VANESSA

As the car rolled back into the city, the warmth of the Rickarte estate faded like breath on glass.

Vanessa sat still, her body present but her mind caught in the undertow of what she had just experienced. That compound, silent and precise, had disarmed her in ways no ambush or interrogation ever had.

For the first time in a long while, she had felt the ghost of something she’d long buried. Belonging. Not born from bloodlines or obedience, but from shared vision. Discipline. Respect.

RPV2 wasn’t a cartel. It was a symphony.

Inside those stone walls, power didn’t roar, it moved with orchestral precision. No raised voices, no empty posturing. Just control. Intent. From Marisse Rickarte’s glacial poise to Vincent Viaqueza’s unexpected warmth, everyone there played their part without chaos, without ego.

And in the middle of it all, beneath an acacia tree older than any dynasty, she had laughed…with him.

That part unsettled her most of all.

But the illusion shattered as the city swallowed her whole. Manila’s lights flickered like warning signs, and the old chill crept back in.

Because her family was nothing like RPV2.

The Zaragoza name thrived on spectacle and sabotage. It wasn’t a machine; it was a feeding frenzy dressed in couture.

And today, Vanessa finally realized who was holding the sharpest knife. That is why as soon as she got back to her room, she texted Franchesca one word.

“Drinks?”

The response came within seconds.

FRANCHESCA: "Can’t tonight. Let’s meet at the polo match tomorrow instead. I’ll be the one sheering the NOT RPV2 Team.”

Right. It’s a long weekend because of the holiday tomorrow. The reason the city felt half-abandoned as they drove off back to the Viaqueza Estate.
She had brushed it off when Caleta invited her to the match earlier, assuming it was just another display of leisure.

Vanessa glanced at the time, then turned to her ever-present security shadow.

“Peter, I’ll be going to the polo match tomorrow. With Caleta Pelquiejo. Andrew’s wife.”

Peter gave her a subtle nod. “Already arranged, ma’am. Security detail’s in place. Route is clear. Club credentials secured.”

She blinked, surprised by the efficiency. “You really don’t miss anything, do you?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood by the doorway, stoic as ever.

Still mulling over that unnerving level of readiness, Vanessa grabbed her phone again and called Caleta.

The line connected instantly.

“Vanessa!” Caleta’s voice was sunshine wrapped in silk. “I was just about to call you. We’ve got the best seats at the match tomorrow, center terrace, front row. Be ready by 8:30. We’ll pick you up.”

Vanessa nodded, already moving toward her closet. “Got it.”

The rest of her Sunday unfolded with routine familiarity.
Because she spent this morning baking the cookies she brought to Sunday lunch, Vanessa decided to lace up for an afternoon run across the estate’s long, winding trails.

But she ran across the estate with no sign of Vincent.

Not in the kitchen. Not in the gym. Not even a glimpse in the courtyard.
And somehow, that absence bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Was it what she said in the car?

She shook her head, trying to shrug it off like it didn’t matter.

Their meryenda, afternoon tea, by the main house’s veranda was a quiet affair with just her and Yaya Belen who sliced her biko with surgical precision.

Vanessa finally broke the silence. “Where’s Vincent?”

Yaya Belen scoffed without looking up. “He’s at the club. Probably being a fool with all those girls chasing after him like dogs to a meat truck.”

Vanessa blinked. “Club?”

“His favorite club. The Manila Club. Where else do men like him unwind?” She laughed, almost gleeful. “Though, there is really only one woman Vincent tolerates there. Celeste. Poor girl, he’s going to run her until she’s dead. Heartbreak will arrive tomorrow like clockwork.”

Vanessa tried to appear unbothered. But the word Celeste stuck like a splinter under her skin.

Well, that, and the fact that Vincent’s going to run her until she’s dead.

Vanessa was struck with how casual the usually conservative Yaya Belen has said it.

But why should that bother her???

Vanessa flippantly shrugged her hair and smiled at Vincent’s nanny.

Later that evening as she took another walk around the estate, she casually asked Peter, “I haven’t seen Zeke around?”

Peter didn’t flinch. “Overseeing security logistics for the polo event. Coordination with the Club and local authorities.”

She nodded, feigning interest. But her mood had soured somehow.

And so, like a true Zaragoza, she dressed up to destroy the day’s unease and agreed to meet the wicked queens of high society for dinner.

*******

Bonifacio Global City - CHINO

Vanessa met her fellow social titan friends: Natalia, Nicole, and Alessandra; for dinner at their fast-becoming favorite fusion restaurant.

Drinks were ordered. Laughter spilled like champagne.

It was Alessandra who brought it up first. “Everyone’s going to the match at Manila club, right? I heard RPV2 Holdings is playing.”

Vanessa perked up. “RPV2 plays polo?”

Natalia, the group’s polo queen, nodded enthusiastically. “Before Marisse and Andrew got married, the Four Knights of RPV2 owned the polo scene, hence their notorious title---”

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” Vanessa conluded with realization and Natalia continued eagerly.

“They were merciless. One match even became legend with Vincent Viaqueza allegedly making a bet so massive, it funded RPV2 Logistics. Bought their first fleet.”

Vanessa blinked. “Vincent plays?”

“Not often anymore,” Natalia admitted. “He was the best, but now it’s Voltaire who keeps ties with the club. Big donor. But if Vincent’s suiting up tomorrow…” She grinned. “The club might just implode.”

Then, Vanessa’s phone rang.

Lucien Alfaro. One of her privileged suitors. A persistent thorn.

“Vanessa,” he purred over the line. “May I have the honor of escorting you to tomorrow’s match?”

She smiled to her eavesdropping friend as, polite and cool, she replied. “I’m already going with friends. And Caleta Pelquiejo.”

He chuckled. “Ah. Sitting with the enemy. Well then, every hit I make tomorrow will be for you. I hope you cheer for me anyway.”

She hung up with a smirk, but her friends were already on the attack.

“New outfit,” Alessandra declared. “You’re not showing up in last season’s linen if Vincent’s playing. Debutantes need armor.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes but didn’t object. The rest of the evening was spent over more gossip about Vincent Viauqeza’s conquests that Vanessa swore she’s had enough of the man by the time she got back to his estate.

But when Vincent didn’t knock on her door or called her for after dinner drinks to discuss work or anything else he comes up with, Vanessa somehow felt bothered.

So bothered that it was practically past midnight when she finally got some sleep.

*******

The next morning, Vanessa got up quite early eager to go for breakfast for some reason. She convinced herself that she was just excited to see what the fuss was all about the legendary Vincen Viaqueza and his polo match plays that she was almost breathless as she runs down for breakfast.

And with a knowing smile, Yaya Belen shut her down by saying Vincent’s already eaten breakfast.

Vanessa frowned at Yaya Belen, “I wasn’t hoping to see Vincent, I am looking forward to spending the day with Caleta and Andrew.”

“Riiiiiiggghhhttttt…” Yaya Belen nodded solemnly in agreement yet the glint in her eyes betrayed her as she smiled at Vanessa. “Oh, well, cheer up. You look too pretty in that dress to seem like you’re disappointed somehow.”

“I am NOT disappointed, Yaya.”

“Riiiiiiggghhhttttt…”

She was seated by the window waiting for Caleta and Marisse to pick her up when she saw him.

Vincent.
In his riding boots, jodhpurs tight on his thighs, white jersey clinging to every hard line of muscle.
He bent over to brush something off his boots.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

She half-expected that grin when he looked up at her. Wolfish. Irresistible.

“Enjoying the scenery again, princesa?”

She nearly choked on air.

Her voice was laced with defense. “Since when do you play polo?”

Vincent only leaned in, voice low and lazy.

“I thought you already knew how I like hitting things with blunt force…”

Then he stepped past her with a smirk.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, I’m riding with Caleta.” Vanessa thought she almost sounded braggy but paid herself no mind.

Vincent’s grin deepened as he straightened, his boots now spotless, and his presence impossible to ignore. “Too bad. I was looking forward to another vindictive car ride with you.”

Vanessa folded her arms, composing herself. “Well, I will just have to wait in line along with your swooning fans then, don’t I?” she echoed, her voice icy-sweet. “Don’t be surprised if I cheer when you get thrown off your horse.”

Vanessa didn’t know where her annoyance was actually coming from, but she wanted to grab the Persian rug there and wipe that smug grin off of Vincent’s face  

He tilted his head. “But you will be watching,” he said, voice low and full of heat. “And that’s more than enough.”

Before she could deliver another verbal jab, the sound of an approaching car disrupted the moment. Caleta Pelquiejo stepped out of a sleek black Range Rover in a crisp white linen dress and oversized sunglasses that barely hid her amusement.

Andrew followed behind, already in his own club uniform, waving casually. “I’m riding with you, Vinnie!” He gave his wife a quick kiss before grabbing his own saddle at the back of their van.

“Vanessa!” Caleta called out with cheer. “You ready to witness some thoroughbred carnage?”

Vanessa gave Vincent a tight-lipped smile. “I think I already am.”

He laughed, thoroughly entertained, then walked past her, saddle bag slung effortlessly over one shoulder. “Save me a drink, Vanessa,” he tossed back.

As Vanessa entered the car with Caleta, her legs still humming from that accidental eye feast, she felt Caleta watching her.

“I saw that,” Caleta teased, raising an eyebrow behind her shades.

“Saw what?” Vanessa said too quickly, smoothing her dress.

“Oh, just a woman momentarily paralyzed by a man in fitted white pants. It’s a common condition,” Caleta replied with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it usually passes.”

Vanessa glared, cheeks betraying her with the faintest blush. “He’s insufferable.”

“Mm,” Caleta mused. “Well, I do love watching my husband in those pants, so no explanation needed here.”

They shared a laugh as they both enjoyed the ride to the Manila Polo Club, which was smoother than usual, the roads half-empty because of the long weekend. Caleta chatted easily about the guest list, pointing out which socialites were flying in, which embassies were attending, and the fact that even a few international scouts were rumored to be observing the match.

“You didn’t tell me this was that kind of event,” Vanessa said, eyes narrowing.

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise,” Caleta said, sipping her coffee. “Besides, you’ll love it. You’ve got the best seat on the field, next to me and conveniently, across from Vincent’s fan club. I plan to enjoy the theatrics.”

At the club grounds, the crowd was already buzzing. Rows of cars, food trucks dressed like boutique lounges, tents bearing the logos of luxury brands, and flashes of linen and designer sunglasses made the field look more like a Cannes red carpet than a sports event.

Vanessa’s breath caught when she stepped into their box. Not because of the view, though it was immaculate, but because Vincent was already on the field.

He rode like he was born on the back of a war horse. Focused. Exact. Deadly. When he swung his mallet, it wasn’t with flamboyance, it was with the kind of control that came from knowing he could destroy and choosing not to.

“Jesus,” Vanessa muttered under her breath.

Caleta chuckled. “Now you see why hearts fall like dominoes around him.”

“Remind me again how he’s not married with five children?”

“He’s married to chaos,” Caleta replied. “A woman might tame him one day, but she’ll need to wield power like a sword.”

Vanessa exhaled and sat back. “So, what’s this I heard about him making a million-peso bet here?”

Caleta grinned. “Ah, the Legend of Field Nine. That story’s older than half the audience here. Ask him. He tells it best, usually when he’s drunk.”

Just then, the announcer’s voice cut through the ambient music and polite conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Summer Challenge Cup, featuring RPV2 Holdings versus the Alfaro Group…”

Vanessa’s phone buzzed. A text from Lucien:
“For you, I’ll break records today. Just say the word.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You going to respond to that?” Caleta asked slyly, peering over her shoulder.

“I’m not that cruel.”

“Good,” Caleta replied, lifting her champagne glass. “Because if Vincent catches wind of Lucien trying to outshine him on the field for you, this match is going to get very personal.”

Vanessa smirked, sipping her own glass. “I thought it was already personal.”

On the field, the first play was announced, and Vincent rode into it like a storm.

And Vanessa knew that this match wasn’t going to be just about horses or mallets.

It was a game of power. Control. And who would dare make the next move.

*******