“Do you want fight?” she whispered to her reflection.

“Sure. But that’s not the way you want.”

She didn’t want revenge.

She wanted dignity back.

---

The following days, Sam stuck to her routine:

Morning jogs before class to get her glow back.

Drinking more water.

Following the skincare regimen she used to swear by.

Practicing her walk, posture, and presence every night in the apartment.

She still came to school quietly.

Still wore simple clothes.

But her classmates noticed something was… changing.

Her skin began to clear.

Her eyes sparkled differently.

Her confidence — though subtle — started to radiate.

They didn’t know what it was.

But they were starting to notice.

And feel threatened.

---

“Bakit parang… iba siya ngayon?” Joana whispered one lunch break.

Alexa frowned. “Hayaan mo siya. Kahit anong gawin niya, she can’t touch me.”

But deep inside, even Alexa felt it.

Sam was preparing for something.

And when that moment came…

She wouldn’t just compete.

She would own the stage.

---

Carl leaned against the railing on the third floor, overlooking the gym. Students were preparing for the upcoming pageant — music blasting, muses rehearsing, and volunteers rushing around with props.

But Carl wasn’t watching any of them.

He was watching her.

Sam.

---

She stood near the mirrors, tying her hair into a neat ponytail. Her skin glowed under the soft gym light, and though she wore only a plain white shirt and jeans — she looked effortlessly striking.

Not loud.

Not trying.

But undeniably beautiful.

---

“What’s with the intense staring?” Vince teased, nudging Carl from beside him.

“Wala,” Carl said quickly, straightening. “Napatingin lang.”

“Napatingin?” Bryan smirked. “Dude, you’ve been watching her for five minutes.”

“Shadow Ace is glowing,” David added, arms crossed. “Something’s changed. And I’m not gonna lie — I’m starting to get it.”

Carl’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like that. At all.

---

Down in the gym, Sam laughed softly at something one of the volunteers said. Her smile was different now — relaxed, free. Her energy, once guarded, now pulled people in.

And people were being pulled in.

A guy from another section handed her a water bottle.

Another one offered to help her with her props.

Even the choreographer smiled at her and asked her to stand center during a formation test.

---

She wasn’t fading into the background anymore.

She was becoming the center.

---

Carl didn’t understand why it annoyed him.

Why he suddenly felt… unsettled.

Why he wanted to walk up to those guys and tell them to back off.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched her quietly.

Jealousy mixing with regret.

---

Meanwhile, down in the gym, Sam felt the stares.

From the boys.

From the girls.

From him.

She didn’t smile at Carl.

Didn’t even glance his way.

But a part of her — the part that still wondered what if — hoped he was looking.

And he was.

---

Sam laughed — not the quiet, careful kind she used to hold back, but the loud, open one that made people turn.

She was surrounded now.

By classmates.

Volunteers.

Even upperclassmen.

The same people who once whispered behind her back now wanted to sit beside her, share snacks, compliment her voice, or ask for tips for their own performance.

---

“Sam, you’re joining the next talent show, right?”

“Your voice is sooo good. Can you teach me how to sing properly?”

“You should totally do a cover on social media!”

Sam smiled politely at each one, surprised by the sudden attention.

She didn’t hate it.

But she didn’t trust it either.

---

Across the hall, Carl leaned on the vending machine, silently watching.

He took a sip of his drink but barely tasted it.

Sam was different now — not just because of how she looked, but how she carried herself.

Confident.

Cool.

Harder to reach.

---

He was about to walk away when Ralph — flirty, popular, unpredictable Ralph — sauntered over to Sam and draped an arm around her shoulders.

Carl’s eyes narrowed.

---

“Hey, superstar,” Ralph grinned at Sam. “I’ve been watching you shine lately. Should I be worried? You might outshine me.”

Sam rolled her eyes with a smile. “You? Worry? You love the attention too much.”

“Oh, but I’d happily share the spotlight with you,” he said, leaning in. “Wanna go get milk tea after practice?”

Sam paused, sensing eyes on her.

She glanced around — and saw Carl.

Their eyes locked for half a second.

Sam looked away first.

Then she nodded. “Sure. Why not.”

---

Ralph cheered. “See? You’re warming up to me.”

Carl’s grip on his drink tightened.

---

Later, as Sam and Ralph walked out of the building, talking and laughing, Carl stayed behind — arms crossed, jaw set.

David came up beside him. “You okay, bro?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

---

But Carl wasn’t fine.

Because for the first time, Sam wasn’t just that girl who annoyed him.

She was someone who could walk away from him completely.

And worst of all… she might not look back.

---

The auditorium lights dimmed.

The crowd fell silent, holding its breath in anticipation.

And then — boom.

The music hit.

Spotlights burst into life as the muses stepped onto the stage for the production number, dressed in matching performance outfits. Glittering lights reflected off rhinestones, sequins, and sheer determination.

But no one expected her.

Not like this.

---

From the moment Sam stepped onto that stage, the entire crowd froze.

Her once-ignored presence now demanded attention.

Her hair, curled in soft waves, cascaded down her back, catching the light like silk.

Her skin glowed with a natural radiance — smooth, clear, ethereal.

Her eyes sparkled with a fire no one had ever seen before.

And her lips — painted a soft, deep rose — curved into a quiet smile of confidence.

Every movement she made was graceful, fluid, powerful.

She didn’t just dance.

She owned the stage.

---

She hit every beat of the choreography with precision and power — her body moving to the rhythm like it was part of her soul. While others danced to impress, Sam danced like she had something to prove — like the stage was hers and she wasn’t giving it back.

Whispers filled the crowd.

“Wait… that’s Sam?”

“She’s… beautiful.”

“Is that really the same girl?”

“I didn’t know she could move like that!”

Even the judges leaned in.

---

From the audience, Carl sat frozen — breath caught in his throat.

He had seen her sing.

He had seen her laugh.

He had seen her cry.

But this?

This was a new Sam.

Unapologetic.

Unforgettable.

---

Ralph let out a low whistle. “Damn. Okay, Sam. I see you.”

David looked stunned. “She looks like a different person.”

“No,” Carl muttered under his breath, eyes locked on her.

“She just stopped hiding.”

---

Alexa, watching from the dressing room curtains, clenched her fists. Her lips tightened as she saw the audience’s reactions — wide eyes, jaws dropping, cameras flashing.

The muse that everyone mocked was now the star.

---

As the final beat hit, Sam struck her pose — poised, radiant, fierce.

And for a second…

There was only silence.

Then — thunderous applause.

Cheers, whistles, shouts of “Go Sam!”

Everyone was on their feet.

---

And Sam?

She simply smiled.

Not for validation.

But because she finally felt seen.

---

The cheers still echoed in the auditorium as Sam walked off the stage, head held high, sweat glistening on her forehead — but her eyes burned with quiet pride.

In the wings, the other contestants whispered behind her back.

Not like before — not with ridicule.

Now, it was envy. Awe. Shock.

---

In the audience, there was a moment of silence before it filled with buzzing disbelief.

“Weren’t they trying to embarrass her?”

“Akala ko pinagkaisahan siya?”

“She was supposed to be the joke…”

“Eh bakit parang siya pa 'yung parang artista ngayon?”

One of the girls who once laughed loudest at Sam — Michelle — sat frozen in her seat, mouth half open.

“No way,” she muttered. “That can’t be her.”

But it was.

It always had been.

They were just too blind to see it.

---

Flashback whispers began to replay in people’s minds:

> “Let’s vote for her. Imagine how awkward she'll look.”

“Muse? Siya? Deserve niya mapahiya.”

“Pang-charity case.”

But now, none of those words held weight.

Instead, Sam’s poise and power reversed everything.

And now, the people who once laughed felt their own embarrassment — heavy and burning.

---

In the crowd, some students clapped slower, still stunned. Others couldn't stop staring.

A few boys who never even spoke to Sam now leaned in, asking their seatmates:

“May number ba siya?”

“Anong section niya ulit?”

“Grabe... parang model!”

Even teachers whispered among themselves, eyebrows raised in admiration.

The transformation wasn’t just physical.

It was presence.

---

And Carl?

Carl sat perfectly still.

Everyone else was clapping.

Smiling.

Talking.

But Carl?

He was processing.

Because the same girl he once called a headache... now took his breath away.

She didn’t need anyone to lift her up.

She did it herself.

And the crowd that once underestimated her now stood to their feet — not out of requirement, but out of pure, stunned respect.

---

Backstage, Sam looked at her reflection one last time.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Her silence was enough to echo what the whole crowd just realized:

She was never the joke.

They were.

---

The crowd buzzed with excitement as the sportswear segment of the pageant began.

One by one, the muses stepped onto the stage, wearing their best athletic outfits — tennis skirts, volleyball uniforms, swim gear, boxing gloves. They strutted out of the stage door, striking their practiced poses under the spotlight.

Each ramped with confidence. Each tried to outshine the last.

But the name they whispered in the dark wasn’t theirs.

It was Sam.

---

Backstage, the lights suddenly dimmed — all except for a spotlight on the center aisle of the auditorium.

Confused murmurs filled the crowd.

“What’s happening?”

“Theres anything wrong in the program?”

“Where is the last candidate?”

And then —

VRRROOOOMMMMM.

A single headlight flashed in the shadows.

Gasps echoed across the room as a sleek black motorcycle roared to life at the back of the auditorium, its engine growling like a beast.

People jumped to their feet, craning their necks.

And then — it happened.

---

The motorcycle sped through the center aisle.

Fast. Furious. Perfectly controlled.

The audience instinctively parted as it raced toward the center — and then, with a sudden leap over a custom ramp hidden in the seats, the bike shot into the air, spinning mid-air in a clean exhibition flip.

Phones flew into hands. People screamed — in shock, awe, admiration.

As the wheels landed smoothly on the floor, the rider did a final drift, smoke curling dramatically from the tires as the motorcycle came to a stop at the edge of the stage.

And there — she lifted her helmet.

---

It was Sam.

And she wasn’t wearing a skirt or tight jersey like the others.

She wore a full racing suit — dark red and black leather, hugging her curves, the logo of a fictional racing sponsor on her back.

She pulled the helmet off in slow motion, her hair spilling out like fire under the lights.

Her face was calm.

Unbothered.

Commanding.

---

The crowd lost it.

Applause. Screams. Chanting.

> “That’s OUR muse!”

“Motorbike queen!”

“Sam! Sam! Sam!”

Even the judges stood, some clapping, some stunned.

Others tried to keep their expressions neutral — but the audience had already chosen their star.

---

Backstage, Alexa watched in disbelief, her fake smile faltering.

Her hands clenched at her sides. Her stylist tried to fix her headband, but she brushed them away.

Sam just turned the game upside down.

---

Carl’s eyes followed Sam as she slowly walked to center stage, pulling off her gloves and tossing them over her shoulder.

He was no longer confused by his feelings.

He knew now.

And he was in trouble.

---

The spotlight shifted centerstage. The emcee called,

> “Now up next — our final muse for the talent portion... Christel Sam Monteverde!”

Backstage, Alexa smirked as she watched a tech assistant hesitate near the power switches.

Her words from earlier echoed in his mind:

> “Cut the main input for the instrument. Just a minute. Let’s see how she handles silence.”

Alexa thought she had it all figured out.

What she didn’t count on…

Was Sam’s fire.

---

As Sam stepped onto the darkened stage, the massive drum set sat waiting — heavy, bold, and untouched.

The murmurs in the audience grew.

“Drums?”

“Hindi ba panglalaki 'yan?”

“Sure ba siya?”

Alexa chuckled behind her fan.

But Sam?

She sat calmly. Closed her eyes. Took a breath.

And just as she raised her sticks —

Nothing.

The power was dead.

No lights on the drum pads.

No monitor feedback.

---

Whispers erupted.

“Why there’s no any sound?”

“What happend?”

A second passed. Then two. Alexa smirked.

But then—

Sam stood.

No panic. No shame.

She turned to the tech booth and signaled with her hands like a true professional:

> “Manual. Mics. Acoustic mode.”

A stagehand scrambled to reposition mics near the drums.

And then, she sat back down.

No background track.

No light show.

Just her — and her raw power.

---

And with that —

BOOM.

She slammed the first beat.

BOOM. BOOM. TSSHH.

Her sticks blurred, flying like lightning as the beat built higher — faster — harder.

The auditorium shook with the rhythm.

Every thump struck like a heartbeat — powerful, precise, alive.

Her hair whipped with every movement.

Her eyes glinted beneath the stage lights, fierce and untouchable.

---

People rose to their feet.

One row.

Then another.

Until the entire crowd was standing.

> “WOOOOOH!”

“GO SAM!”

“ANG ASTIG MO!”

“RRAAAAHHHH!”

Even the judges leaned forward, some mouths open, unable to hide their amazement.

She wasn’t just talented.

She was a force.

---

By the final solo, sweat glistened on her forehead, her hands a blur of motion. The last CRASH of the cymbals echoed across the hall like thunder.

She stood, raised her sticks above her head, and smiled — just once.

It was the smile of a girl who didn’t just survive the sabotage.

She owned it.

---

Backstage, Alexa’s plan had crumbled with every beat of the drums.

She stared at the monitor in disbelief.

That wasn’t the Sam they voted to embarrass.

This was the Sam they couldn’t touch.

---

And from the crowd, Carl — now standing with the rest — felt his chest tighten.

He had never seen anyone own a stage like that.

No words came to his lips. Only one thought:

> “I’ve been falling for a storm.”

---

The crowd was still electric from Sam’s drum performance.

Judges whispered among themselves. Phones were up. Students were talking over each other, reliving the epic moment.

Backstage, Alexa paced in her heels, her fingers tightening around the hem of her satin dress.

> “She was supposed to be humiliated,” she hissed, eyes darting toward the stage curtain.

But Sam just stood in a corner, sipping water, catching her breath — calm, content, unbothered.

---

Onstage, the emcee held a golden envelope.

> “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for — the announcement of this year’s Campus Pageant Muse Champion!”

Spotlights danced across the line of girls standing shoulder to shoulder on stage.

Alexa smiled confidently and leaned slightly forward, already stepping out for her “expected” win.

> “And the crown goes to…”

A pause. A beat.

> “Miss… Christel Sam Monteverde!”

---

BOOM.

Cheers exploded. Confetti rained.

And Alexa?

She didn’t move.

She blinked. Stared. Shook her head slightly, as if she misheard.

> “What?!”

The crowd roared louder, chanting Sam’s name.

> “Sam! Sam! Sam!”

Sam froze for a moment, stunned, unsure if she was dreaming. But then a staff member gently pushed her forward.

A crown was placed on her head. A sash draped across her chest.

Flash after flash captured her in that perfect moment — shining, glowing, undeniable.

---

The emcee extended the mic to her.

> “Sam, do you have anything to say?”

She took it slowly. Looked around the stage. At the judges. At her classmates. At Carl — who was now standing and clapping harder than anyone else.

And then…

She smiled.

> “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting this. I came here to prove nothing — only to express who I am. I guess… being true to yourself is already a kind of crown.”

Simple. Genuine. Killer.

---

Alexa, behind her perfect smile, was fuming.

Her jaw clenched. Her nails dug into her palm.

Her voice was tight as she leaned toward her friend Joana.

> “This isn’t over.”

Joana, unsure, just nodded awkwardly.

Because deep down — even she could tell…

Alexa lost.

And not just the pageant.

---

Backstage, as Sam stepped down from the stage, some students she’d never spoken to reached out to congratulate her.

> “Ang galing mo kanina!”

“You deserved it!”

“Rockstar ka, grabe!”

She was no longer the poor, silent scholar. She was someone.

But Sam? She didn’t gloat. Didn’t change.

She smiled kindly, said thank you, and walked off with grace — crown on her head, fire in her heart.

---

From the shadows, Carl watched her.

And for the first time, he realized —

> She’s not just a girl I’m curious about.

She’s someone I could fall in love with.

--

The buzz from the pageant hadn’t died down.

Photos of Sam’s transformation were all over campus group chats. Her drumming performance. Her stunning ramp. And most of all — that legendary sportswear entrance riding a roaring motorcycle through the middle of the crowd.

---

In one of the group chats shared by Carl, Vince, David, and Bryan, someone posted a clip:

Sam enters on a black racing motorcycle, lands on stage, wearing a full custom racing suit.

Bryan:

> “Bro… look familiar?”

David:

> “Same bike. Same entrance style. Exact flip.”

Vince:

> “You don’t think…?”

Carl sat silently, staring at the screen.

He leaned forward. Replayed the clip. Slowed it down.

The signature spin. The gloved hand on the handlebar. The slight tilt of the helmet.

He whispered to himself,

> “Shadow Ace…”

---

A memory hit him —

The underground race.

The mysterious racer who defeated Ralph’s undefeated streak.

The one who disappeared before anyone could talk to them.

> “Do you remember the way Shadow Ace exited the track?” Bryan asked.

“That same whip of the bike. Same size. Same freaking timing.”

“Bro,” David added, “Sam didn’t just borrow that bike. She is Shadow Ace.”

---

Carl leaned back in his seat, wide-eyed.

Suddenly, everything made sense:

The way Sam handled herself — calm under pressure.

Her strength, her independence.

Why she avoided attention.

And why she always kept her helmet on during races.

> “All this time… it was her,” Carl murmured.

His chest tightened — not in disappointment, but in awe.

She wasn't just strong — she was legendary. And she'd been hiding in plain sight.

---

That night, Carl found himself walking aimlessly after dinner. His mind full of drums, engines, and her smile.

He didn’t tell the others, but in his pocket, he had a note folded neatly:

> "To the girl who beat all of us — I see you now."

---

At the local hangout spot near campus, Carl, David, Vince, and Ralph were playing pool.

The atmosphere was casual — until Bryan arrived with his phone in hand, a smirk on his face.

> “Yo, Ralph. You might wanna sit down for this.”

Ralph leaned against the pool table, cue stick resting on his shoulder.

> “Why? Someone finally faster than me?” he joked.

Bryan just grinned, tapped play on the video.

---

Sam, riding the same black motorbike from the underground races, landing mid-stage in her racer’s suit.

Ralph’s smirk faded. He grabbed the phone, eyes narrowing.

> “Wait. That’s the same bike… same entry move…”

Carl nodded slowly.

> “That’s not just a bike, bro. That’s Shadow Ace.”

A beat.

Bryan added, “And Shadow Ace is Sam.”

Ralph froze. The cue stick in his hand slowly dropped to the floor.

> “No f*cking way.”

---

He tried to laugh it off. But the color in his face changed.

> “You're telling me that the racer who humiliated me in front of hundreds of people… was her?! That quiet scholar girl?”

David leaned in. “Not so quiet anymore.”

Vince added, “She’s talented. A fighter. And now the muse of the year.”

Ralph sat down on the leather booth, rubbing his temples.

> “I watched that race replay ten times trying to guess who beat me… I never would’ve thought…”

He looked up, eyes darkening.

> “She played us.”

---

Carl tilted his head, “She didn’t play us. She just never revealed herself.”

> “She beat me!” Ralph snapped.

“You don't understand. I’ve never lost like that. Not even close. And now she’s walking around like some… queen? Getting cheered for being the girl who beat me in disguise?”

There was a pause.

Vince crossed his arms, “You sound bitter.”

> “Damn right I’m bitter.”

Ralph stood up, fire burning in his eyes.

> “I want a rematch. No masks. No hiding. Mano a mano. Let’s see how good she really is.”

---

Carl stayed quiet — watching Ralph, analyzing.

> He’s not angry because Sam lied…

He’s angry because Sam shattered his pride.

And deep inside, Carl knew…

If Sam agreed to race again…

She wouldn’t just beat Ralph.

She’d bury him.

---

The campus was still buzzing from last night’s pageant.

Everyone talked about one name —

Not Alexa.

Not any muse from the other sections.

But Sam Monteverde.

Or as most people had just discovered…

Shadow Ace.

---

Sam walked alone across the garden path between buildings. Her steps were steady, but her mind spun with noise — compliments, stares, whispers.

Some were finally in awe.

Some couldn’t accept what they saw.

And others... were just beginning to see her for the first time.

She reached for her phone when a voice behind her spoke low and steady.

> “You really don’t like attention, do you?”

She turned.

Carl Vincent Villamor.

---

She almost didn’t recognize him without the usual coldness in his voice.

His hands were in his pockets, head slightly tilted as he walked beside her. Calm. Curious.

She stopped. “Is there something you need?”

Carl paused too.

> “Yeah. Actually... I wanted to say congratulations.”

That caught her off guard.

> “For what?” she asked cautiously.

> “For winning the pageant,” he said.

“And for owning the whole stage like you were born on it.”

Sam looked down, unsure how to respond.

> “You didn’t just show up,” he continued. “You shut everyone up. Including the people who tried to tear you down.”

Sam let out a soft laugh. “Is that your version of a compliment?”

Carl smirked, just slightly.

> “Also…”

He stepped a little closer.

“You ride like hell.”

---

Her breath caught in her throat.

> “So, you know?”

> “The way you flipped the bike mid-air? No one else does that.”

“And besides…” he added, softer now, “I never forget someone who outruns danger like it’s second nature.”

---

There was a pause.

The school bell rang in the distance, but neither of them moved.

> “You’re not mad?” she asked.

> “Why would I be?”

“You didn’t owe anyone an explanation. You stayed silent because this world doesn’t always deserve to know the real you — until you’re ready.”

Sam stared at him.

This was a different Carl.

Not the cold, unreachable heir of the Villamors.

But someone who saw her — past her secrets, her scars, her silence.

---

As she started to walk again, Carl called after her.

> “Hey, Sam.”

She turned.

> “You were unforgettable up there.”

A small, real smile played on her lips.

> “Thanks,” she said. “But I didn’t do it to be remembered.”

Carl nodded. “I know. That’s why they will.”

---

Monday came with unusual warmth.

Not because of the sun,

But because of the stares, smiles, and “Good morning, Sam!” that echoed through the school gates.

Sam stepped onto campus in her uniform, her hair tied in a loose ponytail, minimal makeup on, but her natural glow from the weekend’s pageant had not faded.

She walked past groups of students — people who used to whisper behind her back now waved openly.

> “Hey, Sam! You looked stunning sa pageant!”

“Ang galing mo sa drums! You killed it!”

“Di ko in-expect, grabe pala talent mo!”

Even some teachers greeted her with rare smiles. Hallways that once felt like battlefields now felt... warm. Welcoming.

Except for one corner.

A small circle near the lockers —

Alexa and her group.

They didn’t clap.

They didn’t smile.

They just stared.

---

Sam pretended not to notice and kept walking.

She had learned the hard way:

Silence is sometimes louder than any insult.

---

As she reached the stairs leading to their classroom, someone stepped out of the hallway.

Carl.

Dressed in his usual clean-cut uniform, one hand in his pocket, bag slung on one shoulder.

Their eyes met — and the world, even for just a second, slowed down.

No words.

Just that quiet, awkward energy between two people who knew something special had happened…

But still weren’t ready to talk about it.

Sam gave him a small nod, lips twitching upward just a bit.

Carl didn’t speak.

But his eyes did.

> I see you.

I remember.

You were unforgettable.

---

She looked away first, pretending to fix her ID.

He looked away too — but his hand, hidden from the others, balled into a fist as if holding back something he couldn’t name.

---

From afar, David and Vince watched silently.

> “They’re acting like strangers,” Vince said.

“But you feel that electricity?”

David nodded. “It’s only a matter of time.”

---

As Sam entered the classroom, more classmates greeted her, offering a seat beside them, asking about her skin routine, her music, even her racing.

But she stayed humble.

> “It was just for fun,” she said.

“I didn’t expect any of this.”

Still, inside her chest, her heart beat fast — not because of the attention,

But because of one pair of eyes that saw her long before everyone else did.

And that pair belonged to Carl.

---

It was already past midnight.

The bar was quieter than usual. The last set was done. Sam had just finished packing her things backstage when she heard the door chime again.

> Carl.

He walked in, still wearing his school uniform, only the tie loosened and the first two buttons undone. His usual proud stride seemed... heavier.

> “You’re late,” Sam said, meeting him at the counter.

> “I needed a drink,” he replied.

Sam raised a brow. “That bad of a day?”

Carl didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat at the far end of the bar — his usual spot — and ordered a drink. Then another.

And another.

He wasn't his usual controlled self tonight.

---

Sam leaned on the counter, watching him.

> “Maybe that’s enough,” she said gently.

“You’ll regret that tomorrow.”

> “You sound like someone who’s worried,” Carl muttered, smiling bitterly.

“Don’t. I’m not your problem.”

That stung more than it should have.

> “I didn’t say you were,” she replied, more coldly than she meant.

---

Minutes passed. The crowd thinned. Carl slumped forward slightly, knuckles resting on the counter, eyes half-lidded.

> “I’m not drunk,” he mumbled.

> “Of course you’re not,” Sam said sarcastically.

> “I just... didn’t want to be alone.”

Sam paused.

His words sat heavy in the air.

---

Soon, it was closing time. David wasn’t answering Carl’s calls. Neither was Vince or Bryan. Sam stared at her phone and then at Carl, who was barely keeping his eyes open.

His family lived far uptown, behind tight security gates.

No way he could get home safely like this.

> “What do I do with you, Villamor…” she muttered under her breath.

---

She didn’t want to bring him home.

Not him. Not Carl.

But she couldn’t leave him there either.

---

Later that Night...

The apartment wasn’t big — just a studio space with a small sofa, kitchen counter, and a curtain separating her sleeping area.

Sam struggled to keep Carl upright as she fumbled with her keys.

> “You live here?” he murmured.

> “Shut up and walk.”

She helped him to the couch. He collapsed onto it, eyes barely open but clearly scanning the room.

> “So this is you, huh?” he said softly.

“This is where you go when no one’s watching.”

Sam looked away. “Sleep. You’ll forget this in the morning.”

> “No... I won’t.”

His voice was low. Sincere.

And before she could walk away, he added:

> “Thank you, Sam.”

She turned, just in time to see his eyes flutter shut.

---

She stood there for a while. Just staring at him.

Carl — the rich, cold, untouchable Villamor — asleep on her secondhand couch, surrounded by mismatched pillows and the scent of brewed coffee.

Vulnerable.

Real.

Too real.

And that terrified her.

---