Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating non-stop against the nightstand.

Not notifications this time. Not fan edits. Not memes of me squinting on billboards with captions like Young Mistress Era, LET'S GO.

This was heavier.

News alerts. Clips. Editorials.

Today was SONA day.

The State of the Nation Address. My father's big, shiny moment.

And apparently, the internet had already torn it to shreds.

I sat up, hair still a mess from sleep, and scrolled.

There he was on the screen: President Karwin Fernando Chaves Jr., standing behind the podium, delivering lines I'd probably heard a thousand times rehearsed in Malacañang. His voice sounded steady, polished, presidential.

But the edits told a different story.

Spliced videos flooded my feed. Clips of him promising reforms. Clips of him declaring "transparency." Clips of him smiling as if the country wasn't drowning in problems.

The comments scrolled faster than I could read.

"Transparency?? When our debt is now ₱14 trillion?"

"He promised lower rice prices, where is it?"

"Unemployment still rising. Wages haven't moved."

"He's playing golf while a typhoon displaced thousands in Visayas. Golf!"

"Good speech for show. Zero action for the people."

I winced, my thumb pausing over a particularly brutal one:

"Does he even do his job? Or is Malacañang just a country club now?"

Another video surfaced—aerial shots of flooded towns, people clinging to rooftops, volunteers handing out relief goods. A caption screamed in bold:

'While Filipinos were drowning, the President was golfing.'

The comments section burned.

"Priorities. Country or clubs?"

"This is betrayal."

"And his daughter? The actress? Silent."

That one hit harder.

I scrolled faster, but it only got worse.

"Kaira Chaves enjoys luxury while Filipinos starve."

"She's a global superstar but where is her voice? Her silence about her family's corruption is deafening."

"She's not just an actress. She's still a nepo-baby."

My chest constricted, my breath catching.

Nepo-baby.

I knew the word. I'd laughed at it before, scrolling through memes of celebrity kids with famous last names. But now, it was me.

Me.

A global star, yes. But still their daughter. Still the President's blood. Still the First Lady's accessory.

And suddenly, all the laughter from yesterday, all the validation from billboards and campaigns, all of it cracked under the weight of that word.

Nepo-baby.

I swallowed hard, dropping the phone onto the bed like it burned.

God. They were right.