Ten

The kitchen smelled of hot champorado, slightly overcooked but oddly comforting. A plate of pandesal sat in the middle of the small table, still warm. Martin poured three cups of instant coffee in silence, while Kierra and Mrs. Rosalita sat across from each other—like two queens from rival kingdoms.

Martin cleared his throat as he placed the mugs down. "Ma, I think we should all just… talk calmly."

Rosalita gave her son a sharp look before turning to Kierra, who sat upright in Martin's hoodie, trying her best to look composed despite the awkwardness weighing down on the room.

"I'll be honest," Rosalita began, voice firm but not unkind. "You're beautiful. You seem smart. Classy. And obviously, rich." She gestured to the news article on her phone, which she slid across the table toward Kierra. The headline screamed: "Martin Chase: From Unknown to Heiress' New Flame?"

"I saw the viral photos. The kissing angle—clever. I even watched the interviews. And I thought, maybe it's all PR. But seeing you here, in my son's home? I can't ignore it anymore."

Martin winced. "Ma…"

"No, Martin, let me finish." She looked at Kierra again, softer this time, but no less direct. "You seem like a good girl. But let's be real. My son is not in your league. He used to work the night shift in a call center. He didn't even finish college. Everything he's doing seems like a career gamble. Everything is uncertain."

Rosalita took a sip of coffee before continuing.

"I've spent years trying to protect him from disappointment. And this? You? You're not just a risk—you're a scandal. And you may not mean to hurt him, but the difference between your worlds will do it for you."

Kierra's fingers tightened around the coffee mug, but her voice remained calm. "I've heard worse this week."

Rosalita tilted her head. "And I'm sure you have. But that doesn't change the truth. You're still the heiress of a legacy company. And he's just… Martin. No permanent job. No title. No plan B."

"Stop," Martin finally said, his voice cracking.

But Kierra gently placed a hand on his arm to silence him..

"Let me speak," she said, eyes not leaving Rosalita's.

"I lost everything, Mrs. Rosalita," she began. "My job, my position in the company, the house I grew up in. Everything I thought was secure was ripped away. Not because I failed at work—but because I dared to love someone my father wouldn't approve of."

Rosalita blinked, surprised by the rawness in her voice.

"I've been humiliated in front of board members. Painted by the media as some wild, clueless heiress. And honestly, I don't know how I'm going to rebuild my life. But the one thing I do know," her voice steadied. "Is that I'm done letting other people decide who I can or cannot be with."

Martin stared at her, caught between disbelief and quiet awe.

"I'm tired of proving my worth to people who only see titles. I don't care if Martin used to work in a call center, or if he didn't finish school. He's one of the few people who treats me like a person. Not a position."

Rosalita looked down at her cup, silent.

Kierra added, quieter this time, "So if you're going to ask me to leave… to break up with him just to keep the world's idea of order intact—I can't. I won't."

The silence that followed was heavy. But it wasn't cold. It was the weight of truth settling into the walls.

Rosalita finally exhaled, long and slow. "You're stubborn. I can see that now."

Martin half-smiled, "Wonder where she got that from?"

His mother shot him a quick glare, but then—finally—nodded.

"I still don't like it. But I suppose life's been hard enough on both of you lately," she said, standing. "Just remember, love doesn't pay bills. Or rent. Or doctor's visits. So if you're going to stay in this mess, both of you need to be strong enough to survive it."

Kierra gave a small, grateful nod. "I intend to be."

As Rosalita picked up her bag and headed for the door, she paused. "And Martin?"

"Yeah?"

She turned and said, without smiling, "Clean your damn apartment. You have a beautiful visitor here."

Then she left.

Martin and Kierra looked at each other—and for the first time that morning, they both laughed.

The door shut behind Mrs. Rosalita with a soft but firm thud, leaving a silence that settled like dust after a whirlwind. The aroma of champorado lingered, but the warmth of breakfast had faded into something colder.

Kierra stared at her coffee, untouched. The quiet between her and Martin stretched—no longer comfortable.

She finally spoke, voice low, eyes fixed on the steam swirling from her cup. "She doesn't like me."

Martin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall. "She's… protective. Traditional. And dramatic."

Kierra let out a dry chuckle. "She practically listed your résumé just to make sure I knew how unmatched we are."

Martin didn't answer right away. He knew his mother, and more importantly, he knew she wasn't entirely wrong. But it still stung to hear it said out loud. Especially in front of Kierra.

Kierra continued, her voice quieter now. "I get it, though. I don't expect your mom to suddenly welcome me with open arms. It's just…" she paused, trying to find the words. "I guess I didn't think being with you would come with so many layers."

Martin finally looked at her. "You didn't even know we were something to begin with."

Kierra blinked at him.

He added, quickly, "I mean… we never really talked about it."

"No, we didn't," she replied softly, almost defensively.

Silence again.

She looked down at her fingers wrapped around the mug, then muttered, "I couldn't help but think, just for a second… if she hated me this much, how would she treat me if I were, I don't know… her daughter-in-law."

Martin looked up sharply. "What?"

Kierra stiffened, wide-eyed. "I didn't mean to say that out loud."

He tried to play it off with a laugh. "Wow. So we're jumping to marriage now?"

"No!" she said quickly, then groaned, covering her face with her hands. "God, no. I didn't mean—ugh. That just slipped. I'm tired. Ignore me."

Martin chuckled, but there was a strange tightness in his chest. He shrugged, doing his best to keep his tone light. "Yeah, well, you know. We've only had, what? One fake kiss and a gang rescue between us? Seems like a reasonable path to forever."

Kierra threw a pillow at him from the couch. "Shut up."

He caught it midair and grinned. "But seriously, don't let my mom get to you. She just needs time. Probably more than most."

Kierra nodded slowly, though something still lingered in her eyes.

Martin's expression sobered. "You okay?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I feel like I keep landing in places where I'm not wanted. First my dad, now your mom. It's exhausting."

There was a pause.

Then Martin stepped closer, gently taking the mug from her hand and setting it down. "You can stay here. As long as you need. No conditions. No judgment. No board meetings."

She looked up at him, eyes searching.

"And if the world decides you don't belong anywhere," he added, "then screw the world. You belong right here. On this couch. Eating champorado that tastes like sadness."

She snorted. "It really does taste like sadness."

"But it's honest," Martin said with a smirk. "And hey, it comes with free coffee refills and occasional unsolicited wisdom from my mom."

She smiled faintly, but her gaze lingered on him longer this time.

Maybe he wasn't everything the world expected for her.

But he was something the world couldn't give her—peace.

And in that small, messy apartment, the heiress and the struggling musician sat across from each other—lost, unsure, and quietly falling into something far more dangerous than scandal.