Fiona couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy mixed with happiness for her best friend, Vikki. She was busy entertaining the guests inside the wide courtyard of the villa, where the reception for her child's baptism was being held.
What more could her friend possibly ask for?
Her life was already complete. Living in a grand house at Villa Royale, surrounded by luxury and comfort, and married to a man every woman once dreamed of—Alejandre Ruiz, the former heartthrob.
Alejandre had left show business for good. Nothing else mattered to him now but Vikki and their child. He never wanted to risk his life again after nearly dying at the hands of an obsessed fan.
Fiona had been the maid of honor at their wedding. It was a private ceremony held at the Villa Royale clubhouse. After a month-long honeymoon in Europe, the couple returned—and now they were baptizing their firstborn, Alejandre Victor.
And Fiona was one of the godmothers.
"Let me carry my godson for a while," she said as she approached the couple's table. "So you two can entertain the guests properly."
"Thanks, Fiona. Please, take care of him for a while," Vikki said, handing the baby over before linking her arm with her husband's.
"That's the best way to practice," Alejandre teased. "You're going to be the next bride and mommy."
"I don't think so," Fiona laughed.
"Don't forget—you caught the bouquet at our wedding," Vikki reminded her with a playful smile.
"I don't believe in that. Honestly, I think it'll be a long time before I get married. Unless, of course, I meet the man of my dreams right here and now."
"I bet you'll meet him soon," Vikki said with a wink.
"I hope so…"
It wasn't impossible. Villa Royale was filled with handsome, wealthy bachelors. Exactly the kind of man she was looking for. To her, two qualities mattered most: rich and handsome. The first, in bold capital letters—RICH. Handsome could come in lowercase.
Fiona wanted a life like Vikki's: extravagant and comfortable—travels abroad, dinners at five-star hotels, yacht parties, imported wardrobes, complete diamond sets… and so on.
Her motto in life was simple: Marry a rich man!
She was twenty-one, and she had many suitors.
But none of them fit the standards she was searching for.
Fred, handsome, resembling Aga Mulach—but only a medical representative.
Billy, tall, with a voice so enchanting it felt like she was being cradled when he sang—but he was just a struggling singer in small karaoke bars.
Henry, good-looking, too—but still a student.
Sure, she was physically attracted to them, but something was missing. I will be a millionaire's bride. That way, she could prove to her mother that she and her father had not been left in misery, even after being abandoned.
Fiona was only five years old when her mother left for Paris, where her sister had married a Filipino businessman. But not long after, they heard the news—her mother had married a Frenchman.
It was painful for her father, but far more painful for Fiona, because her mother had chosen to let her grow up without a mother's love. She had traded them for wealth her father could never provide.
Fiona had sworn to herself: one day, she would go to Paris—not to embrace her mother, but to throw in her face the consequences of her betrayal.
Her mother had wounded both their hearts and their pride. That was the reason Fiona dreamed so ambitiously.
She wanted to surpass her mother. She wanted the day to come when she could face her with her head held high and declare: Here I am, a millionaire's wife. I raised myself and my father from nothing, even after you abandoned us.
Holding baby Alejandre Victor in her arms, Fiona let her gaze wander across the villa grounds. The place was filled with guests—most of them from the upper class of society.
Soon, Vikki pulled her aside to introduce her to a newly arrived guest: Gregor da Silva, who owned a villa nearby.
"Gregor, this is Fiona, my wife's best friend," Alejandre said, presenting the handsome young man.
"Hi," Gregor greeted curtly, extending his hand for a handshake.
"Pleased to meet you," Fiona replied, fluttering her lashes slightly as she looked up to meet his tall frame.
"Are you a new villa owner, too?" Gregor asked, offering only the faintest smile.
"Actually, no. I was just invited here by Vikki and Alejandre."
"I see…" Gregor nodded, expression unreadable.
Why did Fiona suddenly feel that Gregor da Silva lost all interest in her the moment he realized she wasn't a villa owner?
"Are you related to the Cojuangcos? You kind of look like Mikee. I'm a family friend," he added.
"N-no…" she stammered. I'm nowhere near as rich as the people you're talking about, she wanted to say.
Awkwardness washed over her. Gregor was exactly the type of man she considered her dream man—rich and handsome. And when she had seen his sleek Mercedes sports car earlier, she could tell it was no ordinary purchase. Right there, she had dreamed their meeting might turn into something deeper, something better.
At first, he seemed attracted to her. But the moment he realized she came from a different world, his interest faded.
She remembered Vikki's story about Alejandre—how no one thought he would ever marry a simple woman, yet he did. Maybe it could happen to her, too.
But with Gregor da Silva, it felt almost impossible.
She also met Lyon Monteblanco earlier that day, another villa owner who was also a godfather to baby Alejandre Victor.
Lyon was warm and friendly—but Vikki had warned her that he was a certified playboy.
Fiona wanted to marry rich, yes, but never just to become another notch in a man's belt.
--
"So, what? You're not interested in Gregor? He's an automobile magnate," Alejandre asked during their light dinner on the veranda after the reception. At the couple's invitation, Fiona and Alora had decided to stay longer.
"He owns a mansion in Florida, a hotel in Baguio, a ranch in Quezon, and yachts. Isn't your dream date to have dinner while cruising on a yacht?" Vikki teased.
"He didn't seem interested in me. And I can't just go throwing myself at him—he might think I'm an opportunist. I'd look cheap, like a fisherman chasing after a good catch. When I meet my dream man, I still want there to be love," Fiona explained.
"I thought you didn't care about love—as long as he took you to Paris and gave you a cruise on a forty-eight-foot yacht," Vikki teased again.
"Hmm… of course, I still want to have feelings for the man I marry!"
"Why don't you stay here a little longer? Relax, enjoy, and maybe you'll meet your dream man," Vikki suggested.
"She's right. You've been too focused. Take a break," Alejandre added.
"Well, I really do want to stay in Villa Royale. And I hope someday, I'll own a villa here too."
"I thought Paris was your dream?" Vikki asked.
"Not really. I only want to go there because I have unfinished business." Fiona's face turned serious as she said it.
She could never help but feel bitter whenever Paris—and her mother—were mentioned.
The next morning, Fiona woke up early and went swimming at Villa Royale's private beach, exclusive to villa owners and their guests.
Because it was private, she confidently wore the floral two-piece swimsuit she had bought especially for this trip.
As she walked along the white sand, the breeze played with her long hair. She looked like a model—or a contestant in a beauty pageant.
Modesty aside, Fiona knew she carried herself with elegance. Her swaying hips, her graceful arms—she was a sight to behold.
But she had no idea that a pair of captivated eyes had been watching her closely.
She's beautiful. Exquisite. Who is that woman?
"Bino!" a man's deep voice called.
His assistant hurried over. "Yes, sir? Do you want some juice?"
"No. I have something else for you to do."
"What is it, sir?"
"Do you see that woman over there?" He pointed toward Fiona, who wasn't far from them.
"Yes, sir," Bino nodded quickly. "She's gorgeous, isn't she? Sexy, too! Perfect figure."
"Do you know her?"
"No, sir. First time I've seen her here at Villa Royale."
"Then she doesn't live here?"
"Most likely not, sir. She's probably just a guest of one of the villa owners."
"She's bewitchingly beautiful. I like her."
"Absolutely, sir. Even with her morena skin, she's beauty-queen material," Bino agreed.
"I want to know her, Bino."
"So… do you want me to approach her? Should I tell her you want to meet?"
"No. That's not what I want. Find a way to learn more about her—who she is, where she lives. Then tell me everything."
"But sir, if you really want to meet her, why not just go yourself?"
"I do want to meet her. But I don't want her to know who I really am."
"Why, sir?" Bino asked, scratching his head.
"That's none of your damned business. Just do what I told you. I want to know her—without her knowing me."
Bino frowned, puzzled as always by his boss's strange decisions. Especially when it came to women.
He glanced at him again. His boss's eyes were still fixed on the young woman strolling gracefully across the sand.
Looks like the boss has fallen hard this time. Lucky girl…