I woke up to silence.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't crave for a cigarette. My fingers twitched instinctively, like they still remembered the motion of reaching for the pack on my bedside drawer, but i didn't move.
I just stared at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the air conditioning in Ken's apartment.
It was his day shift today. He already left.
His scent was still lingering in the sheets. That faint, clean smell of laundry and something distinctly him like pine mixed with something warm.
My fingers traced the edge of the pillow i had clutched the whole night. I could still feel the ghost of his arms around me from hours ago.
I finally sat up.
My head was clearer than usual, maybe because i didn't smoke last night. Maybe because of him. Maybe because for once, I wasn't trying to escape anything when i closed my eyes.
I picked up my phone without thinking, and that was the mistake.
"HEADLINE: NOVA5's Cassandra Alcantara and Actor Jake Blake Are Officially Engaged."
I stared at the notification.
My heart stuttered. Then stopped.
The blood drained from my face.
I blinked. Then blinked again. Scrolled.
It wasn't just one article.
It was everywhere. A coordinated press release, glamorous photo of me and Jake from a gala last year, a quote from his side that said, "I'm lucky she said yes." Another from my mother, saying they're excited to welcome Jake to the family.
My hand started to shake.
I hadn't seen Jake in over a year. I hadn't spoken to him since i ran away.
Engaged?
I wasn't even aware we were together.
Suddenly i couldn't breathe. Like all the oxygen in the room had disappeared, like the walls were closing in.
No. No. No.
I stood up abruptly and grabbed my hoodie from the chair. My legs were moving faster than my brain. I didn't even fix my hair. I didn't brush my teeth. I didn't care.
I ran to my apartment. Stripped out of Ken's shirt. Changed into jeans and a black crop top. Tied my hair in a low, messy bun.
I took nothing else. No makeup. No manager. No security.
I took the train.
I didn't even wait for a car service.
I sat in silence in the last row of the LRT, shaking, sweating, gripping the railing with my phone still clenched in my other hand.
People were starting to whisper, pointing at me like i was a ghost they recognized but weren't sure from where.
I didn't care.
The moment the train stopped, I ran down the stairs, crossed the street, and marched straight into the gates of our family estate.
Security tried to stop me. I shoved past them.
No one could stop me from walking into the house i used to call home.
My parents were in the veranda. Of course they were. Morning coffee, garden in full bloom, not a hair out of place.
"Cassandra," my mother said, surprised to see me.
My father looked up from his tablet. He didn't even flinch.
I dropped my phone on the table, the screen still open to the headline.
"What. Is. This?"
My voice was calm.
That was scarier than screaming.
They didn't answer right away.
"Why?" I demanded.
"Because you need to get your life back," my mother finally said, setting down her porcelain cup. "You've been gone long enough. People were starting to forget who you are."
"I left so i could breathe!" I snapped. "I left because i wanted to live! Not perform like a circus animal for cameras and fake relationships!"
"We raised you to be a star," she said flatly. "Not a runaway."
"You don't get to decide who i marry," I said, louder now. My hands were shaking. "You don't get to publish a fake engagement—without telling me! Without asking! What kind of parents do that?"
"You are part of an empire, Cassandra," my father said. "And empires don't run on emotions."
I scoffed bitterly. "No. They run on power plays and lies."
"You were always difficult," my mother murmured, standing up now. "Even as a child. You never understood the value of sacrifice."
"No," I said. "I just never agreed with sacrificing myself."
Her hand came faster than i could react.
A slap.
Sharp. Hard. Blinding.
I staggered.
And then i felt it a warm trickle of blood running down the corner of my lip.
My head turned slowly.
My eyes locked with hers.
Cold. Untouched.
"If you want to cancel this engagement," she said, her voice cold as steel, "then you have one week. Come back here. Restart your career. Smile in front of the cameras. Make it up to the world you abandoned."
My knees were weak.
I wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
So i turned away.
And walked out.
Not a single tear fell until i reached the gates.
And then, everything shattered.
It was already dark when i returned to the apartment.
Ken was home.
I didn't knock. I just opened his door. My hands were still trembling. My face was burning from the tears and the sting of the slap. My heart felt like it was being dragged across gravel.
The moment i saw him, I didn't hesitate.
I ran straight to him.
He didn't say anything when i collapsed into his chest.
He just wrapped his arms around me.
Tight. Warm. Safe.
And i cried. I cried like i hadn't cried in years.
Ugly, broken sobs against his shirt. His hand gently cradled the back of my head. His other hand rubbed slow circles on my back.
And when he pulled back slightly and saw the blood on my lip, I saw his jaw clench.
But he didn't ask questions.
He didn't push.
He took my hand and led me to the bathroom.
Sat me down gently on the edge of the sink while he opened the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit.
He dabbed the cotton gently.
I winced, but not from the sting.
"Who did this?" he asked finally, quietly.
I couldn't even say it. The words wouldn't come.
I just shook my head.
He paused, stared at me, his eyes unreadable.
Then he stood. Threw the used cotton into the bin. Took a deep breath.
"I saw the news," he said finally.
My heart stopped.
My voice was barely a whisper. "It's not true."
"I know," he said.
I looked up at him.
"I know you," he said. "At least… I'm trying to. And that girl in the headline? She's not you."
Something broke in me again, but this time, it wasn't anger or grief.
It was relief.
I reached for him again.
And he didn't hesitate to hold me.
We stayed in the living room for hours. He cooked something for dinner, but i couldn't eat much. He didn't pressure me.
We just sat there. Quiet. Our shoulders touching. My hand on his knee.
"I hate them," I whispered eventually. "I hate them for what they did."
Ken didn't respond right away.
Then he said, "You don't have to go back."
I turned to him. "Even if i don't… they'll still win."
"Not if you live your truth."
"What if my truth is… I don't know what i want anymore?"
He gave me a small smile. "Then maybe… start with what you don't want."
I thought about that.
And for the first time, I realized what i didn't want was simple.
I didn't want lies.
I didn't want a fake future.
I didn't want to live under someone else's shadow.
I didn't want to wake up one day and not recognize myself.
So i said it out loud. "I don't want to be her anymore."
He looked at me, eyes steady. "Then don't be."
And just like that, the war inside me quieted.
But i knew this was only the beginning.
One week.
That's all they gave me.
One week to decide whether i'd crawl back into their empire… or set fire to it.
And as i lay there that night, curled up on Ken's couch with his hoodie draped over me, one thing became clear.
I wasn't going to let them write the ending for me.
Not this time.
Not ever again.