Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Paris had a way of making me forget. Forget that back home, my family's corruption was still headline news. Forget that protests swelled outside Malacañang's gates. Forget that I had an entire career on life support thanks to Travis's threats disguised as "business moves."

But time is a thief. And Paris, no matter how glittering, couldn't hold me forever.

On our last morning, I stood on the balcony in my robe, coffee in hand, staring at the Tower. The city hummed below—traffic, vendors, the distant cry of church bells. And I thought, maybe I could stay here. Maybe this could be enough.

But then I caught sight of the newspapers delivered to the suite. My father's face on one cover, mine on another. Commentators debating if my marriage was a rebellion or a betrayal. My name tangled in politics I hadn't signed up for.

The reminder hit sharp: no matter how far I ran, the Philippines was waiting.

Behind me, Travis's voice cut through the morning air. "We leave in two hours."

I turned. He was already dressed, of course, pressed shirt, cuffs perfect, looking as if Paris had never touched him.

"Back to Manila?" I asked, voice flat.

"Yes."

I sipped my coffee. Bitter. "No stopovers? No detours? Just... home."

"Correct."

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head. "You know, most newlyweds take, like, two weeks in Europe. Italy. Greece. You? One week in Paris and back to the lion's den. Romantic."

He didn't bite. Didn't even blink. Just watched me over the rim of his coffee cup, calm as always.

The car ride to the airport was quiet. Too quiet. Outside, Paris blurred past—bakeries opening their shutters, children with backpacks skipping to school, tourists already queuing for the Tower. Life. Normal life. A life I would never touch again.

The jet waited for us on the private tarmac, gleaming like it hadn't just carried our secrets above the clouds a week ago. Staff bowed, attendants rushed forward, but I barely saw them. My chest was tight, my fingers restless.

As we boarded, I looked back once more. Paris glittered behind me, stubborn, unbothered, as if it didn't care we were leaving.

Inside, the hum of the engines steadied, and I sank into the leather seat, robe traded for jeans and an oversized sweater that made me feel like myself again.

"Home," I muttered, staring out the window as the city fell away. "Whatever that means now."

Travis's hand brushed mine on the armrest. Just a touch. Quiet.

"Home is choice," he said.

The descent into Manila wasn't romantic.

There were no glowing rivers, no Eiffel Tower glittering like a crown jewel. Just sprawling highways, traffic already choking even from above, the bay dotted with rusted ships, and a haze that clung like it had a personal grudge.

I pressed my forehead to the jet window and sighed. "And just like that, the magic dies."

Beside me, Travis flipped through reports like we hadn't just left Paris behind. Of course he did. He could've been in Geneva, or Singapore, or Mars, and he'd still look like a CEO in his natural habitat.

Meanwhile, I felt like Cinderella, except instead of losing a glass slipper, I'd lost an entire city.

The jet touched down at NAIA's private terminal, but I didn't even get the luxury of imagining we'd slip away unnoticed. The flashing lights hit before the door opened. Paparazzi. Reporters. A wall of chaos.