I didn't even hear the gate open.
I was in my room.
Dark.
Phone off.
Trophy on the dresser where i dumped it after the awards show.
I hadn't touched it since.
I just lay there.
Eyes swollen.
Mind blank.
Body numb.
It didn't feel like winning.
It felt like surviving something i didn't want to survive.
I heard footsteps in the hall.
Slow. Hesitant.
Then a soft knock.
"Serene?"
My mother's voice.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
The door opened anyway.
Light spilled in.
I flinched.
She stood there for a second, looking at me.
Then she just walked in.
My father was behind her.
They both looked so tired.
Like they hadn't been sleeping either.
My mom sat on the edge of the bed.
She didn't speak at first.
She just reached out and touched my hair.
I turned my face into the pillow.
Because i couldn't hold it in anymore.
I broke.
Really broke.
I didn't make any sound at first, just tears soaking the pillowcase.
Then i started shaking.
Then it turned into sobs.
Ugly, desperate sobs that made my chest ache.
She didn't say anything.
She just rubbed my back, over and over.
"It's okay," she whispered eventually.
"It's okay. Enough now, anak. Enough."
But it wasn't okay.
And we both knew it.
I felt the bed dip.
My dad sat on the other side.
He was never good at this.
Feelings.
Tears.
Anything messy.
But he didn't leave.
He didn't tell me to stop crying.
He just sat there.
Hand resting heavy on my ankle like i was five again and afraid of the dark.
When i finally lifted my face, my mother wiped my tears with her thumbs.
"Look at you," she whispered, voice cracking.
I tried to turn away.
She didn't let me.
"Look at you. You're my baby. You hear me? Not their punching bag. Not their scapegoat. Mine."
Her voice trembled.
"They don't get to do this to you anymore."
My dad cleared his throat.
I looked at him, blurry-eyed.
He wasn't crying.
But his eyes were wet.
"Enough," he said gruffly.
"Your mother's right. Enough of them."
He looked furious.
And for once, it wasn't at me.
"I've read what they're writing about you," he said, voice low.
"I've watched the clips. The hate. The laughing. The death threats. It's criminal."
He shook his head.
"I'm talking to the lawyers. Enough of this 'public figure' crap. You have rights. I don't care if they're fans or trolls or so-called journalists. They're going to learn what a lawsuit looks like."
My mother ran a hand over my hair again.
"You don't have to be strong all the time, anak," she said gently.
Her own tears were falling now.
"I know we asked too much of you. Letting you do this so young. Pushing you. I know we haven't always been… here."
She pressed her lips together, voice breaking completely.
"I'm so sorry."
That shattered something in me.
Because they never said that.
Not once.
I hiccupped on a sob and pressed my face into her shoulder.
"I didn't do anything," I whispered.
My voice was so small.
Pathetic.
But it was all i had.
"I didn't steal him. I didn't. I'm not… that person. I swear."
She hugged me tighter.
"I know. I know you're not. And even if you were… I'd still love you. But you're not. You're not."
My dad cleared his throat again, voice strangled.
"You're our daughter. Not their story. Not their entertainment."
He put a heavy, warm hand on my back.
"Enough."
And for the first time in weeks…
I let myself believe them.
Even just for a moment.
I didn't check my phone that night.
I didn't think about the comments.
The photos.
The hashtags.
I just let them hold me.
Because for once, I didn't have to be the strong one.
For once, I just got to be their kid.
—
It started with a video.
I was on the couch in the living room, hair tied up messily, my parents hovering in the kitchen.
Lucas sat beside me, scrolling on his phone, trying to distract me with dumb memes.
Then his expression changed.
"Serene. Look at this."
He turned the screen toward me.
It was Ken.
Live.
No filter, no stylist. Just him in his car, parked somewhere.
And for the first time in days, he looked exactly how i felt.
Ruined.
He started talking slowly.
No notes.
No manager-approved PR lines.
Just him.
"I'm sorry i didn't say this sooner. I should have. All of this… it's my fault."
My heart stopped.
"Margaux didn't do anything. She's been my best friend since we were kids. That night at the bar was supposed to be a celebration, not a scandal. The truth is… I ended things with my ex. It was messy. I should have handled it better. But blaming Margaux for my mistakes is bullshit."
He wiped his face with his hand.
"She doesn't deserve what you're doing to her. She's not a homewrecker. She's not a monster. She's a person. She's my friend. I'm sorry it took me this long to say it. I hope it's not too late."
I didn't realize i was crying until Lucas squeezed my hand.
My phone buzzed with a dozen messages in a row.
My manager.
My publicist.
But when i checked online…
Nothing changed.
If anything, it got worse.
"Nice damage control."
"He's just covering for his mistress."
"They planned this together."
"Wow he finally spoke? Must be true if he's this defensive."
The hashtags didn't drop.
The memes didn't stop.
The hate didn't slow down.
They didn't care.
It didn't matter that he told them the truth.
They'd already decided i was guilty.
They liked it better that way.
—
When the speech was over, the applause didn't even sound real.
Sharp claps.
A few cheers.
But no warmth.
No forgiveness.
I set the mic down carefully, like it might shatter if i let go too fast.
David squeezed my arm.
He whispered, "You did great."
But his eyes looked worried.
We stepped off the stage and the event staff herded us to the side for photos.
Bright lights.
Flashes that made me blink.
Sponsors' logos everywhere.
The event host beamed at us like nothing was wrong.
They handed us certificates of appreciation for "the record-breaking 900 million pesos."
I held mine in both hands and smiled.
A thin, brittle smile.
They asked for photos.
I angled my body just right.
Turned my chin.
Smiled on cue.
They didn't see my fingers digging into the paper.
Or the way my jaw locked to keep it from trembling.
Reporters crowded forward when the handler gestured them in.
Shouts all at once:
"Margaux! David! Statement for your fans?"
"How does it feel to break box office records?"
"Margaux, any words for the haters?"
My ears rang.
David leaned toward the mics first.
"Thank you so much to everyone who watched. We made this film with all our hearts, and it means everything that the audience supported it."
Polite cheers.
Flashes.
Then someone pointed the mic at me.
I took a breath.
I felt my heart pounding in my ribs like it was trying to break free.
I forced my mouth to move.
"Thank you to everyone who watched," I said.
My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and went on.
"This was... a dream project for me. For us. I know it wasn't easy for people to support me right now, and I know... some never will. But this story mattered. And I'm glad you saw it."
Silence.
Some shuffling.
A reporter raised an eyebrow.
"You sound like you're making excuses."
The words sliced.
I felt David bristle beside me.
He opened his mouth to say something, but i pressed my hand lightly on his arm.
"I'm not making excuses," I said, voice low.
"I'm saying thank you anyway."
Flashes.
My smile felt like glass in my mouth.
Another question flew at me.
"Do you regret anything?"
I swallowed.
My vision blurred for a second.
David tried to interrupt.
I shook my head at him.
"I regret... that the people i love keep getting hurt."
Silence.
Cameras whirred.
I went on, softer.
"I regret that the story they tell about me is always ugly. Even when it isn't true."
Another reporter scribbled furiously.
A mic was thrust closer.
"So you're the victim now?"
That one hit hard.
The words felt oily in the air.
David cursed under his breath.
I heard it.
But i didn't break.
Not yet.
I looked straight into the cameras.
"No," I said quietly.
"I'm not the victim. I'm just... trying to live. Same as you."
The handlers moved in quickly then.
Ushering us away.
"Thank you, no more questions, thank you!"
They herded us to the photo wall.
More flashes.
More cheers.
Fake, forced.
I kept smiling.
Because that's what they wanted.
After, David held my hand in the car.
"You didn't have to do that," he said roughly.
"You didn't owe them anything."
I didn't answer.
I just stared at the city lights outside the window.
Billboards with my face.
900 million pesos in big gold letters.
A win.
Apparently.
But my eyes burned.
And i had to bite my lip so hard i tasted blood just to keep the tears from falling.
—
At my house, I barely said goodbye to David.
He called after me when i shut the car door.
But i didn't turn around.
I walked inside slowly, feeling my legs shake.
Set the certificate down in the hallway.
It slid off the table and fell onto the floor.
I didn't pick it up.
I went upstairs in the dark.
Didn't bother turning on any lights.
Didn't bother locking the door.
I sat on my bed in my gown.
Makeup smeared.
Hair falling out of its style.
I hugged my knees to my chest.
Outside, the city was cheering my success.
900 million.
Biggest film of the year.
And inside this room, I felt like i was dying.
Because no amount of box office records could make them see me as anything but a monster.
And no apology.
No explanation.
No truth.
Was ever going to change that.
I pressed my face into my knees.
And let the sob break free.
Because for tonight—
I was so tired of pretending it didn't hurt.