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
CALISTA'S P. O. VDays bled into nights, a monotonous cycle of calculated seduction and fleeting intimacy. My strategy was working, I knew it. Niccolo's desire, his possessiveness, his obsession—I was using them all against him. But my confinement remained unchanged, my movements restricted to the confines of my room. Umuusad nga ang plano ko, pero hindi naman umuusad ang lagay ko sa bahay na 'to. He hadn't let me venture beyond the threshold, not even to explore the house. And it only means that it was high time for Plan B.That night, as I prepared for his arrival, I chose a different approach, a different tactic. The seductive costumes, the calculated vulnerability—they would be replaced by a different kind of manipulation, a different kind of appeal. I would play on his emotions, his insecurities, his possessiveness. I would use my vulnerability, my supposed love for him, to gain his trust, to secure my freedom.He arrived as expected, his eyes lingering on my body, his desire p
CALISTA'S P. O. VThe tears flowed freely, hot and stinging, a testament to my frustration, my anger, my despair. My carefully constructed plans, my meticulously crafted strategies—they had all failed. Niccolo’s suspicion, his anger, his rejection—they were all a crushing blow to my carefully constructed facade. Kung kailan iniisip ko na gumagana na ang lahat, kung kailan akala ko umuusad na 'yung plano ko. I had underestimated him, miscalculated his response, failed to anticipate his reaction. And now, I was paying the price.The pain wasn't just physical; it was emotional, a deep, aching wound that went beyond the bruises and the cuts. It was the pain of betrayal, the pain of rejection, the pain of being used, the pain of being discarded. He treated me as if I were nothing, as if I were disposable, as if I had no value, no worth. And the realization was a crushing blow, a bitter pill to swallow.My carefully constructed image, the seductive persona I had cultivated, had crumbled.
CALISTA'S P. O. VThe cold, hard floor had become my bed, my sanctuary, my symbol of defiance. Nights bled into days, a monotonous cycle of solitude and introspection. At sa bawat gabing lumipas ay dito na ako natutulog palagi sa sahig. Mula no'ng araw na sinimulan kong gawin 'tom. At mula rin no'ng nagkasagutan kami ni Niccolo, hindi na s'ya ulit pumunta pa rito sa kwartong 'to. And his absence was a heavy weight, a suffocating presence that filled the empty space in my life. His touch, his kiss, his presence—they were all distant memories now, fading echoes of a past intimacy.Alam ko na hindi ko dapat nararamdaman 'to. But what can I do? Paulit ulit na lang at pagod na pagod na rin akong i deny sa sarili ko ang katotohanan na may kakaibang dating pa rin talaga si Niccolo sa akin. There's still a part of him that I longed to have. To feel, to own. Pwede naman siguro akong maghiganti kahit may nararamdaman ako sa target ko, 'di ba? As long as I know my limitations and boundaries.
NICCOLO'S P. O. VA restless unease had been gnawing at me for days, a disquieting sense of emptiness that I couldn’t quite explain. Calista’s absence from my bed, her deliberate choice to sleep on the cold, hard floor—it had been a constant, nagging reminder of my own failings, my own shortcomings. Alam ko 'yon dahil mula no'ng nag away kami, walang araw na hindi ko s'ya pinupuntahan. Walang gabi na hindi ko tinitingnan kung okay lang ba s'ya. But I did it during those times that she's asleep. Ayokong maisip n'ya na naaapektuhan ako sa kanya. Well, yes I am. But I don't want to give her some reassurance, dahil ayokong isipin n'ya na ayos lang na disrespetuhin n'ya ako dahil hindi ko rin naman s'ya matitiis. It shouldn't be that f*cking way. The calculated seduction, the intoxicating passion—it had all been a game, a twisted, dangerous game that I had been playing, and yet, I found myself increasingly drawn to her, increasingly captivated by her resilience, her defiance. Alam ko na
CALISTA'S P. O. VThe scent of alcohol was unmistakable, a familiar tang that hung in the air, a subtle hint of expensive brandy. Niccolo was drunk, his senses dulled, his inhibitions lowered. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was my chance. My opportunity. My moment.Naisip kong gamitin ang kalasingan n'ya para mapapayag na s'ya sa mga gusto kong mangyari. And that's what I want. Having him drunk is a great advantage. Pero kahit anong pilit ko sa sarili ko, malakas ang pakiramdam ko na hindi ko 'yon magagawa. Hindi ko kayang gawin. “Wake up, kitty,” he slurred once again, his voice thick with alcohol, his touch gentle, his demeanor surprisingly tender. “Come back to your bed. Doon ka na ulit sa kama matulog, please. Do you want me to carry you?”The tears flowed freely, hot and stinging, a testament to my carefully constructed vulnerability, my calculated surrender. “S-Sorry,” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion, my body trembling. I threw my arms around him
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