During my Cebu trip, after suddenly running into my ex-husband, I became weak… and ended up spending a warm, confusing night with him.Part 1: The Monsoon Night and the Man From My Past
Cebu welcomed me with a long, steady monsoon rain — thick, humid droplets falling as if they wanted to wash away all the exhaustion I had carried from Manila.
A three-day business trip, but truly, it was an escape.
An escape from the silent condo whose empty walls still clung to the loneliness left behind by my divorce three years ago.
Three years.
Long enough for wounds to close… yet never long enough for the dull ache to truly disappear.
My name is Ana — thirty-four, successful, independent.
But deep inside, my heart was still full of scars that never healed.
It was 11 PM.
I sat alone in the hotel bar, swirling a half-melted margarita.
Soft jazz blended with the sound of monsoon rain tapping against the glass, forming a mournful symphony.
“Ana?… Is that you?”
A warm, deep voice — so familiar it sent a chill down my spine — rose from behind me.
I didn’t turn immediately.
I was afraid it was an illusion.
That voice used to be my whole world… and the same voice had hurled the cruelest words at me the day we stood in court.
Slowly, I turned my chair.
It felt as if the world stopped.
Adrian.
My ex-husband.
He stood there in a navy tailored suit, a glass of red wine in his hand.
He looked even more handsome than before — refined, a hint of silver at his temples, and a calm intensity in his eyes.
“Adrian… what are you doing here?” I stammered.
Adrian smiled — that half-smile that once melted me.
He sat beside me, his sandalwood cologne drifting my way — still the same scent.
“I’m here to meet a client,” he said.
“What a coincidence. Three years… and you’ve become even more stunning.”
A casual compliment, yet my heart slipped.
We talked — polite questions about work and health at first, then slowly drifting into memories as the alcohol loosened the edges.
Adrian told me he had moved to Quezon City and that his real-estate investments were thriving.
He spoke of multi-million-peso projects, European trips, and the freedom of a successful single life.
“And you? Anyone new?”
His eyes locked on mine — burning.
I laughed softly.
“No. I’m busy… and once bitten, twice shy.”
He sighed, lifting his hand to lightly touch mine.
A jolt shot through me.
“Ana, I’m sorry. Back then… I was young and foolish. Too ambitious. I let you go. Not a single day in these three years passed without regret.”
I froze.
Adrian — the man who never apologized — now admitting fault?
The alcohol, the music, the loneliness of a strange city… it all blurred my judgment.
I allowed myself to believe what I wanted to believe:
That he still loved me.
That fate had brought us together for a second chance.
The second bottle of wine arrived.
He told me he missed our late-night talks, my cooking, the way I sat by the window while reading.
His words pieced together fragments of a shattered past.
By 1 AM, the bar was empty.
Adrian leaned close to my ear, his warm breath brushing my neck.
“It’s loud here. Do you… want to come to my room? We can talk more. I brought a really good bottle of Italian wine.”
I knew what that meant.
My mind told me to walk away.
But my heart — starving for affection — won.
“Okay.”
And I gambled what little pride I had left.
Part 2: A Night of Illusion
Adrian’s suite was on the top floor, overlooking the dim glow of Cebu’s old city.
As soon as the door closed, he kissed me — hungry, desperate, as if trying to make up for three lost years.
I answered with everything I had buried inside.
In the golden glow of the bedside lamp, we clung to each other.
Every barrier, every old resentment melted away.
Adrian whispered my name — whispered love, longing.
“Ana… I missed you… Don’t leave me again…”
Those words shattered the last walls inside me.
I held him tightly, tears sliding onto the pillow.
I pictured our reconciliation, a mature second chance.
After the passion faded, Adrian — drunk — fell asleep quickly.
I lay beside him, staring at the familiar features I once knew so well.
I brushed his hair gently.
Maybe fate really had given me another chance.
Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle.
The clock neared 3 AM.
Suddenly Adrian stirred.
He frowned and mumbled.
I smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead.
And then—
His words became clear.
“Yeah… yeah…” he slurred, as if holding a phone.
I assumed he was dreaming about work.
“Don’t worry…”
His voice was thick, broken.
“She… she took the bait… that idiot…”
My smile froze.
“Bait”?
“Idiot”?
Who was he talking about?
He continued, a twisted smirk pulling at his lips.
“The contract… future… once she signs, I get the money… her house… that house is perfect…”
Then a laugh — ugly, sly:
“Three years… still stupid… thought I wanted her back? Keep dreaming…”
My blood turned to ice.
Every word stabbed my chest.
“She took the bait…”
“Her house…”
“Thought I loved her…”
I sat up straight, covering my mouth to stop the scream rising in my throat.
This wasn’t fate.
This wasn’t love.
This was a trap.
My mind raced.
Earlier at the bar, he’d asked too many questions about my job, my house, my finances.
And just a week ago, I had posted online about selling my Manila townhouse — worth a fortune.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Part 3: The Naked Truth
To confirm my worst fear, I grabbed Adrian’s phone from the nightstand.
It was locked.
But I remembered — he always used his mother’s birth year.
1-9-6-2.
Click.
Unlocked.
I opened the messages.
WhatsApp.
The most recent chat was at 10 PM — right before he met me at the bar.
With someone named “Brother Ramil.”
Ramil:
“Bro, you sure your ex-wife is at that hotel? My guys checked — she’s in room 1205.”
Adrian:
“Yeah bro. I see her at the bar now. Still looking good. Just give me one more week. Tonight I’ll reel her in. Tomorrow I’ll sweet-talk her into lending money. She’s emotional. A little acting and she’ll buy everything.”
Ramil:
“You better get that 2 million pesos by tomorrow or I’ll break your hands.”
Adrian:
“Relax bro. She’s selling her townhouse. Big cash. I’ll get her to sign a loan contract or transfer money. She still thinks I’m some big real-estate tycoon hahaha.”
The phone slipped from my hand.
Not loud enough to wake him — but loud enough to shatter my soul.
I stared at Adrian.
This useless gambler.
This parasite.
This man who planned to use me to pay off his debt — to a criminal.
I felt sick.
At him.
At myself.
Everything from hours earlier now felt rotten, filthy.
I ran to the bathroom, scrubbing my skin until it burned.
When I finally dressed and stood before the mirror, the woman staring back had cold, sharp eyes.
No softness left.
I walked out.
Adrian was still sleeping — smiling in his dream.
I took all the cash I had — around ₱6,000 — and threw it on him.
The bills scattered over his chest and face.
I picked up my lipstick and wrote on the giant mirror:
“My money is for dignity — not for buying a cheap gigolo like you. Wake up, Adrian.”
I took screenshots of the messages and sent them to myself.
Then I deleted them from his phone.
Let him wake up blind.
Let him face his debt shark alone.
Part 4: Sunrise Without You
At 4 AM, I dragged my suitcase out of the suite and out of the hotel.
The rain had stopped.
The Cebu air was crisp, cooling my cheeks — waking me fully.
I took a taxi straight to the airport and changed my ticket to the earliest flight back to Manila.
On the plane, watching Cebu disappear under the morning mist, I didn’t cry.
My last tears had gone down the hotel drain.
I blocked Adrian’s number.
Deleted everything.
When he woke up, he would see the cash thrown on him, the words on the mirror, and he would know:
The “stupid prey” had escaped.
And he would face Ramil alone, with no lifeline left.
That was his price.
As for me — last night was a mistake, but a necessary one.
Like a vaccine — painful, but giving immunity.
The plane broke through the grey clouds into a sky filled with blazing sunrise.
I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
When I woke up, I would be the Ana of the present — stronger, wiser, and never looking back.
Goodbye, Adrian.
Goodbye, cheap illusion.