⚠️Viewer Discretion is Advised:⚠️
This episode contains mature themes, intense emotional dynamics, depictions of organized crime, and references to violence. It is intended for adult audiences. Viewer guidance is recommended.

VIAQUEZA GRAND HOTEL 

The Penthouse Lounge

Vincent chuckled. “Besides the privilege of your company?”

Vanessa Zaragoza rolled her eyes.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make her heart stutter. “I think we both know we could be useful to each other.”

Vanessa hated that he was right.

He had influence, power, resources; things she needed if she wanted to break free from her father’s grasp entirely. And her knowledge, her ambition, her ability to outthink the men in her father’s empire? That was something Vincent could use.

They could both win.

But the question was, could she trust him?

Vanessa lifted her chin. “So, what is this, Señor Viaqueza? A business partnership? A truce? Or are you just collecting me like one of your poker chips?”

Vincent laughed. A low, rich sound that sent heat curling through her veins. “I don’t collect people, Princesa.” His gaze flickered with something dark, something dangerous. “But I do protect what’s mine.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Not because they scared her.

But because she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to run.

Not yet.

Vanessa Zaragoza was many things.

Calculating, intelligent, dangerously ambitious. But foolish?

Never.

She should have been running. Should have been planning her next step, already putting distance between herself and Vincent Viaqueza. Yet here she was, standing in his opulent penthouse, locked in a battle of wits with a man just as dangerous as her father,---if not more.

And what was worse?

She was beginning to think that aligning herself with him might be her best move.

Vincent leaned back against the sleek marble bar, watching her with the patience of a hunter who already knew how the chase would end. He was every bit the man who never loses. Dangerous in his confidence, calculating in his approach.

“I could use a drink.”  He turned to the small antique aparador tucked into the corner of the room. “How do you take yours?” he turned back to her and Vanessa was quick to answer.

“Rum and soda would be fine.”

Vincent mused as he retrieved a crystal decanter and poured a rich amber liquid into two glasses and brought out a can of soda. “Cuba libre, quite fitting for the occasion.”

He held the mixed drink out to her.

Vanessa hesitated. Not because she feared the alcohol, but because of what the gesture meant. In Filipino culture, a man offering a drink to a woman in a private setting was an unspoken test of trust. If she accepted, she would be acknowledging the unspoken rules of their game. That she was not going to be treated as the subservient fragile dalaga, but rather; that she is to be his equal. And she must hold her own, no matter the game they will be playing.

No strings attached.

“You haven’t answered me yet, Binibining Vanessa.”

The use of her name with that old-fashioned, almost teasing respect made her skin prickle. It was an acknowledgment of who she was, but also a reminder of the formality expected between a man and a woman of their stature.

She raised a brow. “Answered what, exactly?”

Vincent’s lips curled into a smirk. “Whether you’re staying.”

She crossed her arms, fully aware of how that single motion made his gaze flicker, just slightly, down to the delicate gold chain resting above the swell of her collarbone. The tiniest movement, but she caught it.

“And what, exactly, does ‘staying’ entail?” she asked, her voice carrying the subtle grace expected of a well-bred dalaga yet sharpened with the defiance that made her different from the other women of her class.

Vincent did not answer immediately.

She met his eyes and, with careful deliberation, reached for the glass. Her fingers barely brushed his, but it was enough.

Vincent’s smirk deepened.

He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. “I don’t believe in keeping people locked away. Unlike your father.”

Vanessa’s jaw tightened.

She had spent her entire life under her father’s suffocating control, raised with the expectations of a mahinhin at masunuring anak. But she had never been content to be just that. She had spent years perfecting the art of appearing obedient while secretly carving her own path.

Vincent’s next words were slow, deliberate. “If you stay, you get protection. Resources. Freedom.”

The way he said freedom made something in her chest tighten.

“And in return?” she prompted.

His smirk widened, and his voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “I think we both know you have something to offer, Señorita Zaragoza.”

The way he said her name sent a ripple of unease, and something else, through her spine.

Do not be tricked, Vanessa.

Vincent Viaqueza was a man used to getting what he wanted. A man who knew how to play with words, how to test boundaries without overstepping them.

He wasn’t like the men she had grown up with; those who flaunted their wealth and power carelessly, who thought that respeto was just an outdated custom. No, Vincent was something else.

He was dangerous not because he demanded submission, but because he knew exactly how to make it feel like a choice.

Vanessa lifted her glass, swirling the liquor as she considered her options. “And if I say no?”

Vincent tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. He exhaled through his nose, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes. “Then I suppose I’ll have to watch you walk out of here… and see how long you last before your father finds you.”

The weight of his words settled in the room like a heavy storm cloud.

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a fact.

Vanessa clenched her jaw.

She hated that he was right.

She could leave. She could disappear for a while, slip into the shadows and try to outrun the inevitable. But Don Jayme wasn’t a man who let things go. The moment she set foot outside Vincent’s protection; she would be hunted.

And Vincent knew it.

A slow, measured silence stretched between them.

Vanessa took a sip of the rhum letting the burn steady her. Then, finally, she set the glass down on the counter and met his gaze head-on.

“All right,” she said, voice steady. “I’ll stay.”

Vincent’s smirk was slow, predatory.

But before he could respond, she leaned in slightly. Not too close, but just enough for the air between them to shift. Just enough to make him realize she wasn’t easily swayed.

“But don’t mistake this for surrender, Ginoo,” she murmured, the respectful address deliberate, mocking. “This is a negotiation. Not ownership.”

Vincent let out a quiet chuckle, setting his own glass down beside hers.

His voice, when he spoke, was laced with something dark, something thrillingly wicked.

“Oh, Prinsesa,” he murmured, his accent curling around the word in a way that made her pulse race.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Vincent didn’t look surprised by Vanessa’s answer. If anything, the flicker of amusement in his gaze told her he had been expecting it.

He reached for the crystal decanter and poured another measure of rhum into her glass, the rich amber liquid swirling under the dim light of the penthouse.

He slid the glass toward her. “A toast, then.”

Vanessa lifted a brow. “To what?”

Vincent’s smirk deepened. “To the start of something… Mutual.”

She picked up the glass, letting the weight of it settle against her palm before bringing it to her lips. The whiskey burned, but it was a welcomed kind of heat. Steadying, grounding. She lowered the glass without breaking eye contact.

“Fine,” she murmured. “Let’s talk terms.”

A knock at the door shattered the charged silence between them.

Vincent didn’t look away from Vanessa, but his body tensed, the playful smirk slipping just slightly. She caught it—just the briefest flicker of something restrained beneath his carefully curated exterior.

A man’s voice came through the heavy wooden door, as steady as ever. “We have a problem, sir.”

Vincent exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. He picked up his glass, downed the rest of the whiskey in one smooth motion, then glanced at Vanessa. “You should come.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Vanessa, to her own surprise, followed without hesitation.

Outside the penthouse, the security team was already in motion. Men in sleek black suits moved with precision, some speaking into earpieces, others checking weapons. The air smelled faintly of gun oil and tension.

The man giving out orders over his lapel finally approached them and Vanessa saw how the rest of the security team regarded him with anticipation as waiting for his instructions. He was built like a soldier, his stance deceptively relaxed but clearly prepared for the incoming onslaught which Vanessa can now sense. He was not in a dark suit as the rest of the security entourage but instead he wore a dark polo with black cargo pants that clung to where it should, and the way he watched her. Quiet, unwavering, reminded her of a predator waiting to strike.

“Ezequiel Morales,” Vincent quickly made the introductions. “Our head of security.”

Ezequiel met them at the entrance of the private elevator. He barely spared Vanessa a glance, but she caught the briefest ghost of approval in his expression.

He was at the hotel with Vincent. He remembers her.

She lifted her chin slightly. Let him.

“The attack wasn’t random,” Ezequiel informed Vincent as the elevator doors closed. “It was coordinated. We intercepted communications, your father’s name was used.” He turned to Vanessa.

Vincent didn’t react immediately. Instead, he rolled his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his crisp white dress shirt, his movements deceptively calm.

“And?” he asked.

Ezequiel exchanged a look with one of the other men, then turned back to his boss. “Don Jaymme wants his Jewel Retrieved.”

That made Vanessa freeze.

“So, this is a rescue.” Vincent echoed. “That’s a little too dramatic, wouldn’t you say?” he turned to Vanessa.

“My father is ruthless, and predictable.” Vanessa exhaled through her nose. “He is all about control and he will do whatever it takes to drag me back under his,”

Vincent tilted his head, watching her reaction. Measuring it.

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral. “But he wouldn’t be too dramatic to launch an all-out war. Not at the risk of his precious company’s reputation”

Ezequiel’s eyes darkened. “No, they were covert, my men were just able to intercept. But I believe they would try again waylaying while we move you, so you have to prepare.” He handed her and Vincent a bullet proof vest and Vanessa put it on as well as she could manage.

After putting his vest on Vincent turned to her to check on her vest.

He then smirked, “Now see, a lesser man would be worried that you know how to wear a vest right. I simply find it fascinating.”

Vanessa bit back a grin as the elevator chimed.

The doors slid open to a dimly lit underground garage, where another SUV waited. The team moved swiftly, forming a protective perimeter as Vincent and Vanessa stepped inside.

As the car pulled out, Vanessa kept her eyes on Vincent.

“You already expected this,” she said.

His lips curved slightly, but there was no humor in it. “I always do.”

She wanted to press further, but she knew better. If there was one thing she had learned growing up in her father’s world, it was that men like Vincent revealed information only when it served their purpose.

Fine.

She would just have to find out on her own.

The SUV cut through the Manila night, weaving through traffic with a practiced ease. Vanessa watched the neon lights flicker past the window, feeling the weight of what she had just stepped into.

She had chosen to stay.

Now, she had to make sure she survived.

*******