The walk from the jeepney stop to Jay's house felt longer than usual.
The sun was setting, casting long, skeletal shadows across the narrow alleys of their neighborhood.
For most people, sunset meant going home to rest. For Jay, it meant the beginning of the "night shift"—the hours where she had to be invisible to survive.
She entered the small, cramped house. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and fried fish.
"I'm home," Jay whispered, her voice habit-bound to be polite.
Her stepfather, Richard , was sitting at the wooden table, counting a small stack of crumpled bills.
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and narrow. "The landlord came by. We're short again. Give me your savings from the bookstore."
"I... I can't," Jay said, her voice trembling as she gripped the straps of her backpack. "That's for my books."
RICHARD stood up slowly. The chair scraped harshly against the floor. "You think your books are more important than the roof over your head? You're just like your mother. Always dreaming of a life you don't deserve."
Before Jay could move, he lunged. He grabbed her by the arm, his grip bruisingly tight. "The money. Now."
"I don't have it here!" she SAID.
He shoved her back against the wall. The back of her head hit a framed photo of her mother—the one where she was smiling, truly smiling.
The glass cracked. Jay didn't fight back. She never did. She simply slid down to the floor, covering her head, waiting for the storm of his anger to pass.
Just a few more months, she told herself through the pain. Just graduate, and you can run and don't let him know.
But deep down, she knew he would never let her go. She was his source of income, his punching bag, and his servant.
Meanwhile, in the wealthy suburbs of Makati, the atmosphere in the Watson mansion was equally tense, though for very different reasons.
Mark Keifer sat across from his father, Don Alberto watson, in a study filled with leather-bound books and the smell of expensive cigars.
"I've already discussed it with the Garcias," Don Alberto said, his voice cold and final. "Cheska is the perfect match for you. It solidifies the merger. You've had your fun in college, Keifer. Now it's time to be a Watson."
"I'm not marrying Cheska, Dad," Keifer said, his jaw set. "I don't love her. I don't even like her."
"Love is for movies," his father snapped. "In the real world, you marry for stability. If you refuse, I will freeze your accounts and take back the condo. Let's see how your 'basketball dreams' fare when you're broke. And if you can't then find a girl who can stand at my perimeters."
Keifer stormed out of the room, his heart racing. He pulled out his phone and looked at a photo he had secretly taken of Jay in the library. She was sleeping on a pile of books, looking peaceful for once.
He was trapped. He was a "Golden Boy" who owned nothing of his own life.
Two different worlds, two different cages.
Jay was trapped by violence and poverty; Keifer was trapped by gold and expectations.
Neither of them knew that their walls were about to collide in the most unexpected way.