CALISTA'S P. O. VMy heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat accompanying the rising tide of anticipation and fear. The carefully constructed seduction, the calculated risk—it all hinged on this moment. Naka lock na 'yung pinto ng kwarto ko sa labas; pero ni-lock ko pa rin 'yon sa loob. It was a small act of defiance, a subtle assertion of control. I would know who was coming, and I would be ready. Mahirap naman kasi kung mag posing posing ako ng seductive 'tapos hindi naman pala si Niccolo 'yung dumating, 'di ba? Napakalaking kahihiyan no'n. Halos antukin na ako sa sobrang tagal nang paghihintay. Until after a few minutes later, he knock came, sharp and insistent, sending a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through me. I remained silent, my breath held captive in my chest, my senses heightened, my body tense. Maraming beses at sunud sunod pa 'yung mga pagkatok. Pero hindi pa rin ako kumibo. Nakinig lang ako at naghintay. The silence stretched, the anticipation growing, th
NICCOLO'S P. O. VA wave of apprehension washed over me as I approached Calista’s room. The locked door had been a source of unease, a nagging reminder of her resilience, her defiance. I’d half-expected to find her gone, escaped, vanished. The thought had sent a jolt of anger through me, a surge of frustration that fueled my possessiveness, my need to control her.But as I opened the door, relief washed over me, quickly replaced by a different kind of arousal. She was there, lying on the bed, seemingly asleep. But the sight of her, sprawled in a seductive pose, sent a jolt of desire through me. My oversized white longsleeves, clinging to her curves, highlighted her body, accentuating her figure. Her hair was messy, tousled, framing her face in a way that enhanced her allure. Her almost see-through body, barely concealed by the thin fabric, was a deliberate invitation.The carefully constructed vulnerability, the calculated seduction, kung pinaplano man n'yang akitin ako, one thing's
WARNING!!! EXPLICIT / MATURED CONTENT AHEAD! READ THIS ONLY IF YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD AND / OR ABOVE. SKIP IF YOU'RE STILL A MINOR! PERO DAHIL MAKULIT KA, SIGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK NA LANG! CALISTA'S P. O. VThe initial shock of Niccolo’s aggression quickly gave way to a surprising surrender, a surprising acceptance. His touch, his kiss, his presence—they were all overwhelming, all consuming. And as he moved over me, his body pressing against mine, his passion raw and unrestrained, I found myself responding, not just strategically, but instinctively.The carefully constructed plan, the calculated seduction, the premeditated escape—it all faded into the background, replaced by a wave of intense physical sensation, a flood of overwhelming desire. My body responded instinctively, my senses heightened, my inhibitions shed. It wasn't just lust; it was something deeper, something more profound. It was a rekindling of a past intimacy, a resurgence of a forgotten connection. It was as i
CALISTA'S P. O. VMula no'ng umalis si Niccolo at iniwan n'ya ako right after we made love, hindi na ako nakatulog pa. The aftermath of Niccolo’s departure left me reeling, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling within. Shame, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal warred with a lingering sense of arousal, a surprising echo of the intimacy we had shared. I questioned everything, my actions, my motives, my sanity. Had I become as ruthless, as amoral, as the very people I sought to destroy? Had my desire for revenge consumed me, twisted me, corrupted me?The image of myself, willingly surrendering to Niccolo’s touch, haunted me. Bumalik na naman ba sa akin ang plano ko na dapat ako ang makinabang? Had everything backfired again? Or had I, in a twisted way, become complicit in my own manipulation? The line between victim and perpetrator blurred, the boundaries fading, the roles indistinguishable.The thought of stopping, of abandoning my quest for revenge, crossed my mind. The co
CALISTA'S P. O. VI awoke to a sharp, insistent rapping on my door, a sound that jolted me from a restless sleep filled with fragmented memories of the previous night's events. My heart pounded against my ribs as I approached the door, my senses heightened, my body tense. Kinabahan din ako agad at nataranta nang maisip ko na baka si Niccolo ang kumakatok. I don't even know why I feel like this. And I hate it. I opened the door to find Rico, his usual gruff demeanor softened slightly, holding a tray of food. Pero this time, hindi s'ya mag isa. Kasama n'ya si Lyra na nakatayo sa likuran n'ya. Her expression unreadable, carrying five large paper bags.Pagkakita ko pa lang sa kanya at sa ekspresyon sa mukha n'ya, nararamdaman ko na na mukha n'ya na may mga sasabihin na naman s'yang hindi maganda. Ewan ko ba sa kanya kung anong trip n'ya sa buhay. Balak n'ya yatang sagarin 'yung pasensya ko for what? Para saan? Rico placed the food down. Pagkalapag n'ya ng pagkain sa bedside table, tum
CALISTA'S P. O. VThe success of my initial gambit, the unexpected effectiveness of my calculated seduction, emboldened me. Niccolo’s response to my carefully constructed vulnerability, his willingness to provide the gifts, his eagerness to repeat the previous night's intimacy—it all confirmed that my strategy was working. To achieve my escape, I needed to continue playing the game, to deepen my manipulation, to further exploit his desires. The more continuous my efforts, the more likely I was to gain his trust, to secure my freedom, to achieve my ultimate goal: revenge.That night, I chose my weapon carefully, selecting one of the costumes Niccolo had so carelessly provided—an all-black kitty costume, complete with a long, black tail and a matching cat-ear headband. Dito ako dahil ito ang sigurado kong magugustuhan n'ya. Besides, he's already head over heels calling me "Kitty", right? Might as well, panindigan ko na. Ewan ko na lang kung hindi pa s'ya mahulog sa patibong ko at sa s
WARNING!!! EXPLICIT / MATURED CONTENT AHEAD! READ THIS ONLY IF YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD AND / OR ABOVE. SKIP IF YOU'RE STILL A MINOR! PERO DAHIL MAKULIT KA, SIGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK NA LANG! CALISTA'S P. O. VThe anticipation was almost unbearable, a mixture of excitement and apprehension that kept me on edge. My carefully chosen costume, the all-black kitty ensemble, felt both empowering and vulnerable. The bold red lipstick, the long black whip—they were tools, weapons, designed to manipulate, to entice, to control. I was playing a dangerous game, a high-stakes gamble, but I was ready.Habang naghihintay ako, hindi ko maiwasan na ma weirdo han sa sarili ko. Napapaisip na naman ako kung tama pa ba ang mga ginagawa ko o dapat, tumigil na ako? Na baka may iba pang paraan. But my rational side of mind was immediately knocked by my own desire to take revenge. Pabalik balik na ganon lang ang iniisip ko— magdadalawang isip ako kung tama ba ang nga ginagawa ko, then I'll justify na ta
WARNING!!! EXPLICIT / MATURED CONTENT AHEAD! READ THIS ONLY IF YOU ARE 18 YEARS OLD AND / OR ABOVE. SKIP IF YOU'RE STILL A MINOR! PERO DAHIL MAKULIT KA, SIGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK NA LANG! CALISTA'S P. O. VAfter having sex with Niccolo for I don't know how many hours, sleep finally evaded me, my mind racing, replaying the events of the night, the intoxicating dance of power, the surprising intimacy. Niccolo’s touch, his kiss, his presence—they were all still vivid in my memory, a potent cocktail of arousal and apprehension. My plan was working, I knew it. His desire, his possessiveness, his obsession—I was using them all against him. The more I surrendered to his advances, the more I played into his desires, the more likely he was to lower his guard, to trust me, to allow me the freedom I needed to escape.At pagkatapos ng lahat, tumanggi pa rin s'yang umalis sa kwarto na pinananatilihan ko. Kaya hanggang ngayon na patulog na ako, nakahiga pa rin s'ya sa tabi ko at nakayakap p
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe funeral was a grotesque parody of mourning. I stood, impeccably dressed, a picture of serene composure amidst the displays of feigned grief. Arnaldo’s death had been swift, efficient, a mere footnote in my relentless pursuit of power. His vast fortune, now mine, was merely a stepping stone, a foundation upon which I would build my empire.The days that followed were a whirlwind of legal maneuvering, financial transactions, and ruthless consolidation of power. I moved swiftly, decisively, silencing any opposition with a mixture of charm and intimidation. Those who questioned my actions, those who dared to challenge my authority, found themselves swiftly and unceremoniously removed from the equation. Their fate served as a warning to others, a chilling reminder of the consequences of defiance.My daughter, Monica, reveled in our newfound power, her ambition mirroring my own. She was a loyal pawn, a ruthless instrument in my ascent, her eyes gleaming with the same
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe scent of lilies in my opulent bathroom did little to mask the stench of betrayal that clung to me. My reflection stared back, a stranger in a mask of composure. My new lover, Julian, was everything Arnaldo was not: young, vibrant, impossibly wealthy. Arnaldo, with his aging body and dwindling fortune, had become an anchor, a relic of a past I was eager to discard. He was nothing more than a means to an end, a stepping stone to a life of even greater luxury and power. And now, it was time for him to step aside.The plan was simple, yet elegant in its cruelty. A "car accident," staged with precision and discretion. It wouldn't be a blatant act of violence, nothing easily traceable back to me. Just a tragic mishap, a twist of fate. The perfect crime.Days bled into weeks, each moment a meticulous dance of preparation. I subtly shifted funds, creating a paper trail that pointed away from me, towards my old enemy, Niccolo Fibonacci, still languishing in prison. It wa
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe years that followed were a blur of opulence and carefully calculated risk. Arnaldo’s wealth had become our playground, a source of endless luxury and power. But it wasn't enough. The thrill of the game, the adrenaline rush of manipulating others, had become addictive. I craved more, something beyond the confines of our carefully constructed world. That's where the Fibonacci Mafia came in.They were a powerful organization, their tentacles reaching into every corner of the city's underbelly. I'd initially approached them cautiously, offering my services as a financial advisor, a seemingly innocuous role that allowed me to infiltrate their inner circle. My charm, my intelligence, my ruthless ambition quickly won their trust. I learned their secrets, their weaknesses, their intricate network of operations. I became an indispensable part of their operations, privy to their most sensitive information.But my ambition knew no bounds. I wasn't content to be merely a pl
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe wedding was a spectacle, a lavish affair that masked the cold calculation that had orchestrated it. Arnaldo, still bearing the scars of grief, looked like a man walking through a dream, his eyes holding a strange mixture of sorrow and something akin to… contentment. Contentment that I had carefully cultivated, nurtured, and manipulated. My own daughter, Monica, stood beside me, a picture of innocent obliviousness, unaware of the darkness that fueled our ascent.The mansion was opulent, even more so than I remembered. It was a gilded cage, a testament to Arnaldo's wealth, a prize I had finally claimed. I stood in the master bedroom, gazing out at the sprawling gardens, a triumphant smile playing on my lips. Isabella’s presence was completely erased, her belongings gone, her memory relegated to a distant, inconvenient past. This was my victory, my conquest, my reward for a meticulously planned campaign of manipulation and deceit.Arnaldo, now my husband, was a sha
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe polished mahogany of Arnaldo Sy’s office felt different this time, heavier, draped in a somber veil of grief. The air hung thick with unspoken sorrow, a stark contrast to the usual crisp efficiency that permeated the space. Arnaldo sat behind his large desk, his shoulders slumped, his face etched with a weariness that went beyond simple fatigue. He looked older, broken, the vibrant energy that had once characterized him extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness.I approached him slowly, my movements deliberate, my expression carefully crafted to convey sympathy and concern. The news of Isabella’s death had been plastered across every news outlet, a spectacle of tragedy that I had orchestrated with cold precision. Now, I would play the role of the sympathetic friend, the comforting presence in his time of need. My heart, however, felt strangely devoid of emotion, a cold, calculating engine driving my actions.“Arnaldo,” I said softly, my voice laced with a car
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe champagne was cold, the crystal flute elegant in my hand, but the celebratory mood felt hollow, a thin veneer over the churning anxiety within me. I sat alone in my opulent apartment, the city lights a blurred spectacle outside my window. The silence was deafening, a heavy blanket smothering the usual vibrant hum of the city. It was a silence pregnant with anticipation, a silence that screamed louder than any celebration.The news had been sparse, deliberately vague. A small chartered plane, en route to a remote region, had gone down. Details were scarce, the investigation ongoing. But I knew. I knew what had happened, what I had orchestrated. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, a crushing burden of guilt and exhilaration.My phone lay beside me, a cold, inert object. I longed for it to ring, to break the suffocating silence, to bring confirmation, to bring closure. But the silence persisted, stretching into an eternity of agonizing suspense. Each tick
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe information arrived like a poisoned dart, precise and deadly. Isabella was scheduled to fly to a remote region in the north, leading a relief operation for victims of a recent typhoon. The details were scant, but enough to ignite the cold fire of my ambition. This was it, the opportunity I'd been waiting for, the perfect chance to finally take my plans to the next level. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat accompanying the chilling certainty that consumed me.I paced my opulent apartment, the city lights a glittering backdrop to my dark thoughts. The phone call had been brief, anonymous, a whisper in the night. But the information it contained was a detonator, setting off a chain reaction within me. This wasn't just about acquiring Arnaldo; it was about eliminating the obstacle, removing Isabella from the equation. The thought sent a shiver of exhilaration down my spine, mingling with a chilling sense of dread.The plan formed in my mind, swift
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe week had been a blur of meticulously planned actions, each step designed to tighten the noose around Arnaldo Sy. My initial investment in SyCorp, while ultimately rejected by him personally, had still given me a small, yet strategically significant, stake in his company. It was a foothold, a tiny crack in his seemingly impenetrable world. Now, I was ready for the next phase.I returned to SyCorp’s headquarters, the familiar scent of polished wood and expensive coffee a constant reminder of my ambition. His secretary, a woman with eyes that missed nothing, greeted me with a polite, yet guarded smile."Mr. Sy isn't available at the moment, Ms. Holloway," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "However, he did leave this for you." She handed me a small, neatly folded piece of paper.It contained a single address: Willow Creek Park. My heart pounded a rapid tattoo against my ribs. He hadn't simply dismissed me; he'd lured me into a trap. A calculated, deliberate tra
MARGARET'S P. O. VThe next day. The polished mahogany of Arnaldo Sy’s office felt cold beneath my fingertips. I sat across from him, the scent of expensive leather and old money clinging to the air, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of resentment that coated my tongue. He looked… different here, stripped of the casual charm he exuded at Calista’s birthday party. He was all sharp angles and controlled power, his dark eyes assessing me with a cool detachment that both intrigued and infuriated me.I’d come prepared, a meticulously crafted presentation outlining my investment proposal for SyCorp. It was a substantial offer, enough to significantly boost the company’s bottom line. It wasn't about the money, of course. It was about leverage, a strategic foothold in his world, a means to an end.“Mr. Sy,” I began, my voice smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the tempest raging within me. “I believe SyCorp is on the verge of a significant breakthrough, and I’m eager to be a part o