Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I was halfway through stealing a croissant from the hotel kitchen when my phone buzzed again.

Unknown number. Manila area code.

I already knew.

With a groan, I swiped to answer. "Yes?"

"Miss Chaves," came a clipped, too-formal voice. One of my father's staffers. Chief of staff? Secretary? Honestly, they all sounded the same: robotic, like Siri had swallowed a law degree. "The President requests your presence at Malacañang. At your earliest convenience."

My stomach clenched. Of course.

"Earliest convenience," I repeated flatly. "Which is code for 'drop everything and come grovel before your father's court,' right?"

A pause. "Ma'am, it would be prudent to—"

"Uh-huh. Lemme guess. This is about the SONA?"

Another pause. Longer this time. "The President wishes to speak with you privately."

I snorted. "Sure. Privately. Because nothing says privacy like an army of advisors lurking in the corners, whispering about my love life like it's a national crisis."

Silence hummed down the line.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Look, tell my father I got the message. Loud and clear. He's worried I'll show up at the SONA as the embarrassing daughter with a billionaire fiancé, ruining his grand parade of accomplishments. He wants me to break things off, clean up the narrative, polish the Chaves family portrait. Am I warm?"

"Miss Chaves—"

"I'm scorching," I cut in, sharper now. "And let me save us both sometime: no."

Silence again. I could practically feel the staffer twitching on the other end, probably debating whether to hang up before I said something truly scandalous.

"Very well," the voice finally said, stiff as iron. "I will relay your... response."

Click.

I stared at the phone, then shoved it face-down on the counter.

God. They never quit. Always calling, always pulling, always framing my life as some footnote to his presidency.

I took a bite of the croissant, chewing angrily. "Earliest convenience," I muttered around flaky pastry. "My earliest convenience is never."

The thought of Malacañang's walls closing in again, of my mother's judging silence, my father's controlled fury, my brother's smug superiority—no, thank you. I wasn't stepping foot there. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

I'd just done the unthinkable.

I, Kaira Chaves, daughter of the sitting President of the Republic of the Philippines, had ignored a summons to Malacañang.

Ignored. Flat-out. No hesitation. No fake excuse about a schedule conflict. Just a clean, solid, no.

And not to some distant social obligation either. To my own father.

My brain screamed at me: You're insane. You're absolutely insane.

I paced the kitchen, hands flying as if arguing with invisible ghosts.

"Who ignores the President? Nobody. Not senators, not ambassadors, not foreign heads of state. But me? Apparently, I do. Oh, hi Dad, sorry I can't come to your national rehearsal dinner, I'm busy inhaling carbs at my boyfriend's estate."

I groaned, dragging both hands down my face. "God. This is career suicide. Family suicide. Actual suicide if my mother ever gets her hands on me."

The worst part was, a tiny piece of me felt giddy. Like I'd just stolen the crown jewels and was sprinting away with them tucked under my arm.