Random Shots

Dangerous Liaisons [Irn] 2

UNSEEN FLAMES

The Marcos ancestral home in Ilocos Norte stood proudly against the night, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Imee, the older sister of Irene sat in the grand living room, sipping tea, her eyes narrowing as they skimmed the latest documents from the family business. But her mind wasn’t focused on the papers in her hands.

Something had been gnawing at her for weeks now. Irene, her younger sister, had been acting strangely—discreet phone calls, hushed conversations, unexplained trips to “meetings” that Imee wasn’t privy to. It wasn’t unusual for Irene to be secretive, but this time felt different. Imee couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that something was going on behind the scenes.

It had started out small—a subtle shift in Irene’s behavior. She had become distant, evasive, her attention elsewhere during family dinners and gatherings. Irene’s husband, Greggy, hadn’t noticed, or if he had, he said nothing. But Imee was no fool. She knew when something was off.

“Another meeting in Manila?” Imee had asked casually a few days ago as Irene had packed for yet another trip. Imee tired her best not to sound any sarcastic remarks.

“Yes,” Irene had replied, her tone clipped, not meeting Imee’s gaze. “It’s work. Nothing to worry about.”

But Imee was worried. Or rather, she was suspicious. She had tried to brush it off at first, assuming that it was just stress or exhaustion. But as the weeks wore on, her unease only grew.

Tonight, though, something in Imee snapped. She put down her tea with a clink, unable to concentrate anymore. Irene had come home earlier, looking tired and disheveled—unusual for someone as meticulous as her. Imee had pressed, but Irene had brushed her off with a vague excuse about a long meeting that ran late.

It wasn’t enough. Imee could feel the lie hanging in the air between them, a thick fog of deceit that only added to her growing frustration.

“Irene,” Imee called sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet of the house.

Moments later, Irene appeared at the entrance of the living room, her face composed as ever. But Imee knew her sister too well. Behind that calm exterior, there was something hidden—something Irene didn’t want her to know.

“Yes, Ate?” Irene asked, her tone polite, but with a hint of weariness.

Imee stood, pacing toward her sister, the weight of her suspicions heavy in the air. “I can’t shake this feeling, Irene,” she said, her voice low but firm. “You’ve been acting strange. Disconnected. What’s going on?”

Irene blinked, her expression not giving anything away. “Nothing, Ate. I’ve just been busy with work. You know how it is.”

“Don’t give me that,” Imee snapped, her patience thinning. “This is more than work. You’re hiding something.”

Irene’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze shifting away from Imee’s penetrating stare. That was enough to confirm what Imee already suspected—there was more to this than Irene was letting on.

“You are a married woman, Irene,” Imee continued, her tone sharp now. “You have responsibilities, a family. If there’s something going on, I deserve to know.”

Irene’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Imee thought her sister might confess. But instead, Irene remained silent, her face an unreadable mask.