Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The next morning, the world was on fire.

Not literally—though at this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if the sun itself had caught flame just to headline my feed.

No, this was the digital inferno.

Every network replayed my speech. Every paper quoted me. Social media was a frenzy of hashtags.

"Sometimes fate opens the door. But only choice lets you walk through it."

It was everywhere. On CNN banners. In BBC headlines. On K-pop fan accounts. Hell, even Pope Francis's official Twitter account had retweeted it with a prayer emoji.

Marcella nearly fainted. "Darling, do you realize you're global? You're the soundbite of the year! The quote. Politicians are quoting you in parliament. Celebrities are captioning their selfies with you. You've become the world's collective Pinterest board!"

I groaned into my pillow in the New York hotel suite. "Kill me now."

"Darling," she squealed, "you're alive more than ever!"

By the time we boarded the jet back to Manila, I was running on espresso, adrenaline, and pure denial.

The flight was silent. Travis buried himself in work documents. Marcella snored two seats away. I stared out at the endless sky, thinking how insane my life had become.

When we landed at NAIA, the frenzy was still burning—paparazzi swarmed, protestors waved, fans screamed. But once we slipped back to the estate, once I was back in my own bed, the silence hit.

And God, I clung to it.

For two blessed days, nothing happened.

No cameras. No protests. No surprise speeches.

Just me. Sleeping until noon, bingeing dramas, eating cookies in oversized shirts, and pretending the world outside didn't exist.

For once, I wasn't the President's daughter. I wasn't the scandal. I wasn't the speech.

I was just Kaira.

And then, on the morning of day three, Travis walked into the living room where I was cocooned in blankets and dropped the bomb like it was casual weather talk.

"We'll prepare for the wedding."

My cookie froze halfway to my mouth. "...Excuse me?"

He looked at me, calm as ever. "The wedding. It's time."

I blinked. Twice. Three times. "Travis, I don't even know when."

He sipped his coffee, unbothered. "In a month."

I nearly choked on my cookie. "A month?! Are you insane? Do you realize weddings take at least six months of prep? Dresses, venues, flowers, bridesmaids, caterers, rings, invitations—"

"Handled."

I threw a cushion at him. "You can't just 'handled' a wedding, Travis! That's not how this works!"

He set his cup down, gaze steady, unreadable. "Now you know."

I gaped. "That's your big reveal? That's your mic drop? 'Now you know'?!"

"Yes."

I groaned, burying myself in the blanket. "I'm marrying a robot."

"Correct."

And just like that, I knew.

I was doomed.

Because no matter how much I resisted, no matter how much sarcasm I threw, Travis Javierres had decided.