⚠️ Viewer Discretion Advised⚠️
This episode contains themes of psychological manipulation, implied violence, and emotional distress. Some scenes may be disturbing to certain viewers. Viewer discretion is strongly advised.

VIAQUEZA ESTATE

Vanessa's Bedroom

VANESSA

Vincent smiled. Slow. Calculated.

Like he knew something she didn't.

Then, just as she thought he would leave, he did something unexpected.

"Come," he said smoothly. "Join me for a nightcap."

Vanessa blinked, caught off guard. "A nightcap?" she repeated, wary.

Vincent's smirk deepened. "Unless you'd rather stay here pretending that you're not dying to ask me more questions."

Her pulse quickened.

This was a dangerous game.

She knew that.

But she also knew that if she refused, if she retreated now, Vincent would take it as a sign of weakness.

And she refused to be weak.

So, she lifted her chin, meeting his challenge head-on.

"Lead the way."

But as she followed him out of the room, she couldn't shake the feeling.

She had just seen something she was never meant to see.

And worse?

Vincent Viaqueza had let her see it.

The lounge was dimly lit, filled with the scent of aged whiskey and rich mahogany.

A sleek bar lined the far wall, stocked with top-shelf liquor. The plush leather seating invited conversation meant to be whispered.

Vincent poured them both a drink, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the fireplace.

He handed her a glass before settling onto the couch across from her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

They simply watched each other.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Vanessa broke it.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Vincent raised a brow, swirling his drink. "You don't sound convincing."

She exhaled. "Because the sight of blood worries me."

Vincent took a slow sip before setting his glass down. His gaze never wavered.

"So," he said, voice smooth. "Will blood come between us, Prinsesa?"

His words were slow. Deliberate.

It was clear where he was leading it.

Vincent Viaqueza would not apologize for the man and the monster he had become.

And she was no exception.

Vanessa exhaled through her nose. "No."

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, but it didn't reach his lips.

"Then why be bothered by it?"

Vanessa hesitated.

"You don't have to tell me,"She said finally, her voice neutral. "But don't insult me by pretending it was nothing."

Vincent exhaled, tapping his fingers against the rim of his glass. "Fair enough."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto hers.

The tension shifted.

Sharpened.

"Are you sure," he murmured, "you can handle it, Prinsesa?"

Vanessa's fingers tightened around her drink.

She wasn't sure.

But she nodded anyway.

And Vincent?

He smiled.

Because he knew the truth.

Vanessa Zaragoza was already in too deep.

And Vincent Viaqueza was just getting started.

Vincent studied her carefully, his expression unreadable. Vanessa could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he were measuring her reaction, testing just how much truth she could handle.

Finally, he exhaled, swirling the remaining whiskey in his glass before setting it down on the table between them.

"The shed," he said at last, his voice quiet but firm. "It's connected to what happened the night we met."

Vanessa's stomach tightened.

She had suspected as much.

"But," Vincent continued, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "you don't need to know who it was."

She stiffened at his words, ready to argue, but he held up a hand.

"Not because I don't think you can handle it," he clarified, his voice steady. "But because you have my word that whoever it was... whatever it was...it will never touch anyone or anything important to you." His dark eyes locked onto hers, a silent promise threading between them. "As long as you do the same for me."

Vanessa's breath hitched. She wasn't sure if it was the weight of his words or the quiet intensity with which he said them. But deep down, she knew this was a line neither of them could cross.

A truce.

A dangerous one.

She let the silence stretch between them before slowly extending her hand.

"Deal," she murmured.

Vincent's lips curled slightly. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around hers in a firm shake.

The warmth of his skin sent a jolt through her, but she ignored it.

For now, she would trust him.

For now, she would play by his rules.

But that night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep refused to come.

Franchesca's words echoed in her mind.

You think you're different from Father? You think Vincent is? He's playing you, bunso. You're just a card on his deck.

Vanessa turned onto her side, the unease settling deep in her chest.

What if Franchesca was right?

And worse...

What if it was already too late to walk away?

******

Vanessa had spent over a week at the Viaqueza estate, yet Vincent remained an enigma.

She had studied men like him before—calculating, ruthless, masters of control. But Vincent Viaqueza was something else entirely.

He was a contradiction.

He ruled with an iron fist, yet his people revered him. There was fear, certainly. But also loyalty, the kind that couldn’t be bought or coerced. The household staff moved with quiet precision, their eyes trained, their lips sealed. The estate’s security rivaled that of private intelligence compounds, and every corridor hummed with silent surveillance. His executives spoke in clipped, anxious tones, their unease palpable—yet they followed his orders with absolute precision. Even his guards, hardened men capable of bloodshed, regarded him with something dangerously close to reverence.

Fear and devotion. Vincent inspired both.
And that was what unsettled her the most.

Vanessa wasn’t naïve. She knew power when she saw it. She had grown up in its shadow, watched her father wield influence like a weapon. Manipulating, threatening, dismantling lives to preserve his empire. But Vincent? His power wasn’t inherited. It wasn’t just wealth or name. It came from something far more elusive.

People didn’t just fear Vincent Viaqueza.
They believed in him.

She saw it in the reverent way Yaya Belen spoke of him, in the subtle deference of his men, in the way his name hung in the air like both a warning and a promise. They followed him not out of obligation, but out of conviction.

It made her wonder: Who was Vincent Viaqueza before he became this man?

Left to her own devices, Vanessa began to dig. She searched for patterns, digital trails, inconsistencies. Nights were spent hunched over her laptop, running silent protocols and dark web sweeps. She hacked into the estate’s peripheral systems. Guest networks, archived comm logs, even discreetly slipped a listening node into the executive wing’s internal comms. She cracked into his executives’ inboxes, traced procurement ledgers, and even took the risk of tapping into Vincent’s personal tablet.

Still, nothing.

Whatever ties he had to the Bagani Sangre, Vincent had buried them deep. Deeper than she expected. His digital footprint was clean---too clean. It was as if he anticipated the breach, had cordoned off an entire life beneath the surface.
A second server, maybe. Air-gapped. Unreachable.
A lifeline reserved for secrets he didn’t even trust his own men with.

And so, despite all her expertise, Vanessa was left with questions. Unanswered and multiplying.

What kind of man builds two empires: one visible, the other invisible?
What kind of man hides his sins so well… even the truth fears him?

Frustrated, Vanessa slumped back on her bed. That is when she noticed all the messages on her phone.

Frenemies, checking up on her, high society is wondering what she was doing with Vincent Viaqueza.

Vanessa smiled to herself.

Vincent has her cooped up in his estate for far too long now.

Maybe she can play the damsel in distress card to get into RPV2 Tower.

*******

RPV2 Tower

It was barely afternoon the next day when Vanessa stormed into Vincent's office. His PR Strategist Rachelyn, running after her. "Ma'am, please, you cannot---"

Vincent signaled his staff to leave then lifted a brow at his "guest", "I thought we agreed that you were to stay in the hacienda to be discreet, Prinsesa?"

Vanessa was furious. "I think we're way past being discreet."

She had barely stepped into Vincent's office when she slammed the tablet onto his desk.

Vincent tried to hide his amusement at Vanessa's ferocity and pitied the poor tablet that was now at the receiving end of her fury.

Vincent allowed himself to enjoy the sweet scent of Vanessa's perfume that he has been trying to figure out what reminded him of since the night before.

Lilies...How he loves lilies.

As an eligible bachelor, Vincent has had his share of female company and was always fascinated by a woman's scent and how it defines the lady who wears it.

"Did you see this?" she demanded standing close to him to bring back to her tablet's screen the article she needed Vincent to see.

Seeing the darkness of her brown eyes, Vincent stopped himself from being distracted and quickly glanced at the screen.

The headline read:

"Zaragoza Heiress: The Stolen Prize of the Viaqueza Empire?"

Amusement flickered in his dark eyes. "Ah."

"That's all you have to say?" she snapped.

Vincent's expression remained composed, the slightest hint of amusement curving his lips. "I find it flattering, really. They think I've won something valuable."

Vanessa's eyes burned with fury. "I refuse to be seen as a possession."

His response was effortless, measured. "Then don't act like one."

Her glare could have set the room ablaze. "You let this happen."

Vincent regarded her with the calm detachment of a man who had long mastered the art of control. He offered a slow, deliberate shrug. "Perception is power, Prinsesa. Let them believe what they want."

Her fists clenched at her sides. "They're painting me as some helpless damsel you kidnapped. And you're letting them."

He leaned back, his dark gaze assessing, but there was something deeper there, something unreadable.

"Tell me, Vanessa," he murmured, his voice like a quiet challenge, "what would you prefer?"

Her breath hitched slightly, her wariness sharpening.

"To be seen as a victim?" he asked, watching her closely. "Or as a player?"

She stilled.

Vincent rose from his chair in one smooth motion, the shift in his stance effortless, deliberate. There was no aggression in the way he moved, only refinement, an understated dominance that spoke of discipline rather than force.

He stepped forward, closing the space between them with the kind of elegance that made his presence even more commanding. Not rushed, not imposing, just inevitable.

"You want to win, don't you?" His voice was smooth, edged with quiet authority. "You want to stop your father?"

Vanessa swallowed, her pulse thrumming. "Yes."

"Then let them think I stole you." His voice dipped lower, intimate. Calculated. "And when the time comes, Prinsesa, we can use that to our advantage."

Her breath caught.

Vincent's hand lifted, slow and deliberate, the gesture so seamlessly poised that it could have been mistaken for a gentleman's instinct rather than an intent to touch.

For a fleeting second, she thought he would.

But he didn't.

Instead, he inclined his head ever so slightly, a gesture of quiet amusement and unspoken challenge, before stepping back with the same unhurried grace.

Controlled. Measured.

Like a man who knew the value of patience and Vanessa had to stop herself from being charmed by him.

Grateful for the knock that came through Vincent's office door.

Marcus, the company Cyber security head, stormed into the office, his usually calm demeanor visibly rattled.

"We have a problem."

******

Vincent arched a brow as he and Vanessa stepped into what was called the War Room, which is actually HQ of RPV2 Tower's Cyber Security Team. "How bad?"

Marcus handed him a tablet. The screen flickered, displaying an alert from RPV2's security division.

Unauthorized access detected.

Data breach in progress.

High-priority files compromised.

Vanessa's blood ran cold.

She recognized the patterns immediately.

The breach was sophisticated—too precise, too calculated—to be ordinary.

And then she saw the signature left behind.

A single, encrypted message.

"Even empires bleed."

Vanessa's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

She knew those words.

Because she had written them once.

Vincent's eyes flicked up, reading the tension in her stance. "What is it?"

Vanessa forced her expression into neutrality. "Nothing."

Lie.

Because this wasn't just a cyberattack.

It was a message.

Someone was mimicking Angel of Darkness---her old alias.

Vincent studied the screen, his expression unreadable. "Jayme?"

Marcus shook his head. "We can't prove it."

Vincent's fingers tapped against the desk, considering.

"Then let's escalate."

Marcus tensed. "Vincent---"

Vincent smiled. It was a sharp, calculated thing.

"They want to play?" he murmured.

He glanced at Vanessa. She hadn't moved.

Hadn't spoken.

But something in her eyes had shifted.

A memory. A ghost.

Vincent's smirk deepened.

"Then let's play."

*******