Aiah sets her champagne flute down on the marble counter and checks her phone for the third time in five minutes. No messages. Maloi texted twenty minutes ago saying she was parking, and Stacey sent a thumbs-up emoji that could mean anything. The penthouse feels too quiet, the city humming beyond the glass like it always does, and she realizes she's been holding her shoulders tight since she poured the first glass.

She doesn't usually drink. Not a big fan of hangovers. Not a big fan of clubs either, or loud places, or anything that makes her feel out of control. But tonight she needs something to soften the edges of what she's about to say, so she fills the flute again and takes a slow sip. The bubbles sting her nose. She grimaces.

The door clicks open and Maloi's voice fills the space before her body does.

"Traffic was hell, I brought pizza because I love you and I know you haven't been eating properly. Also, I brought whiskey because, duh? I love me—" Maloi stops mid-sentence, taking in the champagne flute in Aiah's hand, the half-empty bottle on the counter. "Wait. Are you drinking? On a Tuesday?"

Aiah sets the glass down a little too carefully. "It's been a week."

"A week of what?" Maloi kicks off her shoes by the door and carries the pizza box and whiskey bottle to the kitchen island. "You never drink. The last time I saw you drink was—" She pauses, her hands freezing over the pizza box. "Oh. No. We're not talking about that."

"We're not talking about anything yet," Aiah says. "Stacey's on her way."

Maloi's eyebrows rise. "So this is a formal thing. You're gathering the troops. Should I be scared?"

"Just hungry. Put the pizza on the coffee table. I'll get plates."

They move around each other in the kitchen with the ease of people who've done this a thousand times. Maloi talks about a new artist her label signed, about how her mom keeps asking when she's going to find a nice girl and settle down. Aiah listens, nods, says "that's good" and "really?" at the right moments, but her mind keeps drifting to the folder in her bedroom drawer. The copy of the marriage agreement.

She wonders if she should have just told them at the jazz bar after all. Their favorite booth, the one in the corner with the good lighting. A round of drinks. Casual announcement. But she knows how they'll react. She needs walls around her when they do.

The door clicks again, and Stacey walks in holding a bottle of Coke and a paper bag.

"I brought the good stuff," Stacey announces, setting the bag down on the counter. "Two boxes of mozzarella sticks because I know you both have been lying about your diets."

Maloi gasps and rushes over. "You're an angel. A goddess. I'm naming my firstborn after you."

"Please don't. I don't want that responsibility." Stacey leans in and kisses Aiah's cheek, then Maloi's. "So. What's the occasion? You said urgent but not emergency. That's a specific category."

Aiah shrugs, reaching for a mozzarella stick. "Can't I just want to see my two favorite people?"

"You can," Stacey says slowly, settling onto the leather couch. "But you also texted 'urgent but not emergency' at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday, which means you've been thinking about this for days. So. Spill."

"Let's at least feed our tummies first."

They settle into their usual positions—Aiah in the corner of the couch, Maloi sprawled across the middle, Stacey cross-legged on the other end. The pizza box opens, the mozzarella sticks get distributed, and for a few minutes the only sounds are chewing and the occasional hum of approval.

"So," Maloi says through a mouthful of pizza. "How's work? Still running the whole company while your dad pretends he's still in charge?"

"He's not pretending," Aiah says. "He's just... easing me in slowly."

"Slowly meaning you're doing all the work and he's taking all the credit."

"That's not—" Aiah stops, sighs. "It's fine. The quarterly reports are done. We're expanding into the Visayas region. Nothing exciting."

Stacey snorts. "You say that as if you didn't close a deal worth half a billion pesos last month."

"It wasn't half a billion."

"It was close enough."

Maloi wipes her fingers on a napkin and reaches for the whiskey bottle. "Speaking of deals, my label is releasing a new album next month and I'm terrified. Like, genuinely terrified. What if no one streams it? What if the critics hate it? What if I've been wrong about this artist the whole time and I'm about to tank my company's reputation?"

"You've been wrong before," Stacey says. "You survived."

"But this one is different. This artist is—" Maloi gestures vaguely. "She's special. I don't want to mess this up."

Aiah watches her friend's face, the way Maloi's usual confidence flickers at the edges. "You won't mess it up. You never do."

"That's sweet, but you have to say that. You're my best friend."

"I'm also a businesswoman. If I thought you were going to fail, I'd tell you to diversify."

Maloi laughs, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Okay, fair. But can we please not talk about work for the rest of the night? I came here to decompress, not to spiral."

Stacey reaches for a mozzarella stick. "Fine. Let's talk about something else. Anything interesting happen this week? Anyone meet anyone?"

The question hangs in the air. Aiah feels her chest tighten.

Maloi leans back against the couch cushions. "Honestly? Sometimes I think about settling down. Like, actually settling down. Finding someone who doesn't annoy me after three dates."

"That's a low bar," Stacey says.

"You'd be surprised how many people can't clear it."

"I don't know." Stacey swirls her Coke. "I think the idea of settling down is romanticized. People act like it's the end goal, but it's really just the beginning of a whole new set of problems."

"That's cynical, even for you."

"Nah. I'm just being realistic here. Marriage is a business arrangement at the end of the day. You're merging your life with someone else's, and if the terms aren't right, you're stuck."

Aiah's fingers tighten around her glass. This is it. This is the opening. She should say something now, turn the conversation, but the words stick in her throat.

Maloi hums thoughtfully. "I don't know. I think there's something nice about having a person. Someone who's yours. Someone who sees you at your worst and still chooses you."

"That's the romantic version," Stacey says. "The realistic version is someone who sees your worst and decides they can tolerate it because the tax benefits are good."

"You're terrible."

"I'm practical."

Aiah sets her glass down. Her hands are shaking, just slightly. She hopes they don't notice. "What if I told you I'm getting married?"

The room goes quiet. Maloi's pizza slice freezes halfway to her mouth. Stacey's eyes narrow.

"Funny," Stacey says. "You almost sounded serious."

"I am serious."

Maloi laughs, but it's uncertain. "To who? You haven't even mentioned dating anyone. The last time you—" She stops. The air shifts. "Oh. Oh no."

"It's not what you think," Aiah says quickly. "It's not—it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Stacey's voice has gone flat. "Because the last time we talked about you and marriage, you said you never wanted to think about it again. You said you were done with that whole part of your life."

Maloi reaches out and touches Aiah's knee. "Aiah. What's going on?"

Aiah takes a breath. "I need to show you something."

She stands, walks to her bedroom, and her friends' eyes follow her the whole way. The folder is where she left it, tucked under a stack of notebooks. She pulls it out and holds it for a moment, feeling the weight of it in her hands. This piece of paper that changed everything. This promise she made without really understanding what it meant.

When she walks back into the living room, Maloi and Stacey are sitting very still, watching her.

"What is that?" Maloi asks quietly.

Aiah hands her the folder. "Read it."

Maloi opens it, her eyes move faster than Stacey's, scanning line after line, and then she stops. Her mouth falls open. She flips to the second page, then the third, and Aiah watches the color drain from her face.

"Aiah." Maloi's voice comes out strangled. "What the fuck is this?"

Stacey snatches the folder from her hands and reads it herself, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing with every line. She gets through two pages before she looks up, and the expression on her face is one Aiah has only seen a handful of times—the look Stacey gets when she's about to burn something down.

"Tell me this is a joke," Stacey says, her voice dangerously calm. "Tell me this is some elaborate prank and the real document is in your drawer and this is just a fake you made to mess with us."

"It's not a joke."

"Then what is it? Because this—" Stacey waves the folder in the air, the papers rustling loudly. "This is a marriage contract. A marriage contract between you and Mikha. Mikha Lim, Aiah. As in, the Mikha Lim. The one who gets kicked out of hotels for throwing furniture. The one who made headlines for punching a photographer. That Mikha Lim."

Maloi lets out a string of curses, pressing both hands against her forehead like she's trying to keep her skull from splitting open. "Tangina. Tangina, tangina, tangina. Aiah, what the hell were you thinking? Why would you—" She stops, her eyes going wide. "Wait. Is this because of the company? Did your parents—"

"My parents didn't force me." Aiah picks up her champagne flute and takes a slow sip. "They asked. I said yes."

"You said yes to marrying Mikha." Stacey's voice rises. "The woman who has probably slept with half of Manila. The woman who literally cannot go a month without some scandal breaking. The woman whose friends are—"

She stops mid-sentence. The realization hits her, and Aiah watches it happen—the way Stacey's face goes pale, then red, then complicated and dark.

"Jhoanna," Stacey says flatly. "Mikha's best friend is Jhoanna."

Maloi's head snaps toward her. "And Colet." She turns to Aiah, her eyes wide with horror. "Aiah. Please tell me you did think about this. Please tell me you at least considered the fact that you're about to marry into the inner circle of the two people we hate most in this world."

Aiah sets her glass down carefully. "I thought about it."

"And you did it anyway?" Stacey demands.

"Yes."

Stacey throws her hands up in the air. "I can't—I genuinely cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. Of all the people in the world, Aiah. Of all the heiresses, all the business owners, all the eligible women in this entire country, you chose to marry the one person whose best friends are my ex-girlfriend and your other best friend's rival. Do you hear how insane that sounds?"

"I didn't choose her," Aiah says quietly. "Her parents chose me."

Silence.

"What do you mean, her parents chose you?" Maloi asks slowly.

Aiah takes a breath. She's known this moment was coming since she walked out of the Lim estate. She's rehearsed this conversation a dozen times in her head, trying to find the right words, the right order, the right way to make them understand without making them worry. But now that she's here, sitting on her own couch with her two best friends staring at her like she's grown a second head, all her rehearsals feel useless.

"Last week," she begins, "my father told me the Lims had reached out to him. They asked for a meeting, just the two families. And when we met—" She pauses, remembering the Mr. Lim's office room, the careful way he had poured tea, the way Mrs. Lim had kept her hands folded in her lap like she was holding herself together. "They told us about Mikha. About how they don't know what to do with her anymore. About how she's been sabotaging their company, selling shares, making deals against their interests. About how they've tried everything—therapists, interventions, cutting her off financially—and nothing works."

"So their solution is to marry her off?" Stacey's voice drips with disbelief. "That's their big plan? Find someone to babysit her?"

"They think I can tame her." Aiah says, it tastes strange in her mouth. "They think I'm the right person to calm her down, to keep her in line, to make her behave."

Maloi stares at her. "And you agreed to this? You, Aiah Arceta, the most sensible person I know, agreed to be someone's babysitter for the rest of your life?"

"It's not babysitting. It's a merger."

"Oh, that makes it so much better," Stacey says sarcastically. "A marriage merger. Because that's not completely insane."

"The Lims are offering Arceta Corp. favorable merger terms," Aiah continues, her voice steady even as her hands tremble slightly in her lap. "Access to their distribution networks. A board seat. Our company would grow in ways we've never been able to achieve on our own. And in exchange, I marry Mikha and keep her from destroying her family's legacy."

"So you're selling yourself," Stacey says flatly. "You're selling yourself to the Lims for a business deal."

"I'm making a choice."

"A choice you didn't have to make." Maloi leans forward, her eyes searching Aiah's face. "Aiah, for sure tito Eduardo said you could decline. He always say that your happiness matters more than anything. So why? Why would you say yes to this?"

Aiah looks down at her hands. She thinks about her father's face when he pushed the document across the dining table, the way his hands had trembled slightly. She thinks about her mother's worried eyes, the way Carmen had reached for her. She thinks about the weight of the debt, the years of loyalty, the unspoken obligation that has always hung over their family.

"Because we owe them," she says quietly. "The Lims saved our company when we were about to go under. My father built everything we have because they gave him a chance when no one else would. And I know—I know we've paid back the money, I know we don't owe them anything financially. But it's not about money. It's about loyalty. It's about the fact that when my father needed help, they were there. And now they're asking for help, and I can't—" She stops, swallowing hard. "I can't say no. Not when I have the power to do something about it."

"But Aiah—" Maloi starts.

"I know what you're going to say." Aiah's voice is gentle but firm. "I know you're going to tell me I'm being stupid, that I'm sacrificing myself for people who don't deserve it, that I should think about my own happiness for once. And you're right. You're probably right. But I don't have anything to lose here. That's the point."

Stacey shakes her head slowly. "You're insane. You're actually insane. Do you know what Mikha is like? I mean, really like? I've seen her at parties, Aiah. I've watched her kiss random women—even the ones that are taken, which, by the way, always ends up in a fight. I've seen her make grown men cry with just her words. She's not just chaotic—she's destructive. She's the kind of person who burns bridges just to watch the fire."

"Okay."

"Okay? You're marrying her."

"Yes."

Stacey throws her hands up again. "You literally lost your mind. Oh my gosh."

Aiah reaches for her champagne flute and takes another sip. The bubbles sting her nose again, but she doesn't grimace this time. She's getting used to it. "Please strop stressing about it. It's done. I already gave them my word."

The silence that follows is heavy, thick with everything they're not saying. Aiah can feel them watching her—Maloi's worried eyes, Stacey's frustrated gaze—and she knows they want to argue, want to convince her to change her mind. But they also know her. They know that once Aiah sets her mind to something, there's no moving her.

"Okay," Maloi finally says, her voice softer now. "Okay. If you're really doing this—and I still think you're insane, but if you're really doing this—then we need to talk about what happens next. What's the plan? Where are you going to live? What about your job? Are you just going to—"

"I'm still gonna do my job, of course," Aiah says. "And we're going to live in one roof."

Maloi facepalms.

Stacey shakes her head, still couldn't believe it.

"I'll be fine," Aiah assures them. And herself.

She thinks about Mikha's face—the fury in her dark eyes, the way her jaw had been clenched so tight. She thinks about the way Mikha threw the mug on the wall so hard. She thinks about the words Mikha had whispered to her. She knows she should tell them. She knows her friends deserve to know the truth about what they're sending her into. But she also knows that if she tells them, they'll never let her go through with it. They'll stage an intervention, lock her in her room, do whatever it takes to keep her away from Mikha, the marriage agreement, the company merge.

So she doesn't tell them.

Stacey leans back against the couch, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "I need a fucking drink."

Maloi pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one to Stacey, who takes it and downs half of it in one gulp. Maloi takes a smaller sip of hers, her eyes still fixed on Aiah.

"I just don't understand," Maloi says quietly, starting the conversation again hoping it might change Aiah's mind. "Of all the people in the world, why Mikha? Why not someone who would actually be good to you? Someone who would love you?"

"I don't want love," Aiah says. The words come out flatter than she intended. "I don't want commitment. I don't want any of that. You know that."

"I know what you said after Mingyu." Maloi's voice is gentle, careful. "But that was years ago, Aiah. You can't let one person ruin your whole idea of love."

"It's not about Mingyu." Aiah's fingers tighten around her glass. "It's about me. I don't want to be vulnerable like that again. I don't want to give someone that much power over me. And this—" She gestures at the folder still clutched in Stacey's hand. "This is safe. It's business. It's a contract with clear terms and a clear end goal. There's no room for feelings. No room for heartbreak. Just two people doing what they need to do."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard," Stacey says, not unkindly. "You're marrying someone you don't love because you're afraid of getting hurt."

"I'm marrying someone because it's the right thing to do for my family." Aiah meets her eyes. "And if I happen to be immune to heartbreak in the process, that's a bonus."

Stacey shakes her head but doesn't argue. She refills her glass instead, and Aiah watches the amber liquid rise to the rim.

"I still can't believe you're marrying into Jhoanna's circle," Stacey mutters, taking another sip. "Of all the people in the world."

Maloi groans. "Don't remind me. Colet is going to be at the wedding. I'm going to have to see her face."

"You'll survive."

"Will I though? She's going to look at me with that stupid smug expression she always has, and I'm going to want to punch her."

"Please don't punch anyone at my wedding." Aiah's voice is dry. "I'd like to have at least one event that doesn't end in chaos."

"That's rich coming from someone marrying chaos itself."

Aiah can't help the small laugh that escapes her. "Fair point."

The tension in the room eases slightly. Maloi reaches for a slice of pizza, Stacey refills her glass, and for a moment they're just three friends on a Tuesday night, eating junk food and talking about life. Aiah lets herself breathe. This is what she needed. This is why she called them.

"So," Maloi says, her mouth full of pizza. "What's Mikha like? I mean, actually like. Not the tabloid version."

Aiah considers the question. She thinks about the woman who had burst into the Lims' office. She thinks about the way Mikha had looked at her—all fury and fire.

"I don't know yet," Aiah admits. "I only met her once. She was angry. Understandably so. Her parents basically sold her off without asking her opinion."

"She defintely yelled, right?" Stacey asks.

"Yeah." Aiah sighs. "But I can understand why she's upset. She didn't ask for this. Neither of us did."

"But you're going along with it," Maloi points out. "She's not."

"She signed the document."

"Under duress."

"Signed is signed." Aiah's voice is firm. "We're engaged. In three months, we're getting married. And I'm going to do everything I can to make this work."

"Even if she doesn't want to?"

Aiah is quiet for a moment. She thinks about Mikha's whispered promise, the dark certainty in her voice. She thinks about the months ahead, the marriage, the life they're supposed to build together. She doesn't know how any of it is going to work. But she knows one thing for sure.

"Even if she doesn't want to," Aiah says. "Never once did I break my word. You know that."

The night stretches on. Stacey and Maloi finish the whiskey between them, their voices growing louder and more slurred as the hours pass. They talk about everything and nothing—about Maloi's label, about Stacey's latest collection, about the ridiculousness of arranged marriages in the twenty-first century. Aiah listens, occasionally contributing, but mostly just watching them with a fondness that makes her chest ache.

"I just don't get it," Stacey says for what feels like the hundredth time, her words running together slightly. "Jhoanna. Of all the people. She had to be best friends with the woman you're marrying."

"You can't control who your friends are," Aiah says.

"I can. I don't have friends." Stacey gestures at Maloi and Aiah. "Except you two. And you're both terrible."

"We're the best," Maloi corrects, her head lolling against the couch cushions. "We're the best friends anyone could ask for."

"You're the worst."

"But you love us."

Stacey is quiet for a moment. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Yeah. I do. Even though you're both idiots who make terrible life decisions."

"Hey," Maloi protests. "I haven't made any terrible decisions lately."

"You signed a new artist who's literally never performed live."

"She's talented!"

"She's a risk."

"Risks are what make life exciting."

"That's exactly the kind of thinking that leads to marrying Mikha." Stacey points at Aiah. "Look at her. She took a risk and now she's engaged to a chaos demon."

Aiah laughs despite herself. "I'm not a risk-taker. I'm the opposite of a risk-taker."

"Then why are you doing this?"

The question circles around like that for hours now. Maloi asks why. Stacey asks why. Like if they continue asking the same thing, it would rack Aiah's brain and finally back out. It didnt't. But Aiah still response because her friends are drunk and she loves them.

Now, she lets the question hang in the air. Yes, she has an answer, but it's not one she wants to say out loud. Because the truth is, she doesn't really know why she said yes. She tells herself it's for her family, for the company, for loyalty and obligation and all the other noble reasons she's been repeating to herself since that night in the dining room. But sometimes, in the quiet moments when she's alone in her penthouse, she wonders if there's something else within her. Something darker. Something that wants to prove she can handle this. That she can walk into the fire and come out unscathed.

"Because I can," she says finally. It's not the whole truth, but it's not a lie either.

Stacey squints at her, clearly not satisfied with the answer. But she's too drunk to push further, and she lets it go with a grunt, reaching for the last slice of pizza.

By midnight, Maloi is sprawled across the couch, her head on Aiah's lap, her mouth slightly open as she snores softly. Stacey is curled up on the other end, her pink hair fanned out across the cushions, her glass of whiskey still clutched in her hand even though it's been empty for an hour.

Aiah looks at them and feels the warmth spread through her chest. These two. Her people. The ones who have been with her through everything—through Mingyu, through her parents' expectations, through every crisis and triumph. And she doesn't know what she'd do without them.

"I love you guys," she says softly, even though they can't hear her.

Maloi stirs, her eyes fluttering open. "I love you," she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. "Even if you're marrying a monster."

"She's not a monster."

"She is, just like her fucking best friend Colet."

Aiah doesn't argue. She just strokes Maloi's hair gently.

Stacey shifts, mumbling something in her sleep. Aiah catches Jhoanna's name, followed by a string of curses, and she smiles sadly.

Some wounds take longer to heal than others. Some never heal at all.

"Come on," Aiah says softly, nudging Maloi. "Let's get you to bed."

"Mmhmm." Maloi doesn't move.

"Maloi."

"Five more minutes."

"You're going to get a crick in your neck."

"Worth it."

Aiah sighs, but she's smiling. She manages to coax Maloi upright, then she walks to Stacey to help her sit too. She guides them toward the bedroom. Her bed is huge, it easily fits all three of them. Maloi collapses onto the middle, immediately burrowing into the pillows. Stacey flops down on the other side, her legs tangling with Maloi's.

Aiah climbs in on the other end, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. She can feel the weight of her friends around her, the familiar comfort of their presence. This is home. This has always been home.

Stacey shifts, and suddenly there's an arm across Aiah's waist, a leg thrown over hers. She's somehow managed to stretch across Maloi and reach Aiah on the other side like a starfish.

Maloi just hums, numb from liqour.

"You're heavy," Aiah says.

"Shut up." Stacey's voice is muffled against the pillow. "I love you."

"I love you, Staks."

"I love you both," Maloi adds, her voice sleepy. "Even when you steal the covers."

"You steal the covers more than I do," Stacey counters.

"Lies."

"Slander."

Aiah laughs quietly. "Go to sleep before you wake the neighbors."

"There are no neighbors," Stacey mumbles. "You bought the whole floor."

"Then go to sleep before you wake the city."

Maloi hums contentedly. "Goodnight, world."

Aiah closes her eyes and lets the darkness settle around her. She can feel the warmth of her friends on either side, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the familiar weight of their love. She thinks about the folder on the coffee table, the marriage contract that's about to change everything.

She doesn't know what's coming. She doesn't know if she's strong enough to handle it. But she knows one thing for sure: she's not alone. And maybe—just maybe—that's enough.