Chapter 5: The Real Start (Continuation)
The Past Never Stays Buried
"Do you take Sir Keyser Ace Delos Reyes as your beloved husband?"
The words hit him like a slap across the face.
Delos Reyes.
That name. That cursed name.
Crystan Villanueva sat frozen in his seat, his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the air in the cathedral turned ice cold. The room spun. The joyful murmurs of the guests faded into a low, dull ringing. All he could hear now was the echo of a name he had tried—no, forced himself—to forget.
Delos Reyes.
No. It couldn't be.
But then he looked at the groom, standing beside his daughter—his Ruby, his little girl who used to run to him with scraped knees and wide smiles. And in that young man's eyes, he saw something. Something familiar. Something dangerous.
A pair of dark eyes. Cold. Calculating. Piercing.
Exactly like his father's.
---
Years Ago
The hospital hallway reeked of antiseptic and despair. Late at night, it was almost silent—only the occasional beep from heart monitors, and the soft shuffling of nurses down the corridor. Crystan Villanueva had just finished a meeting with the board—something about investments, mergers, and shifting shares. His world was numbers, power, and convenience. He was climbing a ladder made of sacrifice.
That night, however, someone waited outside his office door.
"Crystan. Please."
The man looked desperate. His suit was wrinkled. Eyes bloodshot. His hands were trembling.
"Mateo Delos Reyes?" Crystan asked, brow furrowing. "What are you doing here?"
Mateo grabbed him by the arm. "My wife—she's in critical condition. The hospital's demanding upfront payment for the surgery. You have connections here. You can make the call, pull strings—anything—please. You owe me."
Crystan remembered the favor. Years ago, Mateo had saved his life. A business deal gone wrong, a fire, and Mateo pulled him from the wreckage. But things had changed. Crystan had grown—evolved. He couldn't afford sentiment. Not with the kind of image he was building.
"I'm sorry, Mateo," he said, pulling his arm free. "This isn't personal. I just can't get involved in this."
Mateo's voice cracked. "She's dying, Crystan. Dying."
Crystan adjusted his tie. "There are other hospitals. Try public ones. This is a private facility—I can't risk damaging my reputation."
"You monster," Mateo spat, tears brimming in his eyes. "You wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for me!"
Crystan didn't respond. He walked away.
By the time Mateo's wife was transferred to another hospital, it was too late. She died in transit.
Mateo disappeared after that.
Rumor had it he moved far away with his son. The boy was around ten at the time. Quiet. Always reading. Always watching.
Always remembering.
---
Present Day
Crystan's heart thundered in his chest as the priest said the final words.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Keyser turned. And when his eyes met Crystan's across the pews, Crystan knew.
That stare—it wasn't just cold.
It was intentional.
It was a message.
I remember you.
The crowd erupted in applause. Crystan didn't move. Couldn't. His hands gripped the sides of the wooden pew, knuckles white.
What have I done?
He felt like the air was being sucked from his lungs. Had he just handed his daughter over to the son of the man he betrayed?
Was this fate?
No. This was revenge—carefully orchestrated. Years in the making.
Ruby, his sweet innocent daughter, didn't know any of it. She didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire of a past he thought had died.
But now it was back.
And it wore a groom's suit.
As he watched his daughter walk down the steps of the cathedral with her new husband, luggage in hand, Crystan stood up. But his legs felt weak, as if guilt had finally come home to roost and wrapped itself around his spine.
I have to stop this. I have to—
But it was too late.
The car door closed.
The engine roared.
And his daughter was gone.
Gone with the boy who had every reason to hate him.