Chapter 1 - The Poor Eldest Daughter Agreed to Humiliate a Five-Star General for ₱20 Million—Then the Man She Was Supposed to Seduce Walked Into the Room Half-Dressed and Asked Why She Couldn’t Stop Staring“ATEEEEE!”
The scream came from the living room with enough force to make Anya Villanueva nearly drop the kitchen knife.
She closed her eyes.
Counted to three.
It didn't help.
“Ate! Ayelle is fighting again!”
“Ate, can I have fifty pesos?”
“Ate! Aya slapped me!”
“Ateeeee!”
“What now?”
Anya shouted from the kitchen.
“Can all of you please survive for five minutes without starting a war?”
Silence lasted approximately two seconds.
Then seven-year-old Ayelle began wailing.
“Ate Aya hit me!”
“I did not hit her!” Aya yelled. “I pushed her hand because she was drawing on my assignment!”
“That is still hitting!”
“It is not!”
“Enough!”
Anya marched into the tiny living room of their rural home with a wooden spoon in one hand.
Six faces turned toward her.
Their house was barely large enough for the nine people who lived there.
The roof leaked during heavy rain.
Two bedroom walls were unfinished plywood.
The dining table had one leg shorter than the others and needed a folded piece of cardboard beneath it.
But it was home.
And whether she had chosen it or not, Anya was effectively its second mother.
At twenty-five, she was the eldest of seven children.
Yojee was seventeen and preparing for his final year of senior high school.
Aya was fifteen.
Twins Suie and Susie were fourteen.
Yana was ten.
Ayelle was seven.
And every one of them seemed convinced Anya had been placed on earth specifically to solve their problems.
Yojee appeared beside her.
“Ate?”
“What?”
“Fifty pesos?”
“For what?”
“Basketball.”
“You have legs. Basketball is free.”
“We're buying water.”
“There is water here.”
“At the plaza?”
“Come home thirsty.”
“Ate.”
Anya glared.
Yojee smiled.
That smile was unfair.
She reached into the pocket of her shorts and found a crumpled fifty-peso bill.
“Home before dark.”
“Yes!”
“If you're not home before dark, I will personally walk to the plaza, drag you home by your ear, and make you eat the basketball.”
Yojee kissed her cheek.
“I love you, Ate.”
“You love my fifty pesos.”
“That too.”
He disappeared.
Anya turned toward Aya.
“Apologize.”
“But—”
“Aya.”
The teenager sighed.
“Sorry, Ayelle.”
Ayelle stopped crying immediately.
“Okay.”
Anya stared.
“You were screaming like you had lost an arm.”
“She said sorry.”
Children.
She would never understand them.
The twins entered carrying a small sack.
“Ate! Look!”
“What?”
“We swept Aling Berta's yard.”
“She gave us rice!”
Anya smiled despite herself.
“Good. Put it near the kitchen.”
“Can we have fried bananas?”
“If there are bananas.”
“There are two.”
“For seven children?”
The twins considered.
“Very small pieces?”
Anya laughed.
“Wash yourselves.”
They ran outside toward the water pump.
For one beautiful second, the house became quiet.
Anya returned to the kitchen.
Her phone remained propped against an old thermos.
On the screen, her best friend Yunie Alcantara was laughing.
“You sound like a military commander.”
“Military commanders get paid.”
Anya resumed cutting string beans.
“I get headaches.”
“You love them.”
“Unfortunately.”
Yunie smiled.
She lived in Manila now.
Her family had money.
Serious money.
The kind Anya couldn't imagine without becoming angry.
Yunie and Anya had met at a scholarship program years earlier, and somehow the friendship survived the distance between their lives.
“When can you start?” Yunie asked.
Anya's knife stopped.
There it was.
The reason for the call.
“I still think you're joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Twenty million pesos?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Yunie hesitated.
Anya narrowed her eyes.
“You've explained everything except the part where this makes sense.”
“My grandmother is serious.”
“Your grandmother wants me to seduce your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“Still weird.”
Yunie sighed.
“Keegun is impossible.”
“So I've heard.”
“He's thirty-four. He has more medals than our house has windows. Every woman introduced to him either ends up crying or thinking she'll become Mrs. Alcantara.”
“And your grandmother thinks the solution is me?”
“She thinks he needs someone who won't worship him.”
Anya laughed.
“Then introduce him to a tax collector.”
“Anya.”
“What exactly does she want?”
Yunie lowered her voice.
“Make him fall for you.”
“And?”
“Then leave.”
Anya stopped cutting vegetables.
“That's cruel.”
“It's supposed to teach him.”
“Teach him what?”
“That women aren't disposable.”
Anya shook her head.
“You cannot fix an arrogant man by hiring another woman to emotionally damage him.”
“Twenty million.”
Anya became quiet.
She hated that the number worked.
Twenty million pesos.
Their father's farmland was mortgaged.
Their mother had untreated arthritis because specialist appointments cost money.
Yojee wanted engineering school.
Aya wanted to become a teacher.
The twins needed uniforms.
Yana had asthma.
Their roof needed replacing.
Anya worked as a municipal office clerk and accepted weekend bookkeeping jobs, yet every month ended the same way.
Nothing left.
Sometimes debt.
Twenty million wouldn't make them wealthy forever.
But properly managed?
It could change seven futures.
“Why me?” she whispered.
“Because Keegun saw you once.”
Anya frowned.
“When?”
“Video call last month.”
“What?”
“He asked who you were.”
Anya stared at Yunie.
“You never told me that.”
“He doesn't ask about women.”
“According to you, he asks about lots of women.”
“He doesn't ask their names.”
That was somehow worse.
Anya shook her head.
“No.”
“Anya.”
“No.”
“Just meet my grandmother.”
“No.”
“You don't have to agree.”
“That's how rich people trap poor people. First it's a meeting. Then suddenly you're signing something in a room with expensive curtains.”
Yunie laughed.
“Please.”
“No.”
Then Anya heard coughing outside.
Not ordinary coughing.
Her mother's.
Deep.
Persistent.
Anya put down the knife.
“Nanay?”
Her mother entered carrying vegetables with Yana beside her.
She looked exhausted.
Too exhausted.
Anya hurried over.
“You shouldn't have gone to the field.”
“We need money.”
“You were dizzy yesterday.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
Her mother smiled weakly.
“Because worrying doesn't buy medicine.”
The sentence hit Anya exactly where poverty always did.
Not in the stomach.
In dignity.
She looked at the phone.
Yunie was silent.
Twenty million pesos.
Anya hated the number.
Hated that it had become beautiful.
“Send me the details,” she said.
Yunie blinked.
“You'll meet her?”
“One meeting.”
Yunie smiled.
“One.”
Three days later, Anya stood inside a mansion in Makati wearing the nicest dress she owned.
It had cost 1,200 pesos three years earlier.
She suddenly hated every thread.
Yunie's grandmother, Doña Mercedes Alcantara, sat across from her.
Seventy-six.
Pearls.
Silver hair.
Eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“So,” Mercedes said, “you are Anya.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“You support seven siblings.”
“Six siblings. I'm one of the seven.”
Mercedes smiled.
“Good correction.”
Anya didn't smile.
“I want to understand why you're doing this.”
“My grandson is becoming his father.”
“What does that mean?”
“Powerful. Admired. Empty.”
Mercedes looked toward a framed military photograph.
General Keegun Alcantara stood among decorated officers.
Five stars.
Dress uniform.
Broad shoulders.
Expression carved from stone.
He looked like a man who considered smiling an inefficient use of facial muscles.
Mercedes continued.
“Women chase him because of his rank, family, money, face.”
“You forgot humility.”
Mercedes laughed.
“I like you.”
“I'm not applying for approval.”
“I like you more.”
Anya folded her hands.
“You want me to lie to him.”
“Yes.”
“Make him love me.”
“If you can.”
“And then hurt him.”
“Leave him before he leaves you.”
Anya stared.
“That's manipulation.”
“Yes.”
“At least you're honest.”
“Always when money is involved.”
Mercedes slid a folder across the table.
Anya didn't touch it.
“Ten million when he publicly acknowledges a serious relationship with you.”
“And the other ten?”
“When you leave him.”
Anya's stomach turned.
“You're paying more for the damage.”
“I am paying for completion.”
“No.”
Mercedes raised an eyebrow.
Anya stood.
“I came because my family needs money. That doesn't mean I stopped knowing right from wrong.”
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Five million.”
Anya stared.
“For?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“A scholarship fund for your siblings.”
“I don't take charity.”
“Then call it compensation for hearing an offensive proposal.”
Anya's jaw tightened.
Mercedes smiled.
“Now I understand why Yunie chose you.”
“Yunie didn't choose me. You did.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
Mercedes's expression changed.
“Because Keegun cannot buy you.”
Anya laughed bitterly.
“You're literally trying to buy me.”
“Yes.”
“And failing.”
Mercedes leaned back.
“Perhaps.”
Anya left.
She intended never to return.
Then, forty-eight hours later, her father collapsed in the field.
The hospital found a cardiac problem requiring surgery.
The estimated cost swallowed every peso Anya had saved and multiplied the debt beyond anything she could solve.
She sat in a hospital corridor at two in the morning.
Her mother cried quietly.
Yojee stared at the floor.
The younger children didn't fully understand.
Anya did.
Poverty had never frightened her because she believed enough work could defeat it.
That night she finally understood there were problems hard work could not outrun quickly enough.
At 2:17 a.m., she called Mercedes.
“I'll do it.”
Mercedes didn't celebrate.
“Are you certain?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Anya closed her eyes.
“I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
“My siblings' education is secured regardless of whether I succeed.”
“Agreed.”
“My father's surgery is paid as an advance against the contract.”
“Agreed.”
“No sex.”
Mercedes paused.
“That is between you and Keegun.”
“No. I'm saying I won't use sex to manipulate him.”
“Fine.”
“And if I decide this has gone too far, I leave.”
“You lose the remaining money.”
“I understand.”
Mercedes became quiet.
“Anya.”
“Yes?”
“Do not underestimate him.”
“I don't.”
“No.”
Mercedes's voice softened.
“I mean do not underestimate what happens if he genuinely loves you.”
Anya looked at her sleeping mother.
“That won't happen.”
The following Sunday, Yunie video-called Anya while she cooked.
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You start tomorrow.”
“How exactly does one begin seducing a five-star general?”
Yunie laughed.
“You're asking me?”
“You helped create this disaster.”
“He'll be at my place tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Family dinner.”
“I am not ready.”
“You're never ready.”
A door opened behind Yunie.
Anya looked up.
Then forgot the sentence she had been about to say.
A man walked into the room.
White sleeveless undershirt.
Gray summer shorts.
Bare feet.
Hard shoulders.
Defined abdomen.
A scar ran along one side of his ribs.
He looked older than his military photographs.
More dangerous.
More human.
Keegun Alcantara.
He opened the refrigerator.
Yunie turned.
“You're early.”
“Meeting ended.”
Then Keegun noticed the phone.
His gaze landed on Anya.
She immediately looked back at the string beans.
Too late.
“Who's that?”
Yunie smiled.
“Anya.”
Keegun stepped closer.
Anya could now see the exhaustion around his eyes.
“So you're Anya.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Apparently.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Apparently?”
“That's what people call me.”
Yunie covered her mouth to hide laughter.
Keegun leaned against the counter.
“You were staring.”
Anya nearly cut a bean in half with unnecessary violence.
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I was wondering why a decorated general doesn't own a shirt.”
Yunie choked.
Keegun stared at Anya.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
Low.
Brief.
Genuine.
Anya's heart did something deeply inconvenient.
Keegun looked toward the chaos behind her.
Ayelle ran past screaming.
Yojee shouted about missing slippers.
A pot lid crashed.
“What is happening there?”
“My normal life.”
“You always cook for everyone?”
“Someone has to.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Working.”
Keegun studied her.
Not flirtatiously.
That would have been easier.
He looked curious.
“What do you do?”
“Municipal clerk.”
“That's all?”
Anya's pride sharpened.
“No, General. I also cook, clean, tutor six children, do bookkeeping at night, stretch one chicken across nine people, and occasionally sleep.”
Keegun's expression changed.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
“No.”
He looked directly at her.
“I don't think you do.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Yunie announced:
“Anya is coming to Manila.”
Keegun looked at his sister.
“Why?”
“Training.”
Anya stared at Yunie.
Training?
Yunie improvised.
“Administrative training.”
Keegun looked back at Anya.
“Where?”
Yunie named one of the Alcantara family's companies.
Anya nearly groaned.
Keegun's gaze sharpened.
“My office building.”
“Apparently,” Anya said.
His mouth twitched.
“I'll see you tomorrow.”
The call ended.
Anya stared at the blank screen.
Yunie called back immediately.
“Oh my God.”
“I hate you.”
“He laughed!”
“I don't care.”
“Keegun does not laugh at women.”
“Maybe women don't insult him enough.”
Yunie grinned.
“Perfect.”
Anya felt sick.
This wasn't perfect.
Keegun had looked at her like a person.
That complicated everything.
Her father underwent surgery.
Mercedes paid the hospital directly.
Anya began a temporary administrative role at Alcantara Strategic Holdings in Manila.
Officially, she was assisting Yunie with a corporate social-responsibility project.
Unofficially, she was being paid to enter Keegun's life.
She hated every second.
Keegun made it worse by not behaving as advertised.
He wasn't charming.
He wasn't flirtatious.
He didn't parade women through his office.
He was demanding, disciplined, and almost painfully private.
Women approached him.
He usually escaped.
On Anya's third day, a famous television actress arrived unannounced.
Keegun told his assistant he was in a security briefing.
He was actually eating noodles in a conference room.
Anya found him there.
“You're hiding.”
“No.”
“You turned off the lights.”
“Energy conservation.”
She laughed.
“Womanizer.”
His fork stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“That's what people call you.”
“And you believe people?”
“Sometimes.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Keegun leaned back.
“What truth?”
“Are you?”
“A womanizer?”
“Yes.”
He thought.
“I've dated women.”
“That wasn't the question.”
“I've never promised marriage to anyone.”
“That also wasn't the question.”
Keegun smiled faintly.
“You interrogate generals often?”
“Only badly dressed ones.”
He looked at his uniform.
“This is formal service dress.”
“Today.”
Keegun laughed again.
The seduction was supposed to be easy.
It wasn't.
Because Anya discovered she didn't want to seduce Keegun.
She wanted to understand him.
That was more dangerous.
Weeks passed.
He learned about her family.
Not from investigators.
From her.
He sent books to Yojee.
Anya returned them.
He sent cheaper secondhand books.
She accepted those.
He learned Ayelle loved drawing.
A box of art supplies arrived.
Anya called him.
“Too expensive.”
“They're crayons.”
“They are imported crayons.”
“I didn't know crayons had social classes.”
“In my house, they do.”
He laughed.
He began calling at night.
Not to flirt.
To complain.
About politicians.
Ceremonies.
Men who wanted promotions.
His grandmother.
Anya listened.
Then complained about her siblings.
One night, Keegun asked:
“Why don't you date?”
Anya went still.
“Busy.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It's mine.”
“You don't want marriage?”
“No.”
“Children?”
“I already raised six.”
He became quiet.
“You resent them?”
“Never.”
“Then?”
Anya looked toward her sleeping sisters.
“I love them enough to know love can exhaust you.”
Keegun understood.
That scared her.
The contract waited in her locked drawer.
Ten million when he publicly acknowledged their relationship.
Twenty when she broke his heart.
Anya had received only her father's medical advance.
She told herself she could still stop.
Then her parents received foreclosure notice on the farm.
Old debt.
Interest.
Three weeks to pay.
Anya stared at the amount.
Nearly four million pesos.
That evening, Keegun invited her to a military charity gala.
“Why me?”
“Because Yunie is unavailable.”
Lie.
Yunie was very available.
Anya knew because Yunie had sent twelve messages demanding she wear the blue dress.
At the gala, Keegun wore full dress uniform.
Five stars gleamed.
Women stared.
Anya understood why.
He offered his arm.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They entered.
A reporter recognized Anya.
“General Alcantara, who is your companion?”
Keegun could have said colleague.
Family friend.
Guest.
Instead:
“Someone important to me.”
Anya's heart stopped.
Cameras flashed.
The contract condition had just been fulfilled.
Ten million pesos.
She should have felt relief.
Instead, she felt ashamed.
Later, on a balcony overlooking Manila, she confronted him.
“Why did you say that?”
“Because it's true.”
“Keegun.”
He looked at her.
“I think about you when you're not there.”
Anya couldn't breathe.
“I buy things and hear your voice telling me they're too expensive.”
She almost laughed.
“I see families and wonder whether Ayelle is still terrorizing your house.”
“She is.”
“I know your father's cardiology schedule.”
His voice softened.
“And when something happens, you're the person I want to tell.”
Anya looked away.
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know me.”
“I want to.”
“You might not like what you find.”
“Let me decide.”
Those words nearly destroyed her.
Let me decide.
Because that was exactly what she was stealing from him.
Keegun touched her face.
Stopped.
“May I?”
Anya should have said no.
Instead:
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Gentle.
Nothing like the calculated seduction she had imagined.
When they separated, Anya's eyes were wet.
Keegun frowned.
“Did I hurt you?”
That almost made it worse.
“No.”
“Then what?”
She couldn't tell him.
Not yet.
“I'm scared.”
“So am I.”
She stared.
“You?”
“Frequently.”
“You're a five-star general.”
“Stars don't cure stupidity.”
She laughed through tears.
Keegun smiled.
That night, Anya went home and opened the contract.
She stared at the twenty-million-peso figure.
Then she tore the document in half.
Her phone rang.
Mercedes.
Anya answered.
“I quit.”
Silence.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“The farm?”
“I'll find another way.”
“Your siblings?”
“I'll work.”
“Your father's bills?”
“I'll repay the advance.”
Mercedes became quiet.
“Why?”
Anya closed her eyes.
“Because he trusts me.”
A long pause.
Then Mercedes whispered:
“Oh, Anya.”
“What?”
“You've already fallen in love with him.”
Anya hung up.
She didn't sleep.
The next morning, Keegun arrived at her apartment.
Not smiling.
Not calling.
He held a copy of the contract.
Anya's blood turned cold.
“Keegun.”
He looked at the paper.
Then at her.
“Twenty million pesos.”
She couldn't speak.
His eyes were nothing like the man who had kissed her.
“Tell me this is fake.”
Anya's silence answered.
Keegun laughed once.
Broken.
“Of course.”
“Let me explain.”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much of me did you have to fake before you got paid?”
“Keegun—”
“The calls?”
“No.”
“The gala?”
“No.”
“The kiss?”
“No!”
“Then what was fake?”
“The beginning.”
His face tightened.
“That's enough.”
Anya stepped closer.
He stepped back.
That hurt more than shouting.
“I quit last night.”
“How noble.”
“I tore the contract.”
“After I fulfilled the first condition?”
She froze.
He knew everything.
“You got ten million when I publicly acknowledged you.”
“I haven't taken it.”
“Does that change why you entered my life?”
“No.”
“Did my grandmother hire you?”
Anya closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Keegun nodded.
Something inside him shut.
“Get out of my life.”
“Keegun.”
“Now.”
She cried.
He didn't touch her.
She left.
Three weeks later, Anya woke before dawn and ran to the bathroom.
She vomited.
Then again.
She blamed stress.
Then food.
Then exhaustion.
Until her period didn't come.
At the pharmacy, her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the box.
Two pink lines appeared.
Anya sat on the bathroom floor.
“No.”
She took another test.
Positive.
Then another.
Positive.
She covered her mouth.
The contract was gone.
The money was gone.
Keegun hated her.
And she was pregnant with the child of the man she had originally been paid to destroy.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part came thirty minutes later.
Someone slid an envelope beneath her apartment door.
Inside was a photograph of Keegun leaving the military headquarters.
A red circle had been drawn around his head.
Beneath it, one sentence:
IF YOU WANT YOUR GENERAL AND YOUR UNBORN CHILD TO LIVE, DO NOT TELL HIM WHO REALLY OFFERED THE TWENTY MILLION.
Anya stared at the message.
Because suddenly she understood something terrifying.
Mercedes Alcantara had not been the only person behind the contract.
May you like
And seducing Keegun had never been the real plan.
Someone had used Anya to get close enough to the nation's most powerful general to destroy him.
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