The Poor Cleaner’s Baby Wouldn’t Stop Crying… Until the Billionaire Held Her — Part 2 (Philippines Version)
The marble halls of the Villamor Estate in Ayala Alabang had never felt so heavy.
Maria Santos stood frozen near the service corridor, clutching her daughter tightly against her chest. Baby Althea was still crying softly now, her tiny body restless, her eyes searching beyond Maria’s shoulder — searching for him.
Across the hallway, Adrian Villamor stood motionless, the silver medal still burning in his palm.
The letters engraved on it were unmistakable.
A.B.
Only one person in the world had ever worn that medal.
Anton Bautista.
His best friend.
His brother in every way except blood.
The man who had died in a violent accident two years ago — or so everyone believed.
Maria felt it in her bones. She had known this moment would come someday.
When Denise Mercado, Adrian’s long-time legal advisor, walked in with sharp heels and sharper eyes, the air shifted.
“What is going on here?” Denise demanded.
Adrian did not answer her. His attention remained fixed on the baby who had gone silent only in his arms.
Denise’s gaze slid toward Maria.
“And why,” she asked coolly, “is an employee’s child allowed in the main hall?”
“She was crying,” Adrian said calmly. “She stopped when I held her.”
Denise’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”
She stepped closer, studying the child too carefully.
Maria felt instinctively protective. She tightened her hold on Althea.
“She is my daughter,” Maria said quietly but firmly.
Denise smiled — but there was no kindness in it.
“That remains to be seen.”
That night, Adrian could not sleep.
He sat alone in his study, lights off, only the glow of his phone illuminating the room.
On the screen was an old photo.
Two young men in college uniforms, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing like the world could never touch them.
Adrian Villamor and Anton Bautista.
Around Anton’s neck hung the same silver medal.
“I’ll name my daughter Althea someday,” Anton had once said.
“Because it means healing.”
Adrian swallowed hard.
Anton had died protecting him.
Or at least, that’s what the report said.
The next morning, Denise confronted Maria directly.
“You knew who he was, didn’t you?” she said sharply.
Maria did not answer.
“You knew exactly what that medal meant.”
Silence.
“That child,” Denise continued coldly, “could become a complication.”
Maria finally looked up.
“She is not a complication,” she said softly. “She is all I have.”
Denise studied her for a long moment.
Then she turned and walked away.
That afternoon, Adrian called Maria into the dining room.
The long table felt too big. Too formal.
He spoke quietly.
“Tell me the truth.”
Maria’s hands trembled. Her eyes filled.
She told him everything.
About Anton.
About the night of the accident.
About the months she spent alone afterward.
About how she hid when she discovered she was pregnant.
About how she had taken the cleaning job not knowing whose house it was.
When she finished, the room was silent.
Adrian’s voice was barely audible.
“She is his.”
Maria nodded.
“Yes.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
Then he stood.
“Then she stays.”
Denise protested.
“This is unwise. Dangerous. Legally and reputationally.”
Adrian’s voice was calm.
But final.
“You’re dismissed, Denise.”
The room froze.
She stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re choosing a cleaner and a child over—”
“I am choosing family,” he said.
Security escorted her out that very day.
The house changed after that.
Maria and Althea were given a bright room with sunlight and flowers.
Not a staff room.
A real room.
Adrian did not hover.
But he was always there.
Althea’s first smile — for him.
Her first laugh — when he walked in.
Her first word?
“Da…”
Not Mama.
Not Tita.
Da.
Maria cried when she heard it.
So did Adrian.
One afternoon in the garden…
Althea wobbled on tiny legs, the silver medal swinging against her chest.
Adrian knelt with open arms.
“Come here, anak…”
She toddled toward him.
Fell.
Got up again.
And then finally, she reached him.
He caught her. Held her tightly. Pressed his forehead to hers.
For the first time in two years…
The pain in his chest loosened.
Because somehow…
In the child Anton never got to raise…
Life had given Adrian a second chance to love.