January had gone by peacefully — almost.
The transition of employees had been smoother than expected. Most were eager to join the new branch under the restructured Horizon. Others had taken severance without protest. With nearly five hundred workers effectively placed or quietly re-employed, Danielle finally let herself exhale. Weeks of tension drained from her shoulders.
"Oh well, we can't save them all. You tried," she told herself, eyes scanning the latest report metrics.
Everything was humming. Departments were performing above forecast. Managers were leading without her micromanagement. If this pace held, she might — finally — start logging off on time. No more pre-dawn log-ins, no more dragging herself past midnight.
She was mid-discussion with May, walking through final logistics for the marketplace rollout, when her laptop pinged.
A calendar reminder.
Thursday 1:1 with Axel.
Huh? That still exists?
She blinked. He was already on the call.
She excused herself from May, clicked into the meeting — then froze for a beat.
He was already staring at the screen. Why the hell does he look... surprised?
She glanced at her reflection in the corner window. Oh. The halter top. It was humid in Antipolo, and she'd forgotten this was a video call. Whatever. It's not like I dressed for him.
"Hi," she greeted casually, sliding into her seat and pulling up the foundation brief on her screen. "So. Are we good to announce next week?"
Axel cleared his throat.
"Yes. I've reviewed the final documents. Legal has cleared it. The launch timing aligns with the board's PR window."
"Great." She nodded, slipping into her rhythm, eyes already on the stats. "Scholarships, rural clinics, and agri-subsidies are still the main pillars. We're not touching the emergency relief fund yet, but I'm lining up NGO partners. It'll give us longer-term sustainability."
There was a short pause on the line.
"You really built this from scratch," Axel said, almost like he was talking to himself. "No help?"
Dan didn't look up.
"I mean… I asked people about tax structure. But the idea? The goals? Yeah. It's all Horizon's. That's the point."
He was quiet again.
She didn't notice how long he watched her — not until she glanced up to check if he was still there.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He gave a small shake of the head.
"Just… good work."
That was it. He was off the call a minute later. And Danielle went back to her spreadsheet, completely unaware of the weight that had just passed between them.
Unaware, too, that on another encrypted line, Axel had just finished assuring two powerful families that she still didn't know.
—
After the meeting, Axel's mind drifted elsewhere.
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
"You're early," she finally said, voice calm. Too calm.
Axel nodded, oblivious at first as she adjusted his seat. "Was already wrapping up with Caden and Nadia. Figured I'd jump in before the actual time."
She glanced at his still frame on the screen and frowned. "Something wrong?"
"No." His voice clipped just slightly. He cleared his throat. "Not at all."
Halter top?
Halter top.
Since when does she wear halter tops to meetings?
She wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary—at least not to her. But Axel found himself momentarily derailed. Her hair was up in a messy twist, glasses perched lazily on her nose, and the black halter top framed her collarbones in a way that made him shift in his seat. Not inappropriate. Just… distracting.
This is why you keep things professional, you idiot. Focus.
Dan was already pulling up the shared screen for the foundation launch plan. "So, about the rollout next week—Carmen and Nadia are already prepping the internal release. I just need your sign-off before I send the final version to PR."
"Right. Of course." Axel leaned in, forcing his eyes on the numbers, not her. "You've tied the scholarships to tenure again?"
"Yup. Six-month retention clause for eligibility. Keeps it fair."
She's sharp. Strategic. Ridiculously put-together. And now I have to pretend I'm not having a moment over a sleeveless top.
He coughed lightly. "Looks solid. I'll read through it again after this call and give you a go-signal."
Dan gave him a small nod, eyes flicking up at the screen. "You sure you're okay? You look weird."
"What?"
"Nothing."
He gave a small shake of the head.
"Just… good work."
Axel smirked faintly, but didn't answer. Instead, he clicked through the shared doc again with robotic efficiency.
Back in the La Rioja, Alonzo and Laura are having tea. Talking about the familia's future. And remembered what happened on that faithful day of February.
The Real De Lara siblings were all brothers—except one.
Alla Real De Lara, the only daughter, was not merely a sister. She was the moon in a house full of suns. The familia called her La Princesa, and from the moment she was born, she was both shielded and sacrificed in the same breath.
They said it was for her safety. For her dignity. But Alla knew—her beauty, her softness, her mind—these were things the family both revered and feared. Because she was the one thing they couldn't control, not really. Not once Emilio Santiago laid eyes on her.
Emilio had been Don Antonio's ward, a street-born fire who clawed his way into the familia through loyalty, ruthlessness, and a brilliance no one expected from a boy with blood under his nails. He first saw Alla in the gardens—barefoot, hands stained with the blood roses she tended like sacred offerings.
And in that moment, something in him shifted. He wasn't content to serve. He wanted to rise. Not just in rank. Not just in respect. But high enough that one day, Alla would look at him without pity.
So he climbed. Faster, harder, and with more hunger than anyone before him.
But while Emilio carved his path through the old world of shadows and blood, it was Alonzo—the youngest son—who began building the future. Horizon Holdings was his idea: a clean name, a legitimate face, a corporation with iron veins running through the skeleton of the familia's logistics. It was meant to shield them from scrutiny, to bring the old empire into a new age.
What no one expected was that Alonzo would become more than just the architect of the familia's logistics—he would become its future. A future that stood in direct contrast to Emilio's rise from the dirt.
And between them, always, was Alla.
Then it happened.
The day the familia's reckoning came dressed in roses and velvet. February 14.
They still talk about it in hushed tones. Not as a celebration. As a warning.
The courtyard had been set for a quiet dinner—just the core of the Real De Lara family. The air was thick with perfume and secrets. Alla wore pale gold, her eyes rimmed with quiet dread. She already knew what was coming.
Emilio arrived uninvited, but not unexpected.
He walked through the wrought-iron gates with the certainty of a man who believed he belonged. Dressed in a black suit, red tie. Like some twisted Romeo with a pocketful of promises and a dagger behind his back.
He waited until the wine was poured, until the silence had stretched just long enough to fracture, and then he stood.
"I ask this, with respect to all I owe this family," he said, voice loud enough to echo off the marble. "Don Antonio. I ask for your blessing to marry your daughter."
Time stopped.
The glass in Laura's hand trembled but did not fall. Alonzo didn't flinch—he just stared at his empty plate, as if willing it to become a weapon.
Don Antonio looked at Emilio like a man gazing upon a dog who'd learned to speak. Amused. And deeply offended.
"No," he said.
Just that. One syllable. Like a bullet through crystal.
Emilio stood there, stunned. Waiting for laughter. For a second offer. For anything.
But it didn't come.
Instead, Don Antonio leaned back and added, "You've mistaken proximity for privilege. Your place is at my feet, Santiago. Not beside my daughter."
"Know your place, Santiago," he continued, cold and slow. "You were never meant to rise above your station. You think devotion earns you blood? That kneeling makes you kin?"
Alonzo was already moving before Emilio reached for the pistol.
But not fast enough.
The sound cracked through the room like the first tear in a cathedral's stained glass. One shot, straight through the heart. Don Antonio collapsed with a grunt—wine spilling, Alla screaming.
And in that chaos, that madness—she ran.
With him.
Alla Real De Lara, the golden daughter, the family's pride, ran to the man who murdered her father. The woman born into silk and tradition chose the firebrand outsider with a gun in his hand and rebellion in his eyes.
Laura tried to chase her. Alonzo tried to stop them. The guards were too stunned to shoot. And in a blink, the gates had opened. The lovers vanished into the night, leaving blood behind like a signature.
That night fractured the bloodline.
The Real De Laras mourned their patriarch and buried their shame. The Santiagos were reborn from the fire—no longer servants of the empire, but a rival kingdom.
Things spiraled quickly after that night.
With Don Antonio dead and his only daughter vanished into exile with the man who murdered him, the once-mighty Real De Lara family began to unravel.
His sons—Alejandro the eldest, proud and iron-willed, and Allejo the second, cunning and ambitious—turned on each other before the blood on the ballroom floor had even dried.
Alonzo, the youngest, tried to hold the seams of the familia together. He had Horizon Holdings, he had the future in his hands—but no one was listening. Not then. Not when the seat of power had just gone empty and ambition bled louder than reason.
And so, the war began.
What should have been a quiet succession turned into a fratricidal power grab.
Alejandro claimed primogeniture. Allejo rallied loyalists and old guards who whispered about Alejandro's recklessness. Alonzo begged them to hold the line, to protect what remained.
But none of them saw what was coming next.
While the brothers fought, Emilio struck again.
It was deliberate. Calculated. Brutal.
He set fire to the ancestral estate—not just a home, but a symbol. The heart of the Real De Lara legacy. He torched it while the brothers were at each other's throats, watching from a distance as the flames consumed generations of blood, memory, and power.
The paintings, the ledgers, the vaults—all turned to ash.
And just like that, the family that once ruled with silence and precision fell into public disgrace.
The scandal was too big to bury. The syndicates whispered. The foreign partners backed away. The old militia fractured.
Alonzo survived because he had already begun building elsewhere. Horizon Holdings—still young, still vulnerable—became his refuge, his redemption arc. He poured himself into legitimacy while his brothers tore each other apart, while the Santiagos rose from the fire with Alla beside them, remade in vengeance.
The Real De Lara name was never quite the same after that.
The family didn't fall. Not completely.
But it split.
Scarred.
Restructured.
And from the ashes, two powers began to rise:
One fueled by corporate dominance, shadowed by guilt—Alonzo.
The other by blood, vengeance, and flame—Emilio and Alla Santiago.
"She is now the new light of the Familia, she may be detached from everyone else but she is here to stay", Alonzo thought of Dan.
Laura met Alonzo's gaze.
"I think she already does," she said quietly. "She just doesn't know it yet."
And in the silence that followed, they both understood — the reckoning hadn't passed.
It was only just beginning.
But little did they know...
Behind Danielle's calm gaze, behind the steady breath and the hands that built and rebuilt, there was something else.
A stillness. A watching.
Like the eye of a storm that has already passed over the wreckage—and remembered every detail.
Her conscious mind remained sharp, always calculating. Always observing.
And perhaps—just perhaps—she had seen it all.
Not in the way they feared.
But in the way only a woman carved by hardship could: not through legacy, or blood, or whispered family names—but through pattern, intuition, and a deep, unspoken knowing.
The kind passed from mother to daughter, silence to silence.
The kind that waited.
The kind that watched.
And the kind that, when the time came, would never flinch from fire.