Breaking News: Prominent Governor Arrested on Graft and Corruption Charges
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry but tears kept streaming down my face even as a smile tugged at my lips. I wiped them away, then pulled my arms around myself, flinching when my fingers brushed against the bruises hidden beneath my sleeves.
My phone blinked nonstop on the table. I didn't need to check the messages or notifications—I knew they'd all seen the news by now.
Senator Montenegro had been arrested for graft and corruption.
I am a Montenegro.
I am their daughter.
They took Papa last night to one of our vacation homes in Malinka. I watched it all happen, watched Grandma panic so badly she ended up in the hospital right after. Everyone was in chaos except my uncle, who stood there calm and collected.
"Alberto," Papa had whispered, his eyes fixed on his brother.
My brother was overseas, but I was sure he'd heard by now.
"Rie," one of our bodyguards called out. "Your brother won't be coming home."
I sighed. I'd seen this coming.
My family kept their own blood hidden from the public, rarely did anyone know who we were related to, and my brother was one of the few exceptions. Papa loved him more than anything, yet he'd never let him use our surname. Instead, my brother went by the name of his foster parents in the US. Don't get me wrong even without the Montenegro name, Papa doted on him, supported him like any father would. All of his attention was on him.
I had Papa's surname.
My brother didn't—but he was loved.
I had Papa's surname—but I was not.
It was both a blessing and a curse, this name I carried.
Besides the news about my brother, one of Papa's trusted employees had told investigators that all the critical files were in our main house. That's why they'd come earlier with a search warrant, storming through our doors while I stood frozen, watching as they rummaged through everything.
"This might help," I'd heard one of them say, "but it's not the damning evidence we need against him."
The whole commotion had left me exhausted, so I crawled into bed and fell asleep.
I woke to sunlight streaming in something I'd never allowed this early in the morning, yet the curtains were wide open. I felt the warmth on my skin and glanced at the clock: it was already ten o'clock. It was the deepest sleep I'd had in two years, and my body ached with exhaustion, as if it wanted to stay curled up forever.
I made my way down the stairs to the kitchen. The house had been eerily quiet since Papa's arrest and most of our staff had fled. The silence echoed through the grand halls, a stark contrast to the past, when we'd hosted gatherings three times a week. Now, only a handful of housekeepers remained.
I headed to the counter to fix myself something to eat, then stopped. A man in a tight black shirt stood with his back to me, his broad shoulders and chiseled frame filling out the fabric he looked to be about six-foot-two, and he was drinking a glass of water.
He turned around and stared at me for a long moment.
I didn't recognize him. He was new. I'd memorized the faces of every one of Papa's employees, even if I didn't know their names. This man was a stranger.
"Good morning," he said.
I said nothing, waiting for him to go on.
"I'm new here," he stated simply. "I'm your personal bodyguard."
I looked to Manang, our long-time housekeeper, who knew everything about who came and went in this house.
"Bodyguard?" I said to her. "I don't need one. Besides, I feel safer now than I ever have."
I saw one of his thick eyebrows rise.
"Sweetheart," Manang said, "your father's lawyer hired him. Your father said to keep you safe he was worried your life might be in danger."
I touched the bruise on my arm, the one no one else knew about.
"I'm not going anywhere," I grumbled, slumping in my chair. Manang gave me a sharp look, and I straightened up, forcing myself to sit properly at the table.
My so-called bodyguard stood off in the kitchen corner, silent as ever.
I was fuming. Even when I went out to the garden, he followed right on my heels. It had been like this for days he'd check my room top to bottom before I could sleep, and I swear he was this close to standing guard over me all night.
I hated it. It felt like I was still trapped, still in a cage.
Not that I could deny he was handsome. But that didn't stop the annoyance burning in my chest every time he shadowed my every move.
"Hey, excuse me," I called out, turning to face him. He loomed over me, his expression completely blank.
"Can you please stop following me everywhere? I'm just here, okay. In. The. House." I emphasized each word of "house." "Don't worry, I'm not going to run away." My voice was sharp, firm.
He said nothing.
"I'm sorry, princess, but I can't do that."
My eyebrows shot up. "Wh—"
"Arguing with me won't change anything."
I spun around and took five steps away, then turned back to him.
"Okay, fine. Then can you just stay a little further away? Give me some space." That was all I asked.
He nodded.
I walked off, relieved to see he'd actually listened. He didn't trail right behind me anymore, though I could still see him in the distance. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. I had some privacy now.
I wandered through Mama's garden. Even though she was gone, our gardener still tended to it carefully. They said it had been one of her favorite places. I breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers: peonies, roses, and so many others, in every color imaginable.
Mother loved peonies. I knew because they were what she always painted in her room. Even though I never got to meet her, I'd learned a few things she liked: people said that when she was alive, we shared the same traits. I had all her features that even my father's genes were barely visible to me at all. I picked a handful of the flowers to bring with me later.
Today was her death anniversary.
I arranged the blooms right there in the garden, then asked Manang Rosie for permission to go out. She knew how important this day was to me, though her agreement came with hesitation. She spent a long time talking to my bodyguard Manang was always so overprotective.
"He—" I started, about to call him "hey" like I always did.
"Gabriel." He cut in. It had been a week since he'd moved in, and he'd only ever introduced himself as "your bodyguard." We'd barely spoken, so I'd never thought to ask his name.
"O-okay, Sir Gabriel." I fumbled over the words. "I might take a while at my mother's grave, so you can just wait in the car."
He said nothing, just kept driving until we reached the cemetery, an exclusive one for the Ledesma family.
A strong gust of wind hit me the moment I stepped out of the car, sending chills down my spine. I walked toward my mother's grave, grateful that Gabriel had already kept his distance no need for me to ask him to give me space this time. I made my way into the small mausoleum where her tomb stood.
"Hi, Mom." My voice was soft. "I'm here again. It's your death anniversary… and my birthday too. I brought your favorite flowers and hope you like them. Don't worry too much about Papa, Mom. He's in j-jail now. Fighting his c-case."
Tears streamed down my face as I spoke. I felt guilty saying this to her, because part of me was so happy that my father was behind those rusty iron bars
Why would I be happy? Because…
I
am
a
victim
of
domestic
Violence.