Begin Again

January 20th 2018

The wedding reception in the Quezon City garden was breathtaking. The string lights and lush greenery transformed the space into a fantasy world, a magical backdrop for the couple's celebration. I stood there, lost in the beauty of the atmosphere, until the air suddenly felt heavy. I felt a gaze—intense and unmistakable—fixed on me.

I turned, and there he was. Our eyes locked. In a romance novel, this would be the moment of a soul-stirring reunion. For us? It was a collision.

I gripped my wine glass until my knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to shatter it. Philip still possessed that gravitational pull; one look and the world around me seemed to tilt. I broke the gaze, determined to find Martha and escape to the crowd, but I didn't get far.

A hand caught my forearm, pulling me back with a familiar, possessive force. I was crushed against his chest, the scent of his perfume flooding my senses. His thumbs brushed my cheeks—that favorite, agonizing gesture he used to make when I was his. A flood of memories hit me, but they weren't sweet; they were tainted by the betrayal of the man holding me.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on me, you fucker!" I shouted, shoving him away with every ounce of strength I had.

I scrambled backward, putting as much distance between us as possible. His voice cut through the music, calling my name—Fenylyn Rose—but I ran. I didn't look back until I reached our table, breathless and shaking. Martha watched me like a hawk, but I didn't give her the chance to speak; I grabbed my purse and dove into the crowd as the groom began his speech.

"This night is for my one and only," the groom said, his voice brimming with love. "My forever begins tonight."

The crowd erupted in cheers, throwing petals and clinking glasses. I offered a bitter smile. At least someone had found their happy ending.

Later, the couple made their rounds. When they reached us, I forced a joyful mask to congratulate them. Then came the bouquet toss. I tried to hide in the back, but the groomsmen were relentless, forcing me into the fray. I kept my head down, pretending to fix my gown, until I felt a sudden weight in my hands.

I had caught the bouquet.

"Lucky bastard!" the crowd roared. A groomsman named Kyle was guided to the center beside me—he had caught the garter. He was charming, charismatic, and had a laugh that was genuinely contagious. Despite the absurdity of the situation, we ended up on the dance floor, laughing and chatting like old friends. He was a lawyer from San Francisco, grounded and interesting.

"So, why did a beautiful woman like you join the single ladies?" he asked, grinning.

"Because I am single!" I joked.

Kyle's expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "Don't look now, but there's a man to our left giving me daggers. Who is he?"

I froze. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. I forced a small, brittle smile. "I have no idea... maybe he's jealous of your charm?"

We laughed it off, but I was relieved when Kyle eventually went to grab us some drinks, leaving me alone at the table. I slumped into my seat, trying to calm my racing heart, when the chair beside me shifted. Someone sat down.

"Lucky bastard..." a voice drawled.

Ugh. Not again.