8:17 PM – RPV2 Tower Basement Parking

Level 1 South Exit Ramp

MARISSE

Marisse slid into the car, the door closing behind him with a hushed finality. The world outside faded into the hush of leather and ambient lighting. Across from him, Rose sat stiffly, one hand gripping her clutch like a weapon, the other resting loosely in her lap. Her gown shimmered in the dim interior, but her eyes sharp, questioning, and tired were fixed on him.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply stared.

Then, in a voice frayed with too many thoughts, he began, “I never meant for it to happen this way.”

Rose arched a brow, skeptical, silent.

“I needed to see you safe,” he said finally, voice like smoke over ice.

Rose narrowed her eyes, defensive. “Safe? By dragging me into some---what, secret rendezvous in a parking lot? Are you trying to rescue me or imprison me?”

A pause. Her words hit harder than they should have. Because they weren’t wrong.

“I know what you’ve been going through,” he said quietly. “The hospital reports. The bruises you hide behind smiles.”

She froze, breath catching.

Marisse leaned forward slightly, not to intimidate but as if gravity itself was pulling him toward her.

“I couldn't stand by anymore. Even if I can’t…” He stopped himself. Swallowed the ache before it could escape.

Even if I can’t have you.

He didn’t say it aloud. But it hung in the space between them, like the scent of something once burned.

“I may have saved your life tonight,” he continued, eyes dark with burden, “but I also know what I’ve done. You’re still trapped. Not with death, but with a man who’s killing you slowly. And not even I can pull you free from a marriage bound by legacy and names etched on towers.”

Rose looked away, toward the dim lights of the garage ramp, voice quieter now. “Then why bother?”

And it was that, those three words, that shattered him more than any accusation.

Because it made him question himself, too.

Why bother?

Because she smiled once and lit up a dying cruise ship with nothing but laughter.

Because ten years ago, she trusted him, if only for a moment.

Because love, real love, sometimes isn’t about winning.

It’s about protecting, even if you’re not the one they run to.

He answered softly. “Because I can’t lose you again. Even if it’s just making sure you get to wake up tomorrow without bruises. Even if it’s knowing that someone…anyone…is looking out for you.”

She was silent. But her lip trembled.

She stared at him. Long enough for the silence to ache.

“I didn’t do this to… win you,” he added, more to himself than to her. “But when I saw what your life had become… when I read those reports, the bruises dressed up as kitchen accidents, the quiet cover-ups, your father’s blissful ignorance,” his voice cracked. “I couldn’t just let it continue.”

She still said nothing, her expression unreadable.

Marisse exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, voice rising slightly. “Damn it, Rose. I needed to make sure you were safe. And not just safe, Rose. Taken care of. Protected.”

His voice trembled on the last word.

Anger at himself, at her situation, at time lost…rose in his chest like fire.

Rose blinked, taken aback, and then, unexpectedly, reached out and laid her hand on his.

“Marisse…” Her voice was softer now, almost mothering. “If you’re feeling guilty… don’t. It’s alright. I’m alright.”

But the calmness in her tone only ignited something deeper in him.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know? I know what kind of life you have with Del Rios.”

Her gaze shifted. The softness vanished.

Rose drew her hand back and her lips curled, not in affection but in fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marisse? You think this is saving me?”

Her voice was low but cutting. “You disappear for ten years, then show up like some knight in a corporate tuxedo and decide you’re going to rescue me?”

Marisse flinched, as if the words struck something raw.

“Do you think I’m some damsel? That I’ve been waiting, hoping, for you to come fix the mess of my life?” she hissed. “You don’t know me anymore.”

“You’re right,” Marisse said, his voice steadying. “But I remember who you were. And I see who you are now. And I know you don’t need saving. But you deserve a way out. One you control.”

He leaned forward, eyes searching hers. “I was afraid before. I didn’t think I was enough for you. I thought you needed someone with more power, more poise, more perfection. And I let you go. But not anymore.”

His next words were a promise…quiet, searing. “Because now I know that I am the man who will fight for you. Who can fight for you.”

She shook her head, almost pitying. “You don’t understand. Topher can hurt me. He can hurt my father. He can ruin our name, our company, our---”

“I won’t let that happen.” Marisse cut in, steel returning to his voice.

“There’s one thing I’m certain of now,” he continued. “With Villamor Logistics now under RPV2 Holdings, I can protect you. And your father. Your legacy.”

He pulled a folder from the leather seat beside him, placing it in her lap.

“I’ve already made arrangements. Your father is being taken to the RPV2 Tower’s private residence wing. He’ll be guarded. Cared for. No one, not even Topher, will get to him. Not while I’m breathing.”

The engine purred beneath them.

No cameras. No chandeliers. No witnesses. Just a man who could rebuild empires but couldn’t rebuild the past. And a woman who had learned to survive in a cage lined with gold.

Finally, she turned to him fully.

“You can’t hide us forever, you know?”

And Marisse, who had always calculated risk like a surgeon with a scalpel, gave her an answer that wasn’t planned. Or perfect. But painfully, honestly human.

“For now, I will take you somewhere safe,” he said. “And when the world comes looking, I’ll face it. Not for me. Not because I want you for myself. But because I owe you peace.”

“And then what?” Rose asked, wary.

Marisse’s eyes darkened, and the quiet confidence of a man with a plan returned to his posture.

“I will settle what must be settled with Topher Del Rios. Because if there’s one thing I know how to do better than most,” he turned toward the window as the Mercedes glided into the glowing heart of Manila’s night, “---it’s negotiate.”

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but charged. The city lights sliced through the window, dancing across Rose’s face as if fate itself were taking measure.

Rose turned away, gazing out at the cityscape as if trying to outrun her thoughts. But then, almost imperceptibly, she whispered:

“You better be right about this.”

And though she didn’t reach for his hand again, she didn’t move away either.

The car sped into the dark, and for the first time that night, Marisse didn’t feel like he was drowning.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still bleeding.

*******

8:44 PM Manila Harbor

Private Dockside Access

ROSE

The car slowed into a velvet silence. Engines hushed as a uniformed staff opened the door and ushered them onto the private dock, where a sleek black-and-silver yacht waited. Its lights soft, its crew silent, its promise… absolute.

Rose hesitated for half a breath before stepping aboard, her heels clicking against the lacquered deck. The night was calm; the harbor lit only by distant cargo cranes and scattered lanterns across the water. But it was the silence that unnerved her most.

Not the kind that isolates.
The kind that listens.

Aboard the yacht S.S. Argo, somewhere past Manila Bay, Rose leaned against the railing of the upper deck her arms crossed…The ocean wind threading through her loosened hair.

She had asked to be alone.

But alone was dangerous.
Alone meant thinking.
And thinking always brought her back to him.

She was supposed to be immune by now. Hardened by gilded years of rehearsed laughter, firm handshakes, and loveless responsibility. She had learned how to wear beauty like armor, poise like a shield. She had perfected the choreography of the “perfect Del Rios wife”.

Silent, stunning, and spared from choice.

But Marisse Rickarte always had a way of seeing through it.

"Damn you," she whispered, staring out at the churning black silk of the sea. “You were always the one I never knew how to prepare for.”

Rose closed her eyes and let the wind press against her skin like a memory.

She remembered the first time she saw him on the Maverick’s Rose as a deckhand, yes, but already so unapologetically carved from his own will. His presence didn’t beg for the world’s approval; it demanded it. There was something quietly defiant in him, something too raw for the polite world of debutante balls and arranged expectations.

He wasn’t meant for her.
And yet… he made her feel seen. Not as an heiress, not as a fragile beauty, but as a soul who could choose for herself.

He spoke to the parts of her she had been taught to keep silent. Her curiosity. Her cleverness. Her craving to be needed, not just possessed.

And now here he was again, returning to her life like a tide that never stopped pulling.
Undoing her armor with a glance.
Offering safety, after she’d learned to only count on herself.

And damn it...she was still in love with him.

That truth coiled in her like heat beneath her ribs.

She hated it.

Feared it.

Needed it.

*******