Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Travis told me to take a break.

Not suggested. Not requested. Told.

"You're not working," he said one morning, handing me my ginger tea like he was sliding across a business contract.

I squinted at him from under the duvet. "Excuse me? Did I miss the part where I joined Javierres Inc. as an employee? Because last I checked, I still have a career. I'm still an actress. A brand endorser. A global—"

He cut me off with one word. "Rest."

I opened my mouth, ready to unleash a tirade about independence and ambition, but the truth was, my body betrayed me. I was exhausted. Every morning was a battle between nausea and gravity. Even walking through the estate gardens felt like a marathon.

So instead of fighting him, I groaned into my pillow. "Fine. But you owe me. Like, massively. I want compensation in waffles. Daily."

"Done," he said, without even blinking.

Damn him.

And so, for the first time since I was sixteen and got shoved into the spotlight, I stopped. No shoots. No red carpets. No press junkets where I answered the same question in three different languages until my brain short-circuited.

Just... nothing.

At first, it was bliss. I slept in, wandered the estate in oversized shirts, binged dramas with Lila on video call while Marcella muttered about PR strategy in the background. Every day, they visited like a tag team—Marcella fussing over schedules and vitamins, Lila stealing cookies from the pantry and making me laugh so hard I nearly threw up again.

But silence doesn't last in the Philippines. Not when your face has been plastered on every billboard for the last five years.

By week three, the media smelled blood.

"WHERE IS KAIRA CHAVES?" screamed one tabloid headline, next to a grainy photo of me trying to sneak into the estate wearing Travis's hoodie.

Another posted side-by-side shots of me pre-break vs now, claiming my "mysterious disappearance" could only mean one thing.

Pregnancy.

Rumors spread like wildfire. Blind items popped up daily: A famous actress, daughter of a powerful figure, has been hiding away in a billionaire's mansion. Could a baby be on the way?

Marcella stormed into the living room one afternoon, tablet in hand, looking like she was about to strangle the internet itself. "Darling, they're running with it. We can't let them control the narrative. We need to say something. Now."

Lila sprawled across the couch, popping grapes into her mouth. "Honestly, I think it's kinda funny. Like, you're basically living the telenovela you used to star in. Mysterious disappearance? Hidden love child? It's giving season finale energy."

"Lila!" I wailed, clutching a pillow to my chest. "Do not call my fetus a love child. It's a fetus. An embryo. A bean. A—" I groaned. "God, I don't even know what stage we're at."

Marcella pinched the bridge of her nose. "Darling, focus. This is about controlling your image before they twist it into something you can't fix. If we let them dictate the story, they'll make you a scandal. Again. If we speak first, we make you a miracle."

I flopped dramatically onto the couch beside Lila. "Why does everything have to be a PR battle? Why can't I just... be?"

"Because, darling," Marcella said dryly, "you're you. And you're married to Travis Javierres."