." She gestured wildly. "I didn't even grow up with these people! They just... know who he is."
Of course they did.
Carla, for all her indie Melbourne fashion and split rent and second-hand tote bags, came from a wealthy family in the Philippines. She pretended she didn't, played the "struggling artsy girl abroad" role well, but we all knew. Her parents owned property in BGC. She had a yaya until she was fifteen. Her grandma used to be a diplomat. Her Instagram might be all grainy film filters and local cafés, but her circles were real.
When the call ended, I just sat there.
Frozen.
The air in the apartment felt too still, like even the walls were holding their breath.
Lucien's laptop was still open on the kitchen counter, screen dimmed but glowing faintly. His navy jacket was slung over the back of a chair, and the faint smell of his cologne still lingered in the room.
I reached for my phone again, but my fingers hesitated.
Then I stood, padded barefoot toward the counter, and opened his laptop. Not because I wanted to snoop—just because I couldn't help myself. It felt like the questions in my head were buzzing too loud to ignore anymore.
Safari was already open.
I typed his full name—Lucius Adrien Tantoco.
I didn't even know I remembered it that clearly.
And then... there it was.
The search results hit fast. Sharp. Blunt.
Articles. Profiles. Features in local business journals, luxury magazines, finance blogs. Even a few Reddit threads—the kind I usually scroll through for gossip on rising celebs or casting rumors—his name was in those, too.
"The quiet successor to the ET Group."
"Elliot Tantoco's low-profile grandson tapped to expand global division."
"From New York to Manila: Harvard-trained heir returns home after father's death."
"Declared heir apparent at 29. Known for his discretion, rumored to be single."
I clicked.
Read.
Scrolled.
Then read again.
And with every word, something in my chest slowly, steadily started to sink.
I learned more about him in those thirty minutes than I had in weeks. Not because he was hiding—but because I'd never asked. I'd been too caught up in the chemistry. The quiet dinners. The shared looks. The fact that he made me feel... seen.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
I didn't even know his dad had passed away. He was just twenty-six when it happened—apparently building his own career in the States, when the call came. He flew back to the Philippines to help "support the transition." And by twenty-nine, he wasn't just part of the board.
He was the heir.
The president of one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country.
ET Group didn't just own Maharlika Airways. They had assets in real estate, banking, media, tech, luxury resorts, aviation, education. They had stakes in telecoms. They owned literal islands—whole slices of paradise with their names inked on deeds.
And him?
He wasn't just an executive who rose quickly.
He was the heir to all of it.
Lucius Adrien Tantoco. Billionaire heir. Third-generation titan. Filipino-Chinese golden boy. Quiet. Sharp. Almost invisible—until you saw him, and then you couldn't look away.
I leaned back slowly, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.
And me?
I was just... me.
A nurse. A first-generation immigrant. An actress who hadn't even booked a lead role until last week. A girl who'd spent the past few years toggling between shifts and side hustles, auditioning when she could, scrimping enough to buy skincare on sale and drive a Honda Jazz I'd paid off with a twenty-thousand dollar loan and too many tears.
A car I'd been proud of.
Because I did it on my own.
And yet here I was. Sitting in a high-rise apartment titled under my name, wearing a robe from a hotel I couldn't afford, fresh from a dinner planned by a man whose entire life—his bloodline—was built on a level of wealth I couldn't even pretend to understand.
I stared at the laptop.
There were more articles. Even Chinese-language ones I couldn't read but recognized enough to see photos of him—polished, expression unreadable, sometimes flanked by older men with hard gazes. Business tycoons. Political names. Their body language spoke volumes.
Power. Expectation. Dynasty.
And I remembered something my old classmate from highschool, when we were talking about dating:
"You know there's a Chinese Great Wall in the Philippines, right? Doesn't matter how pretty or smart you are—Fil-Chi families usually want their kids to marry their own."
It sounded dramatic at the time. Gossip.
Now?
I wasn't so sure.
I mean—Lucien never made me feel lesser. Never once hinted that I wasn't enough.
But now I wondered if I'd just been too naive. Too in love with the fantasy of being chosen. Of having someone like him want someone like me.
I was Filipino through and through—born in the province, fluent in Tagalog and our dialect and dreams I had to build myself from scratch.
I didn't grow up in Forbes Park. I grew up in a small barangay away from the cities and closer to the farm. I came to Australia alone, with two suitcases and a heart full of pressure.
And he?
He was born with his name already in gold.
I sat there, letting the weight of it sink in.
Lucien—Lucius—wasn't lying to me. But he also never said anything. He let me drive him around in my Jazz. Let me laugh at his minimalist wardrobe. Let me think he was just this quietly wealthy, humble guy with a corporate job.
Maybe I was the one who didn't want to see it.
Because if I saw it, I'd have to ask myself the one question I'd been too afraid to ask since the beginning.
What if I don't belong in his world?
I shut the laptop gently.
But the noise inside me didn't stop.
It only got louder.
Lucien walked in that afternoon, still in that sharp navy suit from his meeting, sipping his iced long black like the world hadn't just split open.
The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, all I could hear was the hum of my thoughts, racing too fast for my body to catch up.
He looked up, sensing it instantly. "Hey," he said gently, eyes scanning mine. "Everything okay?"
I stood there in the middle of the living room—barefoot, hoodie on, arms crossed over my chest like armor. I had spent the past hour walking laps from couch to window, rereading the same articles over and over again, trying to convince myself I was being dramatic.
But I wasn't.
Not when the man I was dating turned out to be a literal heir.
"You didn't tell me," I said, voice low.
Lucien stilled, the straw in his coffee halfway to his lips. "Tell you what?"
I stared at him. Hard. "Who you are."
His jaw twitched slightly. Then he set the cup down on the counter, slow and deliberate. "I told you what I do."
"Lucius Adrien Tantoco," I said, each word deliberate, like I was still trying to believe I'd said them.
"Heir to the ET Group." I continued.
There was a beat. Then another.
He didn't deny it.
Then, Lucien exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured this would happen eventually."
I laughed—sharp, short. "Oh, so you were waiting for me to find out?"
"No," he said. "I just didn't want it to change anything."
"Well, too late," I said, my voice tight. "It changes everything."
He took a slow step closer. "Baby—"
"No." I held up a hand. "You don't get to stand there and look at me like I'm the unreasonable one. You knew. All this time, you knew exactly what you were doing. You flew under the radar, kept things vague.."
"I wasn't trying to lie—"
"But you did," I said. "By omission. You let me think you were just some high-up executive. That you were reachable. That we were on the same page."
"I never said we weren't."
"You didn't have to say anything," I snapped. "You watched me try to piece things together on my own like I was dating a puzzle. And all that time, I had no idea I was seeing the heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in the Philippines."
Lucien looked at me then—really looked. His jaw was tense, his hands flexing like he didn't know whether to reach for me or not.
"I didn't want it to matter," he said. "I wanted you to know me. Just me. Not the name. Not the company. Not the money."
"And what if I had found out later? In some interview? Through someone else?" I shook my head, heart pounding. "You didn't give me a choice, Lucien. You decided for me."
"I didn't mean for it to go this far—"
"But it did!" I cried. "You can't act like your identity is some casual thing!"
Lucien flinched, and I hated that I still noticed. Hated that I still cared.
"I thought we were building something," I said, quieter now. "I thought we were dating. But how can I trust anything when I didn't even know your name?"
He stepped closer. "I didn't lie about us. I never once pretended I didn't want this. I just didn't want what I had to overshadow who I am."
"And what if who you are scares me?"
Lucien froze.
I swallowed hard, forcing the lump down. "Do you even understand how far apart our worlds are? I clawed my way to this point. I worked night shifts, gave up sleep, skipped meals, fought for visa renewals and begged banks to approve loans so I could study here. I had to earn every step. I still do."
"I know."
"You don't," I whispered. "You were born in a palace."
He didn't speak.
"I googled you," I said, softer now. "I read the articles. Harvard grad. Low-profile successor. You were named president at twenty-nine."
Lucien's expression didn't change.
"And your family..." I hesitated, voice catching. "Your Chinese side is... intimidating. I didn't grow up in circles like that. I didn't even grow up in Manila."
His silence was the loudest part of the room.
"I don't belong in your world," I said. "And I'm terrified that I'm the only one who didn't see it."
Lucien finally stepped forward, slowly, like he was afraid one wrong move would make me vanish. His hand reached out and rested lightly on my arm.
"You belong wherever you want to be, Anri," he said, voice low and rough. "With me. If you'll let yourself."
I blinked, and something hot stung at the corners of my eyes. I looked up at him—this man who had held me so gently, who had touched me like I was precious, like I was real—and I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.
But all I could feel was the wall rising between us now. The weight of everything I didn't know. The kind of life I wasn't born into.
"I don't know," I whispered.
His thumb moved, brushing softly against the inside of my wrist like he could calm the storm in me. "Please don't do this."
I shook my head, gently pulling my arm from his grasp. "I have to."
A beat passed, thick with unsaid things.
"Filming starts next week," I said, my voice catching. "London. I should be excited."
"I am excited for you," he said, and it wasn't a lie. But there was something broken in the way he said it, like he already knew what was coming.
"Then why does it feel like everything's breaking?" My throat burned. I looked away from him, blinking fast. "Why does it feel like I'm walking away from something I wanted so badly, but never deserved?"
"Don't say that," he said, stepping closer again, gently cupping my face in his palms. "Anri..."
And when he said my name like that, soft and desperate, something inside me cracked open.
The tears came faster than I could stop them.
"I need space," I choked out. "I need to figure out if I'm enough for this. Enough for you. For all of this."
"You are," he said immediately, his hands still holding my face like he was afraid to let go. "You always were. I didn't want to scare you away—I just wanted to be seen by you. Not by my name. Not by what I came from."
I met his eyes through blurred vision.
"You should've told me," I said, voice breaking. "You should've trusted me with the truth."
"I wanted to. Every day. But I wanted to be yours first. Just yours."
I stepped back. His hands fell.
"I don't know if that's enough anymore."
He stood there, unmoving. His shoulders square like he was holding himself together for me. But I could see the heartbreak in his eyes.
"I never meant to hurt you," he said softly.
"I know," I whispered. "But I need to do this on my own. Just for now."