Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Silence died the second I posted.

By sunrise, our estate gates looked like a news studio. Reporters camped out with tripods, microphones, even umbrellas, all shouting at the cameras like they were leading rallies. "The president's daughter finally speaks out! Is this the end of the Chaves administration?"

Drones buzzed overhead. Protesters mixed with paparazzi, waving signs and cameras.

I groaned from the nursery window, hair tied in a messy bun, Sky Angelo in my arms. "Look at this, anak. Mommy can't even burp you without CNN waiting outside the gate."

He gurgled in reply. Same energy.

Lila barged in, still in pajamas, carrying Sky Angela like a football. "Bestie, you're a national hero. Hashtag Saint Kaira is trending."

I nearly dropped my son. "Saint Kaira?!"

She nodded solemnly. "You freed the people with a Notes App post."

Marcella stormed in next, tablet glowing, headset tilted. "Darling, we've had requests from every network. ANC, GMA, ABS, even BBC. Oprah's team emailed."

I blinked. "Oprah's alive?!"

Marcella ignored me. "This is monumental. You've become the face of resistance."

I barked a laugh, rocking Sky Angelo. "No, Marcella. I'm the face of sleepless nights and breast pads. They just slapped symbolism on it."

From the doorway, Travis's voice cut steady through the chaos. "Correct."

Everyone turned. He leaned against the frame, suit crisp despite it being eight a.m., Sky Angela's pacifier in his hand. "They will twist your words. They will worship you. They will hate you. Stay steady."

Easy for him to say. He was born steady. I was born dramatic.

By midmorning, every screen in the estate blared my name. Talk shows dissected my post like it was the Magna Carta. One analyst declared, "Her silence breaking could topple an administration." Another sneered, "She is a traitor to her family."

Meanwhile, I was on the nursery rug, pumping milk while Sky Angelo tried to kick the machine.

"This," I muttered, glaring at the TV, "is the glamorous resistance they're all praising."

Marcella gasped, tapping her screen. "Darling, Vogue Asia wants to call you 'the Joan of Arc of Manila.'"

I nearly choked. "Marcella, Joan of Arc was burned alive. I'm leaking through a tank top."

Lila cackled, handing me milk tea. "Bestie, martyrdom but make it chic."

The worst part? Kelrick.

My darling brother. Senator. Schemer extraordinaire.

His face filled the screen during a senate hearing, voice smooth as silk. "While I defend my father, I must also admit the people's grievances are valid. We must restore trust in government."

I threw a burp cloth at the TV. "Classic Kelrick. Pretending to defend while already sharpening the knives."

Travis sat beside me on the couch, Sky Angela asleep against his chest. He didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to. "Correct."

I snapped, frustrated. "Why does he always get away with it? He's the golden boy, the senator, the heir to the family name—"

"You walked away," Travis interrupted quietly. "He didn't."

The weight of it silenced me.

I'd chosen freedom. He'd chosen power.

And the world was watching us both.