Margaux Serene Imperial was the type of name you couldn't say without thinking money.
Imperial Bank wasn't just a bank, it was the bank, with branches gleaming in nearly every major city in the Philippines.
She was twenty-seven. Beautiful in that intimidating, screen-goddess way. She was every tabloid's favorite headline and every publicist's nightmare.
But to her family, she was just Margaux.
She and her brother, Lucas Soren Imperial, twenty-three, grew up in homes too big for two children who rarely saw their parents.
Their mother and father were always abroad—business trips, fundraisers, board meetings that stretched for weeks.
So Margaux and Lucas became each other's constant, practically attached at the hip no matter which ancestral house or luxury condo they found themselves in.
He was the only one she trusted.
And perhaps the only one who remembered that beneath the red-carpet persona was just a girl who hated being alone.
—
When it comes to scandals? I don't care anymore.
I don't even bother defending myself.
What's the point?
Even if i explained until my throat bled, no one would listen.
They'd still think what they want.
Like that time i got detained in California two years ago.
Over parking, of all things.
A ridiculous, blown-up misunderstanding.
I still don't know how people found out, but they did.
They shared those photos everywhere.
Even now, whenever someone posts my face on social media, trolls dig them up again.
"They have a criminal in showbiz," they say. As if i murdered someone.
It doesn't matter that it wasn't even an arrest. Context doesn't sell.
And that's not the only thing they bring up.
They love reminding everyone of the video of me drunk and laughing too loudly at a party, as if that's a crime.
Or the rumor i had an affair with a married director, just because he praised my acting.
Or that time i was caught walking out of a set, "diva attitude" daw.
They don't know i had a fever.
They even made a big deal of my so-called "rude reply" to a fan.
I said "I'm busy right now" and suddenly i'm the devil.
Last year they swore i got into a catfight with my co-star in the makeup room.
Never happened.
But it doesn't matter.
People want me to be the villain.
Some fans defend me.
I see them fighting in the comments, explaining, making threads with receipts.
But they're getting tired.
I get it.
Even they have limits.
I don't blame them.
Honestly, I'm tired too.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror while my makeup artist fusses over my hair.
There's a guesting today, a big variety show, prime time.
I'm contractually obligated to be here with David Lopez, my partner in the new film Forevermore.
David is beloved. Golden boy of the industry.
Talented, polite, the public's favorite.
Every time we're seen together, my hate comments double.
He smiles and they swoon. I breathe and they boo.
Perfect.
My eyes flit to my phone buzzing on the table.
My manager sent another reminder:
Behave.
Smile.
Don't feed the trolls.
As if that ever helped.
I press my lips together as the makeup artist applies the last touch of powder.
"Ready?" she asks.
I force a smile.
"Always."
I step out of the dressing room and follow the production assistant through the narrow hallway.
The studio feels colder than usual, the lights too harsh on my eyes.
"Five minutes to live," someone calls out.
David Lopez is already waiting by the stage entrance.
He looks irritatingly perfect, crisp white shirt, easy grin, hair styled like he just woke up looking that good.
He spots me and gives me that disarming smile.
"Hey," he says."You good?"
I want to roll my eyes. Am i good?
I nod once. "Yeah. Let's just get it over with."
He studies me a second too long.
I know he's worried.
He's not an asshole, that's the worst part. He's too damn nice.
Makes it harder to hate him.
"Don't bite my head off during the interview," he teases lightly, trying to defuse the tension.
I snort. "No promises."
He laughs.
Of course he laughs.
The crew loves him even more.
I check my phone one last time before we go on.
Notifications are blowing up.
My manager's text is pinned at the top:
Margaux, please be mindful.
This is prime time.
They'll bait you.
Don't give them anything.
I take a slow breath.
The audience is screaming on the other side of the wall.
I can hear the hosts hyping us up.
"Today, we have the stars of the upcoming blockbuster Forevermore! Please welcome David Lopez and Margaux Imperial!"
Applause.
Cheers.
And some scattered, unmistakable boos.
I feel the blood rush to my ears.
David leans in. "Ignore them."
I force myself to nod.
We walk out together.
I remember to smile.
The lights blind me for a second, cameras clicking like gunfire.
We sit on the gaudy velvet couch, microphones clipped on.
The main host beams at us. "Margaux, David! So good to have you both here. The chemistry is insane in the trailer!"
David thanks them, ever the charmer.
Then the host turns to me.
That fake-sweet smile.
"Margaux, you've been in the news a lot lately."
Here we go.
He tries to sound concerned. "How are you holding up with all the… attention?"
Polite way of saying: How does it feel to be everyone's favorite punching bag?
I feel my jaw tighten.
Don't feed them.
I smile, cool and practiced.
"I'm fine," I say softly. "I'm used to it."
The host chuckles. "That's very honest. Some people would say you're the most controversial actress of your generation."
I arch a brow. "Really? I thought that was a compliment these days."
The crowd laughs.
Even David gives me a sidelong glance, trying not to grin.
For a second, it works.
They buy the cool-girl act.
But i know better.
Somewhere, people are already clipping this for Twitter, editing it for TikTok.
Margaux Imperial being smug again.
They'll twist anything.
David jumps in to help. "We're both really proud of the film. Margaux was incredible. I learned a lot from her."
He means well.
But now the host's eyes light up.
"Learned a lot? People say there's more than learning going on behind the scenes…"
The audience whoops.
I want to throw my mic at him.
I keep my smile frozen in place.
David's face darkens. "Let's not go there."
But the host just laughs it off, "Kidding! Kidding!"
The rest of the interview blurs.
Jokes.
Probing questions.
Laugh tracks.
I answer politely.
I nod.
I laugh on cue.
I've done this a hundred times.
But i feel hollow.
When the cameras finally cut to commercial, I exhale.
My hands are shaking just a little.
David reaches for them.
I pull away before he can touch me.
"Margaux—"
"I'm fine."
He looks at me, worried.
But there's nothing to say.
I'm Margaux Imperial.
I'm always fine.
—
The ride home feels endless.
My driver doesn't speak, thank God.
I'm too tired to pretend i'm okay.
My phone buzzes every few seconds.
Group chats blowing up.
Mentions spiking.
Screenshots from the interview are everywhere.
Margaux Imperial being a bitch again.
She's so smug.
Why is she even famous?
#CancelMargaux trending.
I turn the screen off and press it to my chest.
When we finally pull up to the house, a sleek, glass-and-marble monstrosity I barely think of as home, I take a breath before going in.
Inside, the lights are warm.
Too warm.
I slip off my heels at the door.
My feet ache.
My back aches.
My head aches.
I hear the clatter of utensils from the dining room.
Lucas is there.
He's halfway through dinner, scrolling on his tablet, stylus in one hand, a bowl of rice in the other.
He glances up the moment he hears me.
"Hey."
I lift a hand in greeting, too tired to say it back.
He stares at me a second.
Then he sighs, pushes his tablet away, and gestures at the empty chair across him.
"Come on. Eat."
I don't argue.
I sit.
He calls the maid to bring me a plate.
We eat in silence for a while.
The clink of cutlery, the hum of the air-conditioning.
Finally he breaks it.
"You trended again."
I stab at my rice. "I know."
He watches me, elbows on the table.
"Full of shit comments," he adds.
I exhale. "Yeah. Nothing new."
He rubs his chin. "I watched the live. You did okay."
I scoff. "Yeah. I'm sure Twitter agrees."
He doesn't laugh.
Silence stretches.
Then he says it:
"You ever think maybe you should… stop?"
My fork stops halfway to my mouth.
He continues carefully. "I mean, this industry is killing you. You know Mom and Dad want you out of it. They keep saying you should help with the properties. Or the bank. Or—"
"Manage the malls," I finish for him.
He nods. "Yeah. Or do anything else. Something quieter. Something… safer."
I put the fork down.
Lucas looks at me.
He's trying to be gentle, but i see the frustration in his eyes.
"Serene," he says softly.
The old nickname.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You're an Imperial. You'll be fine. Why keep doing this to yourself?"
I feel something sting behind my eyes.
I shake my head.
"You don't get it."
"Then help me get it."
I swallow.
My throat is tight.
"I love it," I whisper.
He blinks.
"This is my dream, Luke.
Acting.
Telling stories.
Making people feel something.
Even if they hate me. Even if it breaks me."
He frowns. "It shouldn't break you."
I smile. It feels wrong on my face.
"But it does."
Silence.
He looks down at his plate.
Pushes the rice around.
Finally he mutters, "You're the best actress i know. But sometimes i wish you weren't."
I close my eyes.
I wish that too.
But i can't say it.
Instead i reach for his hand across the table.
He lets me take it.
We sit there, eating cold rice in the too-big dining room, the Imperial heir and the scandalous actress.
The only two people in this house who ever really stayed.