Mask

MASK 29: TRUTH

Ariana Lea's POV.

I was never born to be saved. I was born to be used.

That was what I learned growing up—the silent rule buried beneath every diamond gift, every hollow kiss on the forehead, every word my father never said. Power wasn't inherited in my family. It was seized, molded, and sharpened like the edge of a blade. From the very beginning, I was crafted for war, not love.

The chandelier flickered above me like a dying star casting fractured light across the polished marble of the estate. This house, this prison, echoed of both perfume and pain. I hated this room. It reeked too much of my childhood. Too many whispered arguments, too many shattered glasses, too many times I learned I had to be silent to be heard.

Tonight was the final step.

I sat quietly while my legs crossed, twirling the wine in my glass, watching the red swirl like fresh blood. I'd killed with fewer words. I'd destroyed people's lives with silence. Everything I'd done—all the manipulation, the sacrifices, the lies-- it all came down to this one week.

"You look too calm for someone about to commit a massacre," Tito Caliber muttered from the doorway, stepping in without invitation. He was dressed casually but the silver in his hair and the cold calculation in his eyes betrayed the brutality he carried.

I didn't flinch. "Because it's already done."

He chuckled lowly, pouring himself a drink from the bar and leaning on the table beside me. "You were always the sharpest of the batch. Too bad you're still just a piece on the board."

"Not for long," I replied.

Before he could make another smug comment, the door opened again. My father entered where he's clad in black and eyes colder than steel. He barely acknowledged me as he walked toward the fireplace.

"She's marrying him next week," he said simply, as if discussing a business transaction.

"Then it begins," Tito Caliber confirmed, a grin playing on his lips. After he said that, I stood and didn't think twice and asked, "And Tito Edward?"

"He'll attend. Of course he will. He's desperate for peace," my father sneered. "We'll make them believe it. They'll come thinking we're allies. And the morning after the wedding..." hindi na niya kailangan tapusin yung sasabihin niya because they would all die.

"They'll be vulnerable," I added calmly. "Distracted. She'll be drunk on the celebration. And he—he's foolish enough to believe love makes them safe." After Dad said this, he laughed very loud like as if he's watching a funny scenario in a movie.

"Love," Tito Caliber scoffed. "The dumbest weapon of them all."

But that was what made Asher useful.

Love.

He adored me. Still did. That blind, consuming devotion that made men like him easy to manipulate. He trusted me enough to go to war. Trusted me enough to die.

And I--I didn't love him back.

I liked how he reached for my hand first. I liked how he never looked at other women. How he'd bleed if I asked. How he protected me like I was some sort of a glass.

But real love? No. Hindi.

And the moment I saw kung paano niya parin tingnan si Athira—sometimes, when he thought no one was watching—I knew that maybe he hadn't fully let her go either.

But it didn't matter. 

The plan was already in motion.

It had been for years.