"FASHION WORLD IN MOURNING: ARNULFO RIVERA, STYLE EMPIRE GIANT, DIES AT 71."
A heart attack, some papers claimed. A silent stroke, others whispered behind trembling hands and camera lenses.
"It happened in his sleep," murmured the Rivera family's longtime driver as he lit a candle at the gate.
"No," said a junior associate at the firm, voice low over the phone. "He collapsed in the courtroom. Right in front of the judge."
But only one truth cut through the sea of speculation—Arnulfo Rivera was gone.
The titan who once threaded needles under dim light in a cramped Binondo tailor shop…
The man whose vision transformed silhouettes, fabrics, and futures…
The name etched in global fashion circuits—from Manila's couture runways to the glittering lights of Paris and Milan… Was no more.
The world paused. Then wept.
Messages cascaded like a monsoon of mourning.
Designers from Tokyo. Stylists from New York. Pop icons. Royals. #RiveraLegacy topped the trends.
Instagram stories turned black and white. Editorial covers swapped glamour for grief.
In Rivera Atelier's design studio, silence reigned. The hum of sewing machines had ceased. Someone sobbed quietly behind a rack of evening gowns.
Meanwhile, in the sleek, glass-walled Rivera penthouse overlooking Makati's skyline, the atmosphere was colder than steel.
"He left no final statement?" asked Elisa Rivera, his eldest daughter, her voice sharp despite the tremor. She stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, dressed in a black pantsuit that felt more like armor than mourning.
"Not even a letter?" echoed Matteo, Arnulfo's estranged son from his first marriage, leaning against the marble kitchen counter. His tone was laced with disbelief—and something darker.
Across the room, Liam Rivera, the youngest and most enigmatic of the siblings, scrolled through his phone. His face was unreadable.
"I checked the vault. Nothing but old sketches and vintage watches," he said without looking up. "The will's with Atty. De Guia. She's flying in tomorrow."
Elisa scoffed. "Of course. That woman always hovered too close to Papa. Like a shadow."
"She was his legal counsel," Liam replied, calm but firm.
"She was more than that, and we all know it," Matteo said. He walked over to the minibar and poured himself a drink, even though it was barely 10 a.m.
The tension slithered through the penthouse like smoke.
Old wounds reopened. Alliances whispered behind closed doors. Eyes that once looked at each other with kinship now flickered with suspicion.
"He built an empire," Elisa said quietly, her eyes fixed on the skyline. "But he left us a battlefield."
Outside, the world remembered a legend.
Inside, a war was beginning.
And the Rivera dynasty? It was about to unravel—thread by thread.
Rivera Penthouse, 10:32 a.m.
The coffee on the mahogany table had gone cold.
No one touched it.
The Rivera siblings were gathered in the living room—each seated like adversaries at a peace talk rather than grieving children.
The city skyline sprawled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to the storm brewing inside.
"Do we even know how much is at stake here?" Matteo broke the silence, swirling his whiskey as if it held answers. "The shares. The Paris studio. The overseas accounts. We need numbers."
"This isn't the time," Elisa snapped. "Papa hasn't even been buried yet."
"Don't give me that, Elie," Matteo retorted, eyes narrowing. "You called a board meeting for Friday. Don't pretend you're just mourning."
Liam sat on the leather couch, flipping through an old Rivera catalogue—the one from the Milan debut collection in 1997. He spoke without looking up.
"Papa once told me legacy isn't about money. It's about what survives you."
"And what survives him," Matteo said dryly, "is a multi-billion empire without a named successor."
"That's not entirely true," Elisa said slowly.
The air shifted.
Liam looked up. Matteo stood straighter. Even the staff paused at the threshold of the hallway.
"What do you mean?" Matteo demanded.
Elisa walked over to a side drawer near the gallery wall. From it, she took a weathered envelope.
She placed it gently on the coffee table.
"This came two weeks ago. Papa handed it to me personally."
Matteo's brows furrowed. "And you didn't think to mention it?"
"Because it wasn't addressed to you." Elisa emphasized, pushing it closer to Liam. "It's addressed to him."
Liam stared at the envelope. His name was scrawled in his father's looping cursive, aged and unmistakable.
"Open it," Elisa urged. "Unless you're afraid."
Liam hesitated, then slowly peeled it open.
Inside was a single, folded sheet.
He read silently, the color draining from his face.
"What does it say?" Matteo asked, stepping closer.
Liam didn't answer immediately. His lips parted slightly. Then, in a voice both quiet and stunned, he read aloud:
To my son Liam,
I have made decisions that may surprise you. This world you inherit is one you did not ask for, yet are bound to. Protect the brand, protect your name. Trust only what is written—and not what is spoken. Wait for Ma. Rosario. She holds the key.
Papa
The silence was deafening.
"What the hell does that mean?" Matteo hissed. "What key?"
Elisa sat back, her fingers tapping on the armrest in controlled agitation.
"He's leaving it to you?" Matteo spat, pointing at Liam. "You're a damn model, Liam. You think you can run a fashion empire just because Papa liked you best?"
"Stop it!" Elisa barked. "We don't know the full picture yet."
But Matteo was already pacing. "Unbelievable. He was grooming you behind our backs? For what—some Cinderella fantasy?!"
Liam folded the letter quietly and returned it to the envelope.
"I didn't ask for any of this," he said, voice calm but resolute. "But I'm not walking away either."
The doorbell rang.
Three chimes.
Distinct. Formal.
The room froze.
The head housekeeper peeked in. "Sir… Ma'am… Attorney De Guia is here."
Footsteps echoed against marble.
And then, she entered.
Ma. Rosario De Guia. All heels and precision. Black tailored dress. A single strand of pearls. Sharp eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses. A presence that could silence even the most arrogant boardroom.
She removed her gloves slowly and surveyed the Rivera heirs.
"Good morning," she said with measured grace. "I trust you've all received the news. And I imagine you're eager to hear what comes next."
She set a leather case on the coffee table and clicked it open with a deliberate motion.
"Per Mr. Rivera's last instructions, we shall now read his final will and testament."
The ticking of the antique wall clock echoed in the tension-filled room.
Atty. Ma. Rosario De Guia opened the black leather case and drew out a thick, sealed envelope.
"This," she said, holding it carefully, "is the notarized and witnessed Last Will and Testament of Mr. Arnulfo A. Rivera, executed on March 3rd, 2024. Per his written instructions and the authentication of this document by the courts, I am authorized to read it aloud in the presence of the named heirs."
She glanced at each of them—Elisa, Matteo and Liam—her gaze lingering for a second longer on Liam.
She broke the seal.
"Let the record reflect that present today are the legitimate children of the deceased, and that no contesting party has, as of this date, filed an opposition to the will."
A moment of thick silence.
Then she began.
"I, Arnulfo Alejandro Rivera, being of sound mind and body, and fully aware of the gravity of this document, hereby declare this to be my final will and testament."
"To my daughter, Elisa M. Rivera, I bequeath 30% of the total valuation of Rivera Atelier, inclusive of physical assets, rights, and shares, for her service, loyalty, and leadership as Creative Director over the past twelve years."
"To my son, Matteo J. Rivera, I leave 25% of the same valuation. This includes his shares in the Italian and Hong Kong offices of Rivera Atelier, contingent on the maintenance of brand integrity."
"To my son, Liam A. Rivera, I bequeath 30% of Rivera Atelier, including the management rights to the Manila headquarters, design rights to the Rivera Heritage Collection, and the title of Acting CEO for one fiscal year, subject to board review."
"Let it be clearly stated that Liam A. Rivera is my legitimate son, having been born during the existence of my first marriage but legitimated by operation of law upon the finality of the annulment between myself and Teresa Joaquin on May 16, 2008. His rights under this will shall be protected under the Family Code of the Philippines and applicable civil laws."
"The remaining 15% of my estate, including monetary holdings, vintage archives, and overseas investments, is to be divided equitably between all three of my children in accordance with prevailing inheritance laws, with no prejudice to their legitimated status or order of birth."
"Any contestation of this will, unless based on fraud or duress, shall be regarded as a waiver of inheritance rights as stated herein."
"All personal belongings, letters, and creative notes shall be handed privately to each heir in a manner I have instructed Atty. Ma. Rosario De Guia."
As she finished reading, the quiet was nearly unbearable.
Matteo's mouth twitched. "So that's it?" he said finally. "Papa names the runway prince as Acting CEO, and we're just supposed to... go with it?"
"You still have your shares," Elisa said curtly. "More than enough to keep your Italian villa running."
"And what about you, Elie?" he shot back. "You're fine with this? You worked beside him every damn day for twelve years, and he gives Liam the CEO title?"
Elisa didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked at Liam—who was still processing every word.
"He was preparing you," she said quietly. "We just didn't see it."
Liam finally looked up. His voice was almost a whisper.
"I didn't ask for this. But if Papa believed I should carry the name, I won't dishonor it."
Atty. De Guia closed the will and placed it back into her case.
"Per Mr. Rivera's instructions, the transition period begins immediately. A special board meeting has been called for Friday. All shares and rights will be formally processed in accordance with Republic Act 386, otherwise known as the Civil Code of the Philippines, and relevant provisions of the Family Code. I will supervise the legal and financial proceedings personally."
She stood and glanced at the three siblings.
"You may not agree with every choice he made, but know this—he thought long and hard about what he left behind. Not just wealth. But the Rivera legacy."
Then, with a nod of respect, she turned and walked out of the penthouse, her heels clicking with the finality of a judge's gavel.