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Chapter Text

It happened in the most ordinary place: The corner store near Samarah’s apartment. The one that sold overpriced kombucha, imported chocolates, and those matcha cookies Quincy couldn’t live without.

They were just grabbing snacks.

Quincy was at the self-checkout, humming softly under her breath. Samarah was browsing the magazine rack.

And then— Lisa.

Not on a billboard. Not in an interview. Not in a campaign. In person. In flats and sunglasses, holding oat milk and a bag of almonds.

The world didn’t stop.

But something inside Samarah stilled.

Lisa froze too, a flicker of surprise in her eyes—but no hostility.

Just... something complicated. Something tired.

“Hey,” she said, almost sheepish.

“Hi.”

There was a beat of awkward silence, and then Lisa nodded toward the rack. “Still obsessed with seeing yourself in print?”

Samarah smirked. “Still deflecting with fake snark?”

Lisa winced, but there was a touch of fondness beneath it.

“Nakita ko post mo,” she said. “You look... happy.”

“I am,” Samarah said, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like something she had to prove.

Lisa nodded. “Good.”

Another silence stretched between them. But this one didn’t ache. It didn’t demand closure.

It just... was.

“Alam mo, I wanted to hate her,” Lisa said finally. “Quincy.”

Samarah raised a brow.

“Pero it’s obvious,” Lisa went on. “The way she looks at you? She doesn’t want to compete with you. She just wants to know you.”

Samarah didn’t reply.

She didn’t have to.

Lisa gave a small, rueful smile. “We weren’t meant to last, were we?”

“No,” Samarah said softly. “But we were meant to end.”

Lisa nodded again. This time, slowly. And without another word, she turned and walked away.

No drama. No fight. Just... a rewrite. A cleaner ending than the one before.

At the checkout, Quincy looked up as Samarah approached, a question in her eyes.

“You okay, darling?”

Samarah wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, resting her chin on Quincy’s shoulder.

“I am now.”

Later that night, curled up on the couch, Quincy fed Samarah the last of the cookies and asked, “Anong sinabi mo?”

Samarah shrugged. “Wala naman. I think the best parting words are the ones you don’t need to say.”

Quincy nodded, eyes soft. “And what do you need to say right now?”

Samarah turned, cupping Quincy’s cheek.

“That I’m choosing this,” she said. “Not to make a statement. Not to prove something. Kundi dahil gusto ko lang. I want you.”

Quincy kissed her gently, then pulled back, her smile warm. “Good. Because I’m choosing it too.”

Samarah scrolled through her Instagram, lingering on her latest post. Pink peonies scattered across white sheets, Quincy's delicate fingers intertwined with hers, and that candid moment—their faces soft-focused but joy radiating through. The caption was simple: a heart emoji.

No explanation needed. No grand statement. Just... happiness.

The notifications kept rolling in. Hearts, flowers, fire emojis. Questions about the mystery woman who made Samarah glow like that.

A warm hand brushed her shoulder. Quincy settled beside her on the bed, peering at the screen.

"You've been quiet." Quincy's fingers traced patterns on Samarah's arm. "Are there negative comments again? Don't let them get to you—"

Samarah locked her phone, tossing it aside with a playful smirk. "Actually, my fans are dying to know about you. They think you're some mysterious heiress or a secret celebrity."

"And what are you telling them?"

"Nothing." Samarah pulled Quincy closer, breathing in her familiar scent. "You're my secret to keep. Let them wonder."

"Possessive much?" Quincy's eyes sparkled.

"Maybe." Samarah traced Quincy's jawline. "May problema ka?"

"No complaints here, darling."

In the weeks that followed, the noise faded.

People moved on to the next headline. The next drama. The next sparkly breakup.

But Samarah and Quincy stayed steady. Quiet. Certain.

Samarah scrolled through the delivery app, sprawled across her velvet couch. "Love, Thai or Italian?"

"Whatever you think Miles and Cameron would prefer." Quincy's voice drifted from the dining area, where she meticulously arranged the plates and silverware for the fourth time.

"They'll eat anything." Samarah tapped her perfectly manicured nail against her phone screen. "Thai it is. Para more options for everyone."

The soft clink of glasses caught her attention. Quincy moved between the kitchen and dining table with practiced grace, but there was a slight tension in her shoulders. She adjusted a fork that was already perfectly aligned, her movements precise but repetitive.

Samarah's phone buzzed.

Miles:

10 mins away. Cam's driving so we might actually make it alive

A smile tugged at Samarah's lips as she typed back a quick k.

Looking up, she caught Quincy adjusting the same fork again. "Love, halika ka nga dito."

Quincy glanced up, hands still hovering over the place setting.

"The table looks perfect. You look perfect. But you're being very... un-Quincy right now."

"What do you mean?" Quincy's voice was steady, but her fingers twisted the hem of her cream silk blouse.

Samarah pushed herself off the couch and sauntered over. "My love, 'wag kang kabahan.

"I'm not nervous," Quincy protested, but a soft blush colored her cheeks. "I just want to make a good impression. Close friends mo sila."

"At magugustuhan ka nila." Samarah wrapped her arms around Quincy's waist. "Though I have to say, seeing you all flustered is kind of adorable. Nakakapanibago."

Quincy's blush deepened. "I'm not flustered. I just—these are the people who've known you longest. Who've seen you through everything."

"Including the Lisa drama." Samarah traced her thumb along Quincy's jawline. "And guess what? They were Team Quincy before they even met you."

A knock at the door made Quincy jump.

"Deep breath," Samarah whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "They're going to love you."

She strode to the door, swinging it open to reveal Miles and Cameron. Miles burst in first, her red hair a wild cascade, arms loaded with wine bottles.

"We brought reinforcements!" Miles swept past, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Also, Cam refused na ako mag-drive, which is totally unfair because I only got one speeding ticket this month—"

Cameron rolled her eyes, stepping in with measured grace. "You're welcome, by the way. Gusto ko pang mabuhay."

Samarah caught the way Quincy's shoulders relaxed slightly at Cameron's calm presence.

Miles emerged from the kitchen, empty-handed. Her gaze landed on Quincy, and a wide grin spread across her face. "So you're the one who finally tamed our chaos queen."

"Miles!" Samarah shot her a warning look.

But Quincy surprised her with a soft laugh. "I wouldn't say tamed. More like... matched her energy in a different way."

Cameron's lips curved into an approving smile. "Smart answer."

"The food should be here in twenty," Samarah said, watching as Miles circled the apartment like an excited puppy. "Unless you want to raid my fridge first?"

"Please," Miles scoffed, already heading toward the kitchen. "As if naman you keep actual food in there. Puro fancy na sparkling water at—" She opened the fridge door and gasped. "Is that meal prep? In actual containers?"

Quincy ducked her head. "I might have stocked up a bit."

"Oh my god." Miles whirled around. "Marunong din siyang magluto? Sam, if you don't marry her, I will."

Samarah slipped behind Quincy, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her close. The soft cashmere of Quincy's cardigan brushed against her skin as she pressed a protective kiss to her shoulder.

"Cam, control your woman." Samarah's lips curved into a playful smirk. "She's getting ideas."

Miles planted her hands on her hips. "I'm just saying, someone who can cook and look like that—"

"Akin lahat 'to." Samarah tightened her hold on Quincy, pressing a deliberate kiss to her cheek. The blush that bloomed across Quincy's face only made her more irresistible. "You got your own."

Miles threw her hands up. "Babeee! Narinig mo 'yun? She's being mean to me."

Cameron leaned against the kitchen counter, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I did."

"Kiss mo 'ko." Miles pouted, making grabby hands at her girlfriend. "She's being so mayabang and couple-y, and I need attention."

"Sam," Cameron said, not moving from her spot. "Stop teasing Miles before she combusts."

They migrated to the living room, Miles sprawled across the floor cushions while Cameron perched elegantly on the armchair. Samarah curled into Quincy's side on the couch, their fingers intertwined.

"So," Miles swirled her wine glass, "are we finally going to address how you've been hiding this goddess from us for weeks?"

Samarah felt her cheeks warm. "So OA, 'di ko siya tinatago—"

"Please." Cameron cut in. "Hindi mo nga sinasagot tawag namin, making excuses about date nights, and posting cryptic Instagram stories."

"Masisisi niyo ba ako?" Samarah pulled Quincy closer. "Maybe I wanted to keep her all to myself for a bit."

Miles gasped dramatically. "Selfish mo! We had to find out about your rooftop meet-cute through Lisa's messy subtweets."

"Speaking of..." Cameron leaned forward, her dark eyes fixed on Quincy. "Since we're finally meeting the woman who swept our girl off her feet, we should probably have the talk."

Quincy sat up straighter, but her expression remained serene.

"If you hurt her," Miles started, attempting a serious tone despite her grin.

"We know people," Cameron finished smoothly.

"And places to hide bodies," Miles added.

Instead of laughing it off, Quincy set down her glass and met their gazes directly. "I understand. Samarah means everything to me. Not just the glamorous parts or the parts that make good headlines. All of her." She squeezed Samarah's hand. "I promise to cherish that. To protect her heart. To be worthy of the trust you've all placed in me."

The room fell silent. Even Miles looked touched.

"Well," Cameron said softly. "I guess we know why you've been keeping her to yourself."

The doorbell chimed, breaking the moment. Samarah untangled herself from Quincy and bounced up.

"Food's here!" She grabbed her phone, but Cameron was already at the door, cash in hand.

"Ako na."

"Cam, no—"

"Take it as my treat to welcome Quincy." Cameron's tone left no room for argument.

Miles sprawled across the now-empty couch space. "So tell us more about how you two have been spending all this time we weren't allowed to see you."

"We haven't been hiding," Samarah protested, catching Quincy's subtle smile. "Just... getting cozy together."

Miles sat up, eyes wide. "Oh my god, are you moving in together?"

Heat crept up Samarah's neck. "No! I mean... not yet. We're just..."

"Taking our time," Quincy finished, her voice soft but sure. "Getting to know each other without the pressure."

Cameron returned, arms loaded with fragrant Thai containers. "Speaking of pressure, how's the media circus?"

"Dying down," Samarah said, helping arrange the food on the coffee table. "Lisa's new campaign launched last week, so they've moved on to dissecting her poses instead of our relationship."

"Thank god," Miles grabbed a spring roll. "Those headlines were getting ridiculous. Ano nga ulit 'yung last one? 'Fashion's New Power Couple: The Ice Queen and the Instagram It Girl'?"

Quincy's laugh tinkled like wind chimes. "I rather liked that one. Though I'm not sure which of us is supposed to be the Ice Queen."

"Please," Samarah rolled her eyes, settling back beside Quincy. "We all know that's me."

The room filled with comfortable chatter as they passed around containers and shared stories. Samarah watched as Quincy slowly relaxed, her precise movements becoming more natural, her laughs more frequent.

This was what she'd wanted – her past and present merging seamlessly, the people she loved most in the world finally meeting. No drama, no spectacle. Just authentic connection.

Under the table, Quincy's hand found hers again, their fingers intertwining naturally. Samarah squeezed back, her heart full.

Cameron leaned back in her chair, wine glass balanced delicately between her fingers. "So Quincy, what do you do when you're not stealing our friend's heart?"

A flicker of something crossed Quincy's face - too quick to catch. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass. "I'm in design."

"Oh?" Miles perked up. "Like fashion design ba? Because Sam needs someone to tell her when she's about to commit a fashion crime-"

"Hoy!" Samarah tossed a napkin at Miles.

Quincy's laugh was soft, measured. "No, not fashion." She took a sip of wine, and Samarah noticed how she shifted slightly, her posture becoming more reserved. "Just... general design work."

Before Cameron could probe further, Quincy tilted her head. "Pero mas interested ako sa inyo. How long have you been together? Your dynamic is fascinating."

Miles sprawled across Cameron's lap, nearly knocking over her wine. "Three years of pure chaos."

"Four," Cameron corrected, automatically steadying Miles' glass. "You're forgetting the year you spent pretending you weren't in love with me."

"I wasn't pretending kaya! I was strategically planning my approach."

"Nag-drunk text ka sa'kin at 3 AM saying my abs made you feel things."

Miles jabbed a finger at her. "And it worked naman, 'diba?"

Quincy's shoulders relaxed as the attention shifted away from her. She curled closer to Samarah, who noticed the subtle way her girlfriend's fingers had stopped fidgeting with her glass.

"It was actually Samarah who pushed us together," Cameron said, absently running her fingers through Miles' hair. "She got tired of our mutual pining and locked us in her apartment until we talked."

"More like until you made out," Samarah smirked. "The talking came later."

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled like vanilla and bergamot.

Samarah padded barefoot through Quincy’s space, trailing the scent of her body oil and the warmth of their slow morning. Quincy was in the kitchen humming off-key, wearing one of Samarah’s oversized hoodies like it belonged to her now.

It kind of did.

Samarah paused by the bookshelf, eyeing the neat rows of poetry and history and design magazines. Everything in Quincy’s place had the same energy as her — understated, deliberate, quietly beautiful. Nothing screamed for attention.

But then her eyes caught something… different.

A drawer slightly ajar.

She wasn’t snooping. Not really. Just curious.

Inside: a velvet jewelry box, midnight blue with a crest she didn’t recognize — something intricate, with a lion’s paw and vines wrapped around an old monogram. Beside it, a stack of thick letterpress envelopes and a gold pen engraved with initials that didn’t match Quincy’s.

Curiosity bloomed.

She opened the box gently.

Inside lay a necklace — not flashy, but undeniably exquisite. The chain was delicate, nearly invisible. At the center sat a pendant: a gold chrysanthemum, petals layered with quiet precision, and nestled at its heart was a deep-green emerald, smooth and gleaming. Samarah’s breath caught.

This wasn’t boutique-store pretty.

It was museum-level art.

Before she could register more, Quincy’s voice floated in from the doorway, soft but alert. “I was wondering when you’d find that.”

Samarah turned slowly, necklace still cradled in her hand.

“I wasn’t digging,” she said quickly. “Nakabukas siya, and I just—ano 'to?”

Quincy stepped into the light. Her smile was shy around the edges, but not ashamed.

“It’s from the Arceta collection. My family’s design house. My lola started it in the '60s. Mostly bespoke high jewelry now, private clients. We don’t advertise.”

Samarah blinked. “Wait—Arceta as in Arceta & Queen?”

Quincy nodded. “Technically it’s all under Arceta Holdings now. But yeah.”

Samarah’s hand dropped to her side, the pendant still dangling from her fingers. “Quincy. You told me your family was ‘in design.’ You made it sound like—interior design. Not... old money jewelry dynasty.”

“I didn’t want that to be the first thing you knew about me,” Quincy said, her voice quieter now. “You already get followed around by cameras. I didn’t want you to think I came from that world too.”

Samarah stared at her.

“You wear Uniqlo to dates.”

“It’s soft,” Quincy said simply. “And I like comfort.”

Samarah was quiet for a beat, then laughed — short, surprised. “You’re a literal heiress.”

“I’m still the same person you met at that party. I'm still the Quincy you came to know and care about, the one who loves quiet nights with a book and tea, who'd rather listen than talk, and who finds joy in the simple things."

“I thought you were just... elegant because you drank tea without slurping and used the word ‘darling’ without sounding ironic.”

Quincy stepped closer, tilting her head. “Is this weird for you? Galit ka ba?”

Samarah let the necklace drape across her palm, watching the emerald catch the light. The weight felt different now — not just precious metal and gem, but history, legacy, and something else: intention.

"Hindi ako galit." She traced the chrysanthemum’s delicate petals. "Just processing. You've been living this double life this whole time?"

"Not a double life." Quincy moved closer, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. "Just... a quieter one. The company runs itself these days. I mostly do creative direction, special commissions."

"Kaya ba you got weird when Cameron asked about work?"

"Mm." Quincy's fingers brushed Samarah's wrist. "Most people hear 'family business' and picture something... smaller."

"Like a corner store?" Samarah's lips curved. "Not an empire?"

"Grabe naman ang empire."

"Says the woman with a jewelry box that probably costs more than my car."

Quincy plucked the necklace gently from Samarah's hand, stepping behind her. Cool metal settled against Samarah’s collarbone as Quincy fastened the clasp.

"Bagay sa'yo."

Samarah turned to the mirror, breath catching. The emerald nestled perfectly in the hollow of her throat, transforming her simple silk slip into something ethereal.

"I can't wear this." But her hand drifted up to touch it. "It’s too—"

"Meaningful?" Quincy's arms slid around her waist. "Keep it."

"Quincy."

"I designed it."

Samarah turned in her arms. "Ha?"

"Last month. Noong nakatulog ka sa couch reading poetry. The way the sunset hit your face..." Quincy's fingers brushed the pendant lightly. "The chrysanthemum symbolizes loyalty and truth in old flower language. And emerald…”

"What does emerald mean?"

"Growth. Balance. And sometimes, deep love — the kind that stays even in the dark." Quincy's eyes met hers in the mirror. “It’s not about wealth. It’s about what I see when I look at you.”

Samarah's heart thundered against her ribs. The necklace caught the morning light, scattering tiny prisms across her skin. Her reflection stared back — the same pink slip dress, the same tousled hair — but the jewelry transformed her into something ethereal, timeless.

"You made this for me?" Her voice came out softer than intended.

"The sketches started that night." Quincy's fingers traced patterns on Samarah's hip. "'Di ako makatulog kasi. You were curled up with that book of poems, and the way you looked... I had to capture it somehow."

Samarah turned in Quincy's arms, studying her face. The usual serene mask had slipped, revealing something raw underneath — hope, maybe. Or fear.

"All this time, I thought I was the complicated one." Samarah touched Quincy's cheek. "With the drama and the headlines and Lisa's mess. But you've been carrying this whole other world inside you."

"It's not that dramatic—"

"You're literally an heiress who designs million-dollar jewelry while wearing Uniqlo sweaters."

"The sweaters are comfortable." Quincy's lips quirked. "And technically, this piece would retail for closer to—"

"Huwag mong sabihin please." Samarah pressed a finger to Quincy's lips. Baka magka-heart attack ako."

"It's just metal and stones." Quincy caught Samarah's hand, kissing her palm. "The value is in what it means."

"And what does it mean?"

Quincy's fingers traced the chrysanthemum pendant, her touch feather-light against Samarah's skin. "When I design pieces, they're not just pretty things. Each element tells a story." She stepped closer, their reflections merging in the mirror. "The chrysanthemum - it's about staying true through changes. Like how you handled everything with Lisa. You didn't let the drama change who you are."

Samarah's chest tightened at the intimacy in Quincy's voice.

"And the emerald..." Quincy's hand slid down to rest over Samarah's heart. "I've watched you grow so much since that night at the rooftop. You've found this beautiful balance - between your modeling, your friendships, even making peace with Lisa. You're not running from your past or letting it define you."

"Dahil 'yun sa'yo," Samarah whispered.

"No." Quincy shook her head. "You did that yourself. Witness lang ako. That's what this piece represents - your journey. The way you've bloomed."

Samarah touched the pendant again, seeing it differently now. Not just precious stones and metal, but a story - her story - told through Quincy's eyes.

"The way the petals layer and protect the emerald," Quincy continued, "that's how I see you. Strong but soft. Complex but true to your core."

"Kahit na ang drama ko na?" Samarah's voice wavered with emotion.

"Especially then." Quincy smiled against her shoulder. "Your drama comes from passion, from caring deeply. That's part of who you are, and I wouldn't change it."

The morning light caught the emerald, sending green fire dancing across their skin. Samarah turned in Quincy's arms, overwhelmed by the depth of thought, of feeling, crafted into this single piece of jewelry.

"Nakita mo talaga lahat 'yan sa'kin?"

"I see more every day." Quincy's eyes were soft, sincere. "That's why I wanted to capture it in something lasting. Something as real as you are."

A few weeks later.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. But inside their apartment, the air was heavy—thick with tension, like the stillness before a storm.

Samarah scrolled through her phone, each notification a fresh wound. The gossip sites had exploded overnight with headlines about Quincy's identity.

"MODEL SAMARAH SEVILLEJA'S NEW CATCH: ARCETA JEWELRY HEIRESS"

"FROM RUNWAY TO RICHES: Inside Samarah's Romance with Billionaire Designer"

"SOCIAL CLIMBING: Has Samarah Found Her Meal Ticket?"

Her thumb hovered over the comments section. She knew better, but—

"Classic gold digger moves"

"First that Lisa drama for clout, now landing an heiress? Girl knows what she's doing"

"Bet she didn't know who Quincy was at first. Convenient relationship upgrade"

The phone slipped from her fingers onto the couch. Samarah pulled her knees to her chest, the apartment suddenly too quiet, too empty. The chrysanthemum necklace felt heavy against her skin.

Had she unknowingly played into some stereotype? The model dating up, climbing social ladders?

She touched the emerald pendant, remembering Quincy's words about truth and loyalty. But doubt crept in like poison. What if people were right? What if she'd been subconsciously drawn to Quincy's quiet wealth? To the safety and status it represented?

Their first meeting flashed through her mind—Quincy in that simple white dress at the rooftop bar. The way they'd connected instantly, before names or backgrounds or family legacies. But now every memory felt tainted, questioned.

"You're just like the others," Lisa's voice echoed in her head. "Always looking for the next best thing."

Samarah's chest tightened. She'd fought so hard against being that person—the fame-chasing model, the social climber, the opportunist. But here she was, dating one of the wealthiest heiresses in the country.

The comments swirled in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. She grabbed her phone again, masochistically refreshing the feeds. More speculation. More accusations. More people who thought they knew her motives better than she did.

Her reflection caught in the window—designer sweats, perfect makeup, that goddamn necklace that probably cost more than her annual rent. When had she become this person? When had their pure connection become something for others to dissect and judge?

The doubt spread like ink in water, clouding everything she'd thought was clear. She loved Quincy. She knew she loved Quincy. But now, alone in her apartment with nothing but these thoughts for company, she couldn't stop questioning if she deserved her.

The sound of keys in the door startled Samarah from her spiral. Quincy stepped in, arms full of grocery bags, her face flushed from the morning chill.

"They had those weird Swedish cookies you like." Quincy paused, taking in Samarah's curled position on the couch. Her smile faded. "What's wrong, love?"

Samarah's phone screen glowed with another notification. Quincy crossed the room in quick steps, setting the bags on the coffee table. Her eyes caught the headlines.

"Oh." She sank onto the couch beside Samarah. "That's why you haven't answered my texts."

"I'm sorry." Samarah's voice cracked. "Hindi ko alam paano sabihin sa'yo. It's everywhere."

"Tingin ka sa'kin, please." Quincy's hand found hers, warm and steady. "What exactly are you apologizing for?"

"For... this." Samarah gestured at her phone. "The speculation. The gossip. Sinasabi nila na ginagamit lang kita."

"And you believe them?"

"No! I just—" Samarah pulled her hand away, standing to pace the room. "I hate that they're taking something real and making it ugly. Making me question everything."

"What are you questioning?"

"Kung deserve ba kita." The words tumbled out. "If I'm just another social climber who got lucky. If—"

"Stop." Quincy's voice cut through her spiral. "The day we met, you didn't know who I was."

"But lahat sila iniisip—"

"Everyone thinks what they want to think. Problema na nila 'yun." Quincy stood, catching Samarah's restless movement. "The only opinion that matters is yours. Mahal mo ba ako?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Do you love me because of my family name?"

"No."

"Then why are you letting strangers make you doubt what we both know is true?"

Quincy reached for Samarah's hand, guiding her back to the sofa. She settled into the cushions and pulled Samarah onto her lap, cradling her close.

"Look at me, darling." Quincy's fingers traced the tear tracks on Samarah's cheeks. "The world can say what they want, but they weren't there that night. They didn't see how you lit up the entire rooftop just by existing. They don't know how you make me feel safe enough to be myself."

Samarah's breath hitched. "But—"

"No buts." Quincy's thumb brushed across the chrysanthemum pendant. "Remember what I told you about this? It's about loyalty through changes. About staying true." Her other hand settled on Samarah's waist, anchoring her. "You deserve beautiful things because you are a beautiful thing. Not just here—" She touched Samarah's perfectly styled hair, her glossed lips. "But here." Her palm pressed against Samarah's heart.

"You make everything sound so simple."

"Because it is." Quincy's voice was soft but certain. "I've watched you hold your head high through scandals and breakups. I've seen you choose kindness when others chose cruelty. That's why I fell in love with you. Not because you're gorgeous—though you are. Not because you're successful—though you've earned every bit of it. But because you're real. You're wonderfully, messily, perfectly you."

Samarah buried her face in Quincy's neck, breathing in her familiar scent. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"Good." Quincy stroked her hair. "That's how I know it's real. Real love should feel a little terrifying. Like standing at the edge of something vast and beautiful."

"Is that why you put an emerald in the necklace? Because you knew we'd grow through the scary parts together?"

"Exactly." Quincy tilted Samarah's chin up, meeting her tear-bright eyes. "You deserve every gem, every petal, every moment of joy. Not because of who you date or what you do, but because of who you are."

Morning light spilled through gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the bedroom floor. The air smelled like skin-warmth and sleep, quiet but alive. Samarah lay tucked in the crook of Quincy’s shoulder, cheek pressed to the soft curve of her collarbone, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

The chaos of last night felt miles away—tabloid rumors, comment sections, accusations. None of it lived here, in the cocoon of warmth between their tangled bodies.

Samarah shifted, lips brushing Quincy’s neck—just a whisper-soft kiss. Then another. A lazy little nibble followed, barely a bite. Her mouth moved on instinct, sleep-dazed and adoring.

Quincy stirred with a muffled noise, voice husky with half-dreams. “Mmm... are you secretly a puppy?”

Samarah huffed against her skin. “I am not a puppy.”

“Hindi ba? Felt like puppy behavior.”

“I’m a cat,” she said, lifting her head with mock dignity. “Elegant. Mysterious. Capable of murder if provoked.”

Quincy cracked one eye open. “Mmm, yes. Very feline of you to nibble your sleeping girlfriend at dawn.”

“It’s not dawn—” Samarah glanced at the clock. “Okay. It’s barely dawn.”

“The point stands.”

“Ang point,” Samarah said, burrowing back into Quincy’s side, “is that ang bango mo. I got carried away. It’s a compliment.”

Quincy chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Samarah’s back. “Such a cat thing to say. Next you’ll be knocking my tea off the counter just for the drama.”

"Isang beses lang 'yun nangyari!”

“You looked me dead in the eye while it fell.”

“Accident 'yun, Q.” Samarah said flatly.

“Sure, kitten.”

Samarah glared, but it melted quickly under the grin tugging at her lips. “'Wag mo ako ma-kitten, Miss I-Sleep-in-Silk-But-Show-Up-in-Uniqlo-Like-It's-a-Statement.”

“I am a statement,” Quincy said, deadpan.

Her laughter—low, sleepy, real—vibrated through Samarah’s chest. It loosened something deep inside her, something that had been coiled too tight since the headlines started.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Quincy murmured.

“Never.” Samarah leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s endearing. You, trying to hide behind all that... normal.”

“'Di naman ako nagtatago.” Quincy brushed a strand of hair from Samarah’s face. “I was making space. For you to see me. Not the family. Not the money. Just... me.”

Samarah’s hand traced the line of Quincy’s collarbone, soft and lingering. “Hindi pa rin talaga ma-process ng utak ko. That I’m dating the Arceta heiress.”

“And I’m still wrapping mine around the fact I’m dating the Samarah Sevilleja.”

Samarah snorted. “I’m a model, not a monarch.”

“You’re the model,” Quincy said, all teasing stripped away. “The one who changes a room just by stepping in.”

Samarah ducked her head, her cheeks warming. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m saying what’s true.”

Their eyes locked, banter softening into something quieter. Braver. The space between them folded closed in a kiss—slow, unhurried, full of knowing.

Then—

BZZZ-BZZZ-BZZZ.

Samarah groaned as her phone lit up beside the bed, vibrating like a chainsaw. Miles’s name flashed across the screen.

“Of course,” she muttered, rolling away with dramatic flair. “My personal chaos goblin has arrived.”

“Sagutin mo na,” Quincy murmured, already pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Samarah thumbed the call on, speaker blaring.

“BITCH.”

Samarah winced. “Good morning din sa'yo, Miles.”

“YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS AN ARCETA?! Like, the Arcetas? The billion-peso jewelry dynasty?! Like, actual aristocrat wealth?! Prank ba'to? Are you pranking me?!”

“I knew,” Samarah said calmly, curling back into Quincy. “I found out a few weeks ago.”

“AT 'DI MO MAN LANG SINABI SA'KIN?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell.”

In the background, Cameron’s voice piped up. “Miles, for the love of god, huminga ka naman.”

Miles's voice softened. "Kumusta ka naman though? These headlines are brutal."

"I swear to god, kapag sinaktan ka niya—" Cameron cut in.

"I don't care how rich she is," Miles added. "I'll still throw hands."

"Guys—" Samarah's lips curved into a smile. "You're on speaker. Nasa tabi ko si Quincy."

A beat of silence.

"Oh." Miles cleared their throat. "Well. Good. She should hear it."

Quincy's arms tightened around Samarah. "I appreciate the protective energy. But I promise, I'm taking care of her."

"You better," Cameron said, but there was warmth in her voice. "Sam, don't let the gossip get to you. Andito lang kami ni Miles, always."

Samarah nestled deeper into Quincy's embrace, emotion thick in her throat. "I know. Thank you, lovebirds."

Quincy's fingers traced patterns on Samarah's skin, her expression thoughtful. She waited until the call ended before turning to face her.

"Do you want them gone?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "'Yung headlines?"

"Ano?"

"I could make some calls. Have PR handle it." Quincy's eyes searched her face. "I didn't realize... I should have known it would affect you like this. I'm so used to ignoring it all, I forgot what it feels like when it's new."

Samarah traced her fingers along Quincy's jawline, considering the offer. The morning light caught the emerald at her throat, scattering green reflections across their skin.

"No," she said finally. "I don't want them gone."

"Sigurado ka?"

"The headlines aren't the problem. It's..." Samarah sat up, pulling the silk sheets around her. "I spent so long fighting to be taken seriously. To prove I wasn't just another pretty face or social climber. Now it feels like everyone's waiting for me to fail, to prove them right."

Quincy propped herself up on one elbow. "And what do you want to prove?"

"Wala." The word came out sharp, surprising them both. "That's what I realized last night. I'm done proving things to people who've already decided who I am."

She reached for her phone, scrolling through the notifications before clicking it off. The screen went dark, reflecting their faces—Quincy's concerned expression, her own determined one.

"Hayaan mo silang magsalita," Samarah said. "Let them speculate. I know who I am. I know what we have." Her hand found Quincy's. "And I'm not hiding from it anymore."

"Even if—"

"Even if they call me a gold digger or attention seeker or whatever else they come up with." Samarah's lips curved into a smile. "Besides, can you imagine what they'd say if the headlines suddenly vanished? That would just feed the whole 'controlling heiress' narrative."

Quincy laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "When did you get so wise?"

"Must be all those Swedish cookies you keep buying me." Samarah leaned down, pressing a kiss to Quincy's forehead. "Now, are we going to let these headlines ruin our morning, or..."

Her fingers trailed down Quincy's arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The rest of the question hung unspoken between them, heavy with promise.

Snow drifted past the chalet windows like confetti, coating the Swiss Alps in fresh powder. Samarah stretched across the plush window seat, watching the flakes dance against darkening skies. Her phone lay forgotten on the coffee table, silent for the first time in weeks.

"Hot chocolate?" Quincy appeared with two steaming mugs, settling beside her.

"Mmm." Samarah accepted the drink, breathing in rich cocoa. "You know, funny lang how fast people move on when their comments mysteriously disappear."

Quincy's expression remained carefully neutral. "Is it?"

"Don't play innocent." Samarah nudged her with a sock-covered foot. "I saw what happened. Those particularly nasty comments? Gone within hours. Like magic."

"Darling, wala akong idea sa mga sinasabi mo."

"Right. And I'm sure your lawyer just happened to send cease-and-desist letters to those gossip sites by accident?"

Quincy sipped her chocolate, hiding a smile. "Pure coincidence lang."

"You're impossible." Samarah set her mug down, crawling across the seat to settle in Quincy's lap. "Sabi ko naman sa'yo, I could handle it."

"You could. You shouldn't have to." Quincy's arms wrapped around her waist. "There's a difference between letting people talk and letting them harm you."

"Ang protective naman ng girlfriend ko." Samarah pressed a kiss to her jaw. "Thank you. Even though I pretended not to notice."

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm shadows across their faces. Outside, the Alps disappeared into twilight, leaving them cocooned in their private paradise.

"Besides," Quincy murmured against Samarah's hair, "I heard there's some fascinating drama about a politician's son and three different wedding proposals."

"Now that's what I call a scandal." Samarah laughed, snuggling deeper into Quincy's embrace. "Much more interesting than us."

"Much more interesting," Quincy agreed, reaching for her hot chocolate again.

A sharp knock echoed through their cozy sanctuary. Samarah burrowed deeper into the plush bedding, pulling the duvet over her head.

"Room service," a muffled voice called.

"Ako na kukuha." Quincy slipped from the bed, her footsteps padding across the wooden floor.

Samarah peeked out from her cocoon, watching Quincy sign for their dinner through half-lidded eyes. The scent of truffle and fresh bread wafted through the room, making her stomach growl.

"Kain na tayo," Quincy called, arranging plates on the small table by the window.

"'Di na ako makagalaw." Samarah flopped dramatically onto her back. "Too comfy. The bed has claimed me."

Quincy glanced over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Ganon ba?"

"Mhmm. It's a medical condition. Terminal coziness."

"Well, we can't have you starving." Quincy picked up a plate and settled on the edge of the bed. She speared a perfectly seared scallop with her fork. "Open up."

Samarah's eyes lit up. She propped herself on her elbows, lips parting as Quincy guided the fork to her mouth. The scallop melted on her tongue, butter-soft and delicate.

"Masarap?"

"Mmm." Samarah's eyes fluttered closed. "More please."

Quincy laughed softly, gathering another bite. "You're ridiculous."

"Gusto mo naman."

"I do." Quincy's voice softened. She brushed a strand of hair from Samarah's face before offering another morsel. "Though I'm starting to think you're just being tamad."

"Not tamad, love." Samarah accepted the bite, humming with pleasure. "Strategic. This way I get food and attention."

"As if naman wala sa'yo lahat ng atensyon ko."

Their eyes met, playfulness melting into something warmer. Quincy leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Samarah's temple.

"Next bite?" Samarah batted her eyelashes.

"Demanding little cat." But Quincy was already reaching for more food, her smile fond and indulgent.