RIVERA ESTATE BOARDROOM.
It was tense with an undercurrent of war. Mahogany walls stood witness to decades of business triumphs and blood feuds—but none as explosive as today.
"You expect us to just accept this?" Matteo slammed a thick folder onto the table—documents from Ricci's legal counsel. "She's not even blood!"
Across the table, Liam's jaw tightened. He leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. "She's our father's acknowledged daughter, Matteo. That makes her family—whether you like it or not."
"She manipulated him." Matteo's eyes flared. "She played the long game. Got her mother close, charmed her way into the legacy."
"She didn't have to charm anyone." Liam stood now, full height casting a sharp silhouette. "The law is clear. Arnulfo signed that recognition himself."
In the corner, Elisa kept her silence, clutching a gold fountain pen. Her lips parted, but the words never came.
"She is entitled," she finally whispered, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Whether by paper or blood… it's done."
"We are on the edge of collapse," Atty. Ma. Rosario de Guia declared, standing at the center of the room like a judge in an emotional trial. "And if we take this to court, the media will devour us. Investors will scatter. Your father's burial will be a circus."
Chairwoman Beatrice Sanglay, the formidable matriarch, nodded solemnly. "We have one chance to keep this business intact. One."
Matteo scoffed, pacing like a caged lion. "So, what—you want us to pretend? Smile and share what's ours with someone who came out of nowhere?"
Ricci, poised and radiant in cream silk, raised her chin. "I didn't come out of nowhere, Matteo. I was always there. You just never saw me."
"You were hiding behind your mother's skirts and Atty. De Guia's name."
"Enough," Liam snapped, stepping between them. "This ends now."
De Guia placed an envelope on the table. "This is the temporary estate-sharing agreement. Until the final rites and the full reading of the will, no further claims—public or private. Sign it. Or watch your father's funeral turn into a disaster."
There was silence. Then, reluctantly, they signed.
SUNDAY – COASTAL HIGHWAY TO BATANGAS, 3:43 P.M.
The Rivera family had insisted the travel remain discreet.
No flashing security, no press.
Just two sleek SUVs, windows blacked out, carrying a legacy cloaked in grief.
Inside the lead vehicle, Matteo stared at the waves beyond the cliffs—jaw clenched, thoughts unreadable. Beside him, Elisa hummed softly to a forgotten melody, tapping her polished nails against the leather seat. Their driver, loyal and sharp-eyed, handled the wheel with quiet precision.
The siblings were en route to their grandfather's beachside estate—a final Rivera gathering before the burial.
At 3:43 p.m., radio silence.
No more updates from the lead SUV.
No more casual banter between drivers.
The second vehicle tried calling. Once. Twice. Static.
By 3:50, they were speeding up.
By 4:20—they found it.
A horror scene disguised in stillness.
The lead SUV was on the roadside near a curve in the highway, doors wide open like someone had wrenched them apart. The windshield bore a spiderweb crack—impact, but no collision.
The driver was barely conscious, bleeding heavily from the temple, his seatbelt torn.
No signs of a crash. No skid marks.
Just a vehicle stopped with surgical precision.
Inside—chaos.
Matteo's phone lay shattered under the seat.
Elisa's handbag was upturned, contents scattered. A broken heel—hers—was left on the ground outside the door.
And smeared across the backseat window: a single handprint.
No Matteo.
No Elisa.
They were gone.
No witnesses. No ransom call. Just vanishing.
Only a faint whiff of something chemical lingered in the air.
And fluttering from a bush by the cliffside—a blood-red silk scarf.
RIVERA RESIDENCE – 6:17 P.M.
The Rivera mansion, normally wrapped in muted elegance, now pulsed with panic.
"You need to call the police!" Ricci's voice cracked like a whip through the sitting room, her manicured fingers trembling around her phone. The usual poise in her voice had vanished, replaced by something raw—frantic, maternal, human.
"We can't afford that now!" Atty. De Guia snapped, heels clicking as she paced the marble floor. "Not before the burial. The last thing this family needs is a media circus."
"They're your siblings, Liam!" Ricci hissed, her voice thick with fury.
"I know that!" Liam snapped again, this time louder—too loud.
Atty de Guia's mask of legal precision cracked just slightly. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, but her voice dropped. "We must do something," she repeated, softer, almost to herself.
Then—buzz.
All eyes turned to Liam, who had gone deathly still, phone pressed to his ear.
"Hello?"
The voice was nothing human. Distorted. Cold. Mechanical.
"Withdraw Ricci Yulo's conjugal claim… or Matteo and Elisa stay gone."
Click.
The silence after was suffocating.
Liam's hand lowered slowly, as if the phone weighed a hundred pounds. His jaw clenched, knuckles white. "It was them," he said hoarsely. "They know everything."
Ricci's face paled. "They'll come for all of us next."
Her words hung in the air like smoke. Choking. True.
Atty. de Guia wasn't listening anymore.
Her eyes were fixed on the portrait above the fireplace—the Rivera patriarch's cold, watchful gaze carved in oil and canvas.
She was thinking.
Plotting.
And for the first time, Ricci wasn't sure which side she was on.
By the time the night cannot showcase the city skyline, the Rivera estate no longer felt like a home—it felt like a fortress.
Security cameras had been recalibrated, motion sensors reset, and the estate's private panic room was unlocked for the first time in years.
Inside, tension ran just as high.
"We've locked the front gates, ma'am," one guard reported to Ricci, who barely looked up from the blueprints of the property spread across the table.
"Good," she murmured. "Double check the east side. That blind spot near the greenhouse—fix it tonight."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ricci stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching it all with a growing sense of dread. "Is this… is this really happening?" she muttered.
Liam, pacing near the window, didn't answer. His eyes scanned the tree line like he was expecting Matteo and Elisa to emerge at any moment.
"And what, we hide in here while they hurt your brother and sister?" Ricci snapped, stepping closer. "You don't fight kidnappers with motion sensors. You call the damn police!"
"I told you," Liam's voice cut through the air like a blade. "We can't risk that—not yet."
"Why? Because of your precious inheritance war?"
"It's not about inheritance anymore," Liam said suddenly, turning. "This is about control. Whoever did this—they're trying to rip the family apart from the inside."
Ricci looked at him then. Slowly. Coldly. "Then we don't give them the satisfaction."
Atty. De Guia just came in and stared between the two of them. "You're both delusional. We're not fighting monsters here—we're fighting business rivals behind."
A silence fell again—thicker, heavier than before. Outside, the security lights hummed.
Inside, no one felt safe.
Then a notification came in. One video file. No sender.
Ricci opened it.
Matteo and Elisa—blindfolded, gagged, bruised but alive. Behind them, a tall figure in shadow. An unfamiliar limp.
Ricci dropped her phone. Her voice cracked in a whisper.
"Who are you!."
Liam appeared beside her. He had already seen it.