The garden was quiet the night after Leo's celebration, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets. The December air had cooled just enough to nudge her into a sweater, and the steam from her mug curled gently into the night.
Danielle sat on a worn wicker chair, legs tucked underneath her, a mug of barako coffee warming her hands. From the sliding glass door behind her, she could still see traces of Leo's celebration—balloons half-deflated, wrapping paper tucked into a corner, and the last pieces of cake on a dish waiting to be finished by her father.
She exhaled slowly, taking in the stillness. Four years old. Leo's four.
The weight of that thought settled deep. Not heavy. Not sad. Just full.
She looked up at the stars scattered across the sky, then down at the phone in her lap—her Horizon-issued unit, slightly cracked in one corner from an old drop during an Ops floor run.
With a few taps, she opened a browser. "Just to look," she told herself.
She searched properties in Antipolo. Then farm lots. Then a filter: "with garden", "child-friendly", "private driveway."
A few listings came up. Nothing extravagant. But something bigger. Space for Leo to run. A greenhouse for her dad. A quiet study corner for her mom. Somewhere they could grow things. Something… theirs.
Danielle sipped her coffee again, scrolling slowly.
Maybe a bit more land than we need… just in case. Maybe a small goat. Chickens? No—maybe not chickens. Leo would name them all.
She chuckled quietly to herself.
She didn't realize how long she'd been there until her mug was empty and the phone screen dimmed from idleness. She looked out over the yard again, the plants bathed in moonlight, the air still fragrant from the nearby kalachuchi.
And in the quiet of that night, with the soft murmur of wind and leaves brushing against each other, Danielle allowed herself the thought: Maybe it's time.
Time to build something permanent. Time to dream again.
For Leo. For her parents. For herself.
She locked the phone, stood slowly, and took her mug back into the kitchen—one foot already stepping into a different future.
Now she's here, after bags and bags—designer, local, and everything in between—after one indulgent dinner at a tucked-away Italian spot, three shots of espresso to keep the pace, a mocktail that tasted like summer, and more than a few heartfelt thank yous, they finally began winding down.
At the drop-off bay outside the boutique-lined street, the Bronco waited—shadow black and already commanding attention under the warm glow of the BGC streetlamps. Allyza's assistants, efficient and wordless, moved like clockwork, stacking bag after bag into the back of the truck. Designer pieces, modest finds, skincare, shoes, even a few things Allyza insisted Leo might enjoy. By the end of it, the trunk was almost full.
Dan stood with her arms crossed, watching the organized chaos with an amused shake of her head.
"I feel like I just survived a game show," she muttered.
"You won the jackpot, Reyes." Allyza grinned, brushing imaginary dust off Dan's white-lined sleeve.
Dan looked down at herself. The white midriff polo fit like it had been made just for her. The buttoned skirt hugged her waist just right. The white stilettos made her feel like she was walking on air. When was the last time I shopped for myself like this? Never, probably. She held onto a box with another pair of heels inside, her eyes glinting under the city lights.
"You didn't have to go this far, you know."
"I know," Allyza said, her voice easy. "But I wanted to. It suits you, all of this. You've held the world on your shoulders for so long, Dan. Let someone carry something for you for once."
Dan shook her head, half in awe, half in gratitude. "We'll come visit Rian again soon."
"You better. He already misses Leo."
"And I owe you more than one coffee."
They embraced briefly—two women who didn't expect to find a friend in the other, now quietly grateful they did.
Then Dan slid into the Bronco's driver seat. The truck purred to life as the assistants stepped back, the streetlamp glow catching the line of her jaw, the cut of her collarbone, the way she sat taller than she had in months.
Allyza watched her, arms folded, a soft smile forming. "You do realize this is more than you've owned in five years?"
Dan gave her a look—half playful, half disbelieving. "That's because I've been too busy carrying everyone else."
Allyza nodded, stepping close enough to lower her voice. "Time you carried yourself too."
They stood still for a beat. The moment felt unspoken but understood—an unlikely friendship sealed by a full day of shared laughter, clothes, and memories.
"Thank you, Alz." Dan's voice was quiet. Honest.
"Don't thank me," Allyza said. "Just promise me one thing—keep showing up like this. And visit soon. Rian won't shut up about Leo."
Dan smirked. "That makes two of us."
With one last wave, she shifted into gear and pulled away into the BGC evening traffic—tail lights glowing as she disappeared into the city. Allyza watched her go, her silhouette framed behind the wheel—strong, composed, and finally, unmistakably her own.
Then, quietly, she opened her phone, pulled up the photo she took earlier—Dan in white, mid-laugh, unaware—and sent it to someone far across the world.
Just one line:
"She's not the same girl anymore."
The Bronco disappeared around the corner, tail lights blending into the gentle BGC haze.
Allyza stood still for a moment, arms crossed, then exhaled. Just as she turned to head toward her Rolls-Royce—her heels clicking with intent against the concrete—her phone buzzed.
AXEL REAL DE LARA
Calling.
A slow smirk formed on her lips.
She accepted the call, no greeting, just a breezy lilt in her voice as she walked.
"Took you long enough, Europe."
"I just saw the photo." Axel's voice was crisp, lower than usual, like he hadn't quite breathed in yet. "Where are you?"
"Walking to my Rolls. Yours is still in the garage, I assume?" She grinned, knowing full well it wasn't the car he was asking about. "Relax. I took your girl shopping. Head to toe."
A pause.
"You what?"
"Please. Don't act like you've spoiled her before. I had to intervene. That woman's closet was 30% office, 60% toddler, and 10% grief."
"I sent her cards." Axel's tone sharpened, clipped.
"Cards you knew she wouldn't use." She tapped her key fob; the Rolls-Royce's lights blinked softly as the door handles presented themselves. "Danielle Reyes doesn't swipe things just because she can. She has shame, Axel. Character. God forbid."
"I was giving her space."
"She doesn't need space," Allyza countered, sliding into the plush leather seat. "She needs someone to remind her who the hell she is. Today, I did that. You sent her a car. I handed her a mirror."
Silence.
"You're enjoying this."
"Of course I am. It's about time someone did." She leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, phone still to her ear. "Don't worry. She still talks about you like you're a ghost that might come back. I just made sure she doesn't disappear waiting for you."
"How did she even lose all that weight?" Axel muttered, mostly to himself. "In under four months?"
Allyza, already sliding into the back of her Rolls, smirked as she tapped on her phone.
"While Horizon was a mess, she was juggling Leo and her inner peace. Figure it out."
He didn't respond. She didn't need him to.
"Don't act surprised, Axel." She paused, then added, half-teasing, half-pointed. "I know how you work, did you think she'd be one of those women around you that love's material things?."
"Plastic isn't presence."
She didn't wait for his reply. The line clicked off.
Allyza's gaze drifted out the windshield. BGC glowed around her. Inside, everything was quiet.
"Maybe next time." She let that hang in the air a second..
And just for a second—just long enough to let herself feel proud—Allyza leaned back into the leather, shut her eyes, and whispered,
"Your move, Real de Lara."
–
Axel stared at the photo. The soft, diffused light caught Dan just right—the effortless way she stood, the quiet strength in her posture. Not posed, not demanding attention. Just… there. Commanding without trying.
He let out a slow breath, something stirring deep inside him.
Then came the second photo—Dan mid-laugh, the softness in her eyes, the genuine joy that felt almost like a secret only he was being allowed to glimpse.
She's becoming someone new, Axel thought, and yet, still the same Dan.
Axel's gaze lifted from the phone to the oak table before him. Spread out neatly were the blueprints—sketches and notes for a home tucked away in rural Tanay, Rizal. A place far from the city's relentless pulse, where space and silence could breathe.
For her, he thought, for them.
The contrast was stark—the poised woman in the photo, radiating quiet command, and the vision of a peaceful refuge, a sanctuary waiting to be built.
He traced a finger along the lines of the plan, imagining Dan walking those paths, Leo playing under the trees, and the calm settling over their days.
She's changed everything, Axel admitted to himself. Restructuring Horizon, quietly, efficiently. The kind of success even the Familia didn't expect.
His father's voice echoed in his mind—a steady reminder to keep her close, to protect the little girl she once was, yet monitor the woman she had become. Safe but watched.
Axel felt the pull of temptation—the urge to meet her, to see her not just through photos or reports, but in person. To finally bridge the distance.
And then, there was his mother's subtle hinting. How she liked Danielle—not just for Axel, but for herself. That quiet approval, rare and telling, stirred something deeper inside him.
How do I manage her? he wondered. Give her space to breathe, but keep the Familia's interests intact?
He sighed, feeling the weight of legacy pressing down, yet also a flicker of something new: hope, maybe, or something that resembled trust.
This is just the beginning, he thought. And I'm not sure if I'm ready… or willing… to let go.
And then Axel's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden memory—Caden had told him just earlier that day. It was Leo's fourth birthday, he recalled, the soft urgency in Caden's voice as he mentioned the gifts he and Nadia had sent, arriving right before the New Year.
He almost forgot, Axel thought, imagining Danielle caught up in the swirl of family and newfound stability.
A small smile touched Axel's lips. Leo's birthday. A celebration. A beginning.
The folder on his oak table held a report on the little girl's birthday celebration—quiet but full of joy. Alongside the report, Allyza had sent him a couple of photos—Danielle's poised figure, the candid laughter, the subtle glow of a woman coming into her own.
Without hesitation, Axel tapped Nadia's number.
"Hey, Nadia. I was looking over the birthday report. What exactly did you send for Leo? I want to make sure it's something she'll really love."
Nadia's voice came through with a teasing lilt.
"Axel, if you wanted something for Leo, you could've just told us. Caden and I could've sent it straight to you to wrap up and give her yourself."
Axel chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
"I think you two enjoy scheming behind my back more than letting me in on the plans."
"Maybe," Nadia laughed, "but Leo deserves the best. And we wanted to make sure she felt the love from all sides."
Axel smiled again, warmth spreading through him as he imagined the little girl surrounded by care.
"Well, thanks. Just make sure the gifts suit her. I don't want anything too flashy."
"Don't worry. We kept it simple, sweet, and perfect."
"Simple," she added, "means I sent a whole truckload in a closed van."
Axel blinked, momentarily speechless.
"What do you mean?" he asked, curiosity rising.
"Miniature cars, construction trucks, expect Barbie—the works. Books too, all first editions. From Harry Potter to animated classics. Activity sets of every kind." Nadia's laughter warmed the line. "I figured, Leo deserves to have a world of wonder in her hands."
Axel smiled, the image of little Leo's wide-eyed joy lighting up his mind. It was more than a gift—it was a celebration of her childhood.
Axel nodded, imagining the little girl's excitement.
"Good. But I need one more thing."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Send Danielle a Japanese wind chime. Something delicate — to bring peace, and maybe a little luck."
Nadia raised an eyebrow but didn't hesitate.
"Consider it done. I'll have it delivered right away."
—
Brewing in a corner Axel watched the live feed from a discreet camera mounted on the Bronco's rear. The glow of the city blurred past as the truck wound through BGC and into the quieter stretches beyond. Dan's figure, poised and commanding behind the wheel, filled the screen — her silhouette softened by the fading light.
She's got that look now, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. Not just surviving anymore. She's owning it.
His gaze flicked to the black vehicle tailing her — subtle, but deliberate. Not close enough to spook her yet, but close enough to make Axel's jaw tighten.
We're watching her. The statement circled in his mind like a persistent shadow.
He hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of the device in his hand, wanting to warn her but knowing that sometimes the best protection was to let her own strength shine through.
She's come too far to be a victim. Let her face whatever's coming.
Axel's eyes lingered on the image a moment longer — Dan driving away from the chaos of Horizon, steering toward something new. He clenched his fist softly, an unfamiliar mix of pride and something else — maybe concern, maybe something deeper — settling in his chest.
Whatever it is, she's not alone.
He tapped a quick message into the phone and then turned away from the screen, the weight of the night pressing down but with a spark of something hopeful lighting the way.