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A Stranger In Ilocos Norte 2 [Im]

The Aftermath of Power

The SUV’s engine hummed softly as it sped down the winding roads of Ilocos Norte, the sun now casting longer shadows across the land. Inside, Imee Marcos sat in silence, her gaze fixed out the window, though her thoughts were a tempest of simmering rage and satisfaction. The events of the day had shaken her—no, enraged her—but she had shown them all who was in charge. The legacy of Ferdinand Marcos was hers to uphold, and no one, not even her own blood, would dare strip that from her.

She exhaled sharply, leaning back into the leather seat. Her assistant, seated beside her, was visibly tense, likely still shaken from the spectacle at the stadium. Imee didn't care about his nerves, though. She was more concerned with the phone call she knew she would have to make soon.

“Kumusta na si Governor?” Imee’s voice was sharp, breaking the silence.

The assistant fumbled with his phone, checking for updates. “Ma’am, si Governor Matthew, nasa bahay pa rin daw po. He was informed about what happened sa event.”

Imee’s eyes narrowed. Her son. She knew this wasn’t his doing, but the humiliation she had endured today was partly on him. He should’ve known better than to let these people embarrass her at their own event. Hindi kagagawan ni Matthew, she repeated to herself. Still, the sting of betrayal lingered. Maybe not directly from him, but from those around him—her cousins, her so-called allies. They were becoming more daring, testing her limits.

“Sabihin mo sa kanya,” she began, her voice low and deliberate, “na gusto ko siyang makausap mamaya. Personal.”

The assistant nodded quickly, sending the message as instructed. The SUV’s tires hummed over the road, the rhythm matching the quickening pulse in her veins. She knew she had to be strategic about her next moves. Today was a message, one that could not go unanswered.

As they neared the Marcos ancestral home, she could see the sprawling estate, a reminder of her family’s power, their control over this province. The bahay na bato stood tall, its dark windows reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

The gates opened, and the SUV pulled to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Several household staff were already waiting outside, bowing slightly as Imee stepped out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway. She didn’t acknowledge them, her mind too focused on the conversation she was about to have.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy, almost stifling. The air smelled of polished wood and fresh flowers, a stark contrast to the tension clinging to Imee’s frame. She found Matthew in the study, seated behind a wide mahogany desk, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“Ma,” he began, standing as soon as he saw her. “Ano'ng nangyari doon? They told me—”

Imee raised a hand, cutting him off. "Sit down, Matthew."

Matthew obeyed, his eyes flicking nervously to his mother. Imee remained standing, her arms crossed as she paced slowly, each step deliberate, calculated. She was trying to rein in her fury, but it was a losing battle.

"Do you realize what happened today? Your own mother, humiliated, in front of our people," she said, her voice cold as ice. "They didn't just silence me—they tried to erase me."

"Ma, it wasn't—"

"Hindi ito tungkol sa ‘di mo kasalanan!" she snapped, her temper finally flaring. "This is about control. Power. You let those organizers—those outsiders—dictate who gets to speak in your own province! In our province. Ilocos Norte is ours, Matthew. It's always been ours."