How Did It End? (HamBebe)

Saying Goodbye is Death by a Thousand Cuts

Sheena did not tell the girls the truth about Gwen and Sam—their fake relationship, the contract that binds them, the web of lies they've spun for the sake of public appearances. It's not her story to tell. It's Gwen's life, so it's her decision.

But the knowledge feels like a splinter lodged deep in Sheena's heart, too small to remove but sharp enough to ache every time she breathes.

The memory of Sam approaching her the next day replays in her mind like a haunting melody. His tone had been disarmingly gentle, a softness that almost made her believe he cared beyond his obligations. "I'll take care of her," he had promised, his dark eyes earnest. "While she's here in New York, while we're under contract. You don't have to worry about Gwen."

Sheena had clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She wanted to yell, to tell him that Gwen's safety wasn't the issue. It wasn't about having someone "take care of her". It was about Gwen's heart, her freedom, her happiness. And Sheena knew, in her bones, that Gwen wouldn't find any of those things in that kind of setup.

Instead, Sheena had forced herself to remain stone-faced. She let him talk. Let him fill the silence with promises she didn't believe and assurances that felt hollow. When the NDA was placed in front of her, she hesitated for only a moment. Her hands were steady as she signed, but inside, she was breaking.

That piece of paper turned her into an accomplice, a co-conspirator in a lie that bound Gwen to someone else. Every moment since has felt like an exercise in endurance, as if she's been holding her breath for so long that she's forgotten how to exhale.

Afterward, living under one roof with Gwen was like navigating a minefield of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. For Sheena, every interaction felt like a game of restraint—one wrong step and everything might explode. But for Gwen, it was the opposite. She leaned into the tension, probing at the edges, testing the boundaries of what could still be salvaged.

The silence between them was oppressive, but Gwen refused to let it settle. She was always there, persistent and impossible to ignore. She left little offerings in Sheena's orbit—a steaming cup of coffee when she had to review her lessons, a blanket draped over her shoulders when she fell asleep on the couch, a quiet "Good night" whispered at the threshold of Sheena's bedroom.

---

The tension boiled over into something almost unbearable one afternoon. Sheena stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with an intensity that bordered on aggression, her mind racing with thoughts she had no right to have. Gwen entered the kitchen, barefoot and wearing an oversized shirt that barely skimmed her thighs, the neckline slipping low enough to expose the curve of her collarbone. It was careless, effortless—and maddeningly deliberate.

"Need help?" Gwen's voice was casual, but there was an undertone that made Sheena's hand falter for a split second.

"No," Sheena replied tightly, her knuckles whitening around the knife handle. "Kaya ko na 'to."

But Gwen didn't take the hint. Instead, she sauntered over, the faint scent of her lavender shampoo reaching Sheena before she did. She stopped so close that Sheena could feel the heat radiating from her body.

Without waiting for permission, she reached out, her fingers curling lightly around Sheena's wrist. The touch was like fire against Sheena's skin, burning and consuming.

"Here," Gwen said, guiding Sheena's hand with maddening gentleness. "Angle it like this. See? Mas madali."

Sheena went rigid, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes darted to Gwen's face. The proximity was unbearable. Gwen's lashes were impossibly long, her lips just slightly parted, her gaze lingering on Sheena in a way that sent a rush of heat straight through her.