𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗨𝗡𝗪𝗘𝗗 [ 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ]
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 6
"My baby, my baby
You're my baby, say it to me
Baby, my baby
Tell your baby that I'm your baby
I bet on losing dogs
I know they're losing, and I'll pay for my place by the ring
Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down
I'll be there on their side
I'm losing by their side"
—ɪ ʙᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ʟᴏsɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɢs ʙʏ ᴍɪᴛsᴋɪ
CHAPTER 6
My baby, my world.
"UGH...What...Where...?" Mikhail groggily woke, throat seared with raw pain and lungs aching like they'd been crushed. The air was damp, heavy, too familiar.
The cellar. The one meant to be his and Grace's home.
His eyes darted around. Barrels lined the walls, dust settled on old furniture, and a rusted toolbox lay cracked open in the corner. But the warmth they once dreamed of never came. It was cold, quiet, and mercilessly still.
He tried to move, only to wince. His arms and legs were tightly bound, every twist biting into swollen flesh. His entire body throbbed with the dull memory of fists and boots from earlier. He'd already been beaten hard.
Still, he fought the ropes, breath shaky, mouth dry with blood. The chair scraped the ground as he thrashed. Until finally-
Thud!
He toppled over, the impact jarring his ribs. He laid there, panting, helpless.
Time passed. An hour? Two? The cellar light never changed. His thoughts spun. Grace. The tree. The letter.
Had she waited? Did she think he abandoned her?
Then—
Click.
The door at the top of the stairs opened. Footsteps descended. Heavy. Ferdinand appeared first, hands behind his back, followed by two masked men.
"Ah," his father said, voice cool as the shadows that clung to him. "Still alive. Your willpower is impressive." Mikhail glared weakly, face bruised and blood-speckled.
Ferdinand approached, crouching next to him. "You built this manor for love... and yet here you are. Bound like a criminal in the very place that was supposed to house your future."
He stood again and gestured.
"Untie him." The masked men obeyed. The ropes fell away. Mikhail's arms collapsed to his sides like dead weight. His wrists were raw, his muscles numb. He tried to push himself up, but couldn't.
His father watched him struggle. There was no pity in his gaze. Just disdain.
"You've made your stance clear," Ferdinand said. "But I'll ask you one more time. The Lazaro daughter is still available. The Beaufort name, our legacy, can be saved. All it takes is your submission."
Mikhail coughed. Blood touched his lips.
"I told you..." he wheezed. "I'd rather die... than live under you." Ferdinand didn't even blink. He turned to the masked men.
"Whip him." Mikhail's eyes widened, but his body wouldn't move. Not fast enough. Not strong enough.
The first lash came sharp across his back,
"ARGHHHHHH!!!" drawing a violent cry from his lips.
The second tore through the skin.
"AGHHHH!!!"
The third made his knees buckle.
"AUGHHHHHH!!!"
He collapsed to the floor, trembling, barely able to lift his head. His breaths came in desperate gasps. Still, he didn't beg. Didn't break. Ferdinand approached again, stepping over the blood pooling beneath Mikhail's hands.
"You will regret this." He leaned close, voice like ice.
"Last chance. Say the word, and all of this ends. The pain. The shame. The disgrace."
Mikhail raised his head slowly. His lip was split. Blood trickled from his nose.
He whispered through broken teeth,
"I'd...do it all again... for her." Silence.
Ferdinand's eyes hardened.
"So be it." He stepped back. "Kill him." One masked man knelt behind Mikhail, grabbing his hair. The other unsheathed a dagger. There was no pause. No hesitation.
Steel plunged into his hip. Mikhail let out a strangled cry, eyes wide with disbelief, pain, and fury. He collapsed, hands weakly pressing against the wound as blood spilled out like water from a broken vase.
Ferdinand crouched again beside his dying son, watching the life drain slowly.
"You should have obeyed. But don't worry, we'll tell the world you ran away like a coward." He turned to the masked men.
"We'll forge a letter. Leave it near the stables. And burn anything with that girl's name on it."
Mikhail twitched, eyes fluttering. Ferdinand gave one last glance, his voice cold and careless.
"And if anyone asks... I'll say I lost a son to madness. But I can always make another." As footsteps faded and the cellar returned to silence, Mikhail lay bleeding, broken, barely breathing.
The only sound left was the faint drip of blood echoing across the empty stone room.
The cold seeped deeper now.
Mikhail could no longer feel the pain, just the warmth of blood pooling beneath him, sticky and heavy. His hands trembled faintly as they pressed against the gaping wound, but he knew... it was useless. The cellar blurred around him. Light dimmed.
Grace...
His mind reached out to her, aching as much as his broken body. He pictured her there beneath the Molave tree, lantern in hand, heart hopeful, scanning the path for him, for the man who would never arrive.
I'm sorry...
His vision blurred, and hot tears fell down his bruised cheeks.
You must think I left you... You must be waiting, wondering, thinking I changed my mind or grew afraid... but I didn't, Grace. I didn't. I was coming for you.
He tried to lift his hand, but it collapsed at his side. The blood loss was dragging him under like a tide.
I love you. More than words. More than this name, I carry. More than life itself.
He remembered her laughter, the way she scrunched her nose when she smiled, the warmth of her touch under the starlight.
You were the only thing that ever felt like home.
A sob broke in his throat.
Even if you never know the truth... even if you think I ran away like a coward... I hope you live, Grace. I hope you find someone kind. Someone gentle. Someone who will give you the life you always dreamed of.
He blinked slowly. Everything was darker now.
Get married.
Have the family you always wanted.
Make your wishes come true, even if it's not with me.
A bitter breath escaped his lips.
Even in death, I will love you. And I will wait...to finally have my own happiness...
And then... a shadow rose in his thoughts.
"Sir, where do you want us to put the body?" One of the accomplaces asked Ferdinand.
Ferdinand. My own blood... my own father...
"Put it in a ditch somewhere, I could careless." Ferdinand turned away from Mikhail.
A hollow laugh echoed in his mind.
You always looked at me like a duty. Never a son. I only knew your silhouette in candlelight, your voice in cold instructions. Always busy. Always gone.
"I still have matters to attend to, What time is it?" The accomplice fumbled, checking the worn out watch he has.
"12:30, sir" Ferdinand nodded. "Then, I shall be going."
But still... Mikhail had tried. Tried to earn his place. Tried to believe there was love behind the silence.
I thought... maybe someday you'd be proud. But tonight proved it. You were never my father. You were a man with my name... and a knife behind your back.
He coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His body was giving up, but his mind clung to these final pieces.
If this is the cost of loving freely... then I pay it gladly.
Goodbye, Grace. My... Irog...
Goodbye... Ina'y...
The light faded, and with it, Mikhail Beaufort took his final breath.
But his love, unforgiven and unforgotten, had never once died.
SLAM!
THE door flew open with a crash that echoed like thunder through the halls.
"FERDINAND!"
Flordeliza stormed in, soaked to the bone, her silk shawl clinging to her trembling frame. Her eyes were wild, grief-stricken, red, and burning with a fury she hadn't unleashed in years. Ferdinand looked up from his leather chair, eyes narrowing slightly, a glass of wine in his hand.
He said nothing.
"Don't you sit there like you don't know!" she screamed, slamming both hands on his desk, hard enough to rattle the inkstand. "Don't you dare pretend you don't know what happened to our son!"
"Flordeliza," he said calmly, "I suggest you compose yourself."
"Compose myself?!" she repeated in disbelief. "They found Mikhail in a ditch! A ditch, Ferdinand! Like a stray animal thrown away and left to rot!"
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass slowly, saying nothing.
"The police said... said he might've fallen," her voice cracked, breaking under the pressure of grief. "That it might've been an accident. But—but he had wounds. Whip marks. A stab wound!"
Ferdinand exhaled through his nose, still eerily composed.
"Then I suppose he made quite a mess of things, didn't he?"
"Don't you dare!" she snarled, voice sharp like glass. "Don't you dare speak of him like that! He was your son! Our son! How can you be so... so cold?"
"You knew what he planned," Ferdinand said slowly, eyes locked onto hers. "You knew he was running away. You helped him."
"Because he was in love!" she cried. "Because he was kind, and gentle, and brave! Everything you could never be!"
He stood from his seat, adjusting his coat with calm precision. "He was a coward," he said, "who spat on the name I built with my own blood. The Beaufort name."
"He just wanted to live freely!" she shouted. "To be happy! Is that a crime in your kingdom of control?!"
"You should be mourning in silence," he said sternly, walking around the desk toward her. "Not accusing your husband like a madwoman."
"I saw the marks, Ferdinand!" she said through tears, pointing a trembling finger at him. "There were whip wounds on his back, bruises on his neck, a deep stab to his gut. Do you expect me to believe that's what a fall looks like?"
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then, with a tilt of his head, he replied softly, "Do you have evidence, Flordeliza?" She froze.
His voice was razor-sharp. "Did the police point to me? Did they find my fingerprints on a weapon? Any witnesses? Or are you just a grieving mother desperate to assign blame?"
Tears spilled from her eyes, but no words came. Ferdinand took a sip of his drink and placed the glass down with a clink.
"Thought so," he muttered.
"You monster." Her voice was guttural, venomous.
He didn't even flinch. "Better a monster with a legacy than a sentimental fool left with nothing."
"I trusted you," she choked. "I bore your child, I raised him with love while you chased power, and now you murder him?!"
Ferdinand turned back, unbothered.
"Your heart is soft," Ferdinand said, brushing past her. "It always has been. That softness made Mikhail weak. Now look where that weakness got him."
"You know what I see, Flordeliza?" he continued, walking around the desk toward her. "I see karma. That boy turned his back on his family. He spat on the name Beaufort. He died because he forgot where he came from."
Ferdinand stared down at her. "He turned his back on the Beauforts. Betrayal demands consequence."
"You're the traitor!" she shrieked. "You betrayed your own blood! You looked him in the eyes as a boy and said you'd protect him, and now he's gone!" He said nothing.
"Tell me," she pleaded, voice cracking as she broke apart. "Just tell me it wasn't you. Even if it's a lie. I'll believe it. I just want to hear it." Ferdinand walked back to his desk, calm and cruel.
"Bury him quietly," he said. "Let this be a lesson to the world. No one turns their back on the Beauforts." She stood frozen. Then her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees in front of his desk, sobbing like a woman who had just lost everything. Her scream was muffled into her hands as the thunder outside drowned her grief.
"My baby...my dear son is dead..." She mumbled, her voice cracked as she mourn quietly while Ferdinand just stared at her before telling her to leave.
"I didn't kill my son. I saved a name. I saved every man who ever carried the Beaufort banner and bled for it. If my hands are bloody, then let God wash them, because I did what I must."
The world didn't stop spinning when Mikhail died. But for Flordeliza, time ceased to matter altogether.
She buried her son in secret, beneath the trees near the home he once bought for the life he dreamed of with Grace. It was quiet there, gentle, untouched by the poison of the Beaufort legacy. A place where love had lived, however briefly.
The wind was gentle, but the weight in Flordeliza's chest made the world feel suffocating. Her black veil fluttered as she knelt before the simple stone marker bearing her son's name. Her trembling fingers caressed the carved letters as if her touch could bring him back.
She held a bouquet of dried Molave blossoms, the kind he once said reminded him of strength
"I still wake up expecting to see you at the table... laughing at the corners of your own jokes, holding your tea the way your father never did." Her breath hitched. Her knees shook, but she stayed upright, her grief poured into every word.
"You didn't deserve that ending, anak. You deserved to run. To marry her. To live a hundred years surrounded by children and joy and music." She clutched her chest tightly, holding herself as if to stop her heart from spilling over.
"But he took it. He took everything from you. From me." She closed her eyes, swallowing her sobs.
"Mikhail... I don't know what comes after this life. But if there is another chance... if there's still a path waiting for you beyond death, then I have one wish." Her voice steadied, even as her tears fell freely.
"I hope that when you wake again... someone finds you." She leaned closer to the grave, her words a whisper meant for his soul.
"Not just anyone, but someone who sees you, even in the dark. Someone who'll reach into the cold and pull you out. Someone who won't let your heart die quietly like it did this time." She smiled weakly, her fingers trembling on the stone.
"I hope they love you loudly. Recklessly. As you deserve. And I hope... that when you look at them, you'll feel alive again." A silence lingered between them. Then, one last time, she leaned forward and kissed the grave gently.
"Goodnight, anak. Find your way back when it's time. And this time... let love carry you home." Every day, she returned to the grave. She spoke to him like he was still there, like he might answer if she just stayed long enough. She brought flowers. Lit candles. Folded his letters against her chest and cried into the pages. But her son didn't come back.
And then, came the final insult.
She overheard it. A hushed conversation in the corridors, carelessly spoken by a servant who didn't see her standing there, frozen.
"...the master's courting Lady Danika now... she's young, fertile. Says he needs a new heir."
"He said if he has another child with the Madam, it might turn out to be another traitor."
That was the day something in her broke.
The house felt like a prison after that. Every hall echoed with memories of her son, his laughter, his kindness.
And Ferdinand, he lived as though nothing had changed.
As though Mikhail had never existed.
She couldn't bear it.
A new woman, younger. Child-bearing. A suitable match to produce a new heir. Someone Ferdinand hoped wouldn't be "soft," or tainted by his mother's kindness.
"Another child with you?" he once scoffed.
"Who knows? It might be another traitor."
That night, Flordeliza sat alone in the room where she once rocked Mikhail to sleep. Her eyes were red, her fingers trembling. She stared at the empty bed in the corner, kept for memory's sake, or maybe for grief's cruelty.
There were no screams. No thrown glasses. Just silence... and then a locked door. On her vanity, she set down three things:
A photo of her and Mikhail when he was a boy, laughing in the garden.
A ribbon Grace once gave her to thank her for "raising someone so gentle."
And a small, ornate bottle.
It had been easy to take from the medicine cabinet. Ferdinand kept many pills there; whenever he himself couldn't sleep because of he's insomnia.
She took them all, one after another. No hesitation. As the haze wrapped around her, she lay down on Mikhail's bed, curled onto his old pillow, still faintly scented with time. Her breathing slowed.
"I'm sorry...I tried to keep you safe. I'll see you soon, anak..."
The morning light poured in the next day, but Flordeliza never rose to greet it. A maid found her, still and cold, surrounded by memories and silence.
"MIK...H..."
M/n's voice trembled as he stumbled forward, his feet skidding slightly on the floor as he caught sight of Mikhail curled into himself, shaking violently, his eyes wide and unfocused.
"Mikhail!" he called again, louder, desperate. Mikhail's breath came in choked, shallow gasps. His shoulders heaved as if the air itself refused to stay in his lungs, tears flowing like rivers from eyes lost in a storm.
M/n dropped to his knees.
"Hey—hey, Mikhail—look at me, please—"
His hands cupped Mikhail's tear-stained cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that kept falling no matter how hard Mikhail tried to blink them away.
"Can you hear me? Mikhail, I'm right here. You're safe, okay?"
Mikhail blinked sluggishly. His cracked lips barely moved before he rasped out a broken whisper.
"...M...n...?"
M/n's heart twisted at the sound of his name, said so fragile, so full of desperation. Then Mikhail gripped his wrists—no, clung to them. like he's about to disappear.
"Please...! D-Don't—don't leave me...! I don't want to be a-alon...! Please!"
His voice cracked with every plea, panic thick in his throat.
"M/n...! P-Please... I-I can't lose you too—!" M/n didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Mikhail and pulled him close, cradling him tightly.
"Hey, shhh... I've got you. I've got you, Mikhail."
Mikhail collapsed against him, sobbing into M/n's shoulder. His body felt frail, broken under the weight of memories too cruel to carry. M/n rocked him gently, resting his cheek against Mikhail's hair.
"You're safe now... You hear me? I'm here."
"He wanted me gone..." Mikhail wept, every word strangled between gasps.
"He... he really did it... my own father..." M/n's arms tightened, listening to Mikhail's frantic words.
"I thought I could make it... I thought if I just tried... maybe... maybe I could be happy," Mikhail hiccupped, his voice raw.
"But it was ripped away. Everything. Grace. My future. My life—"
"You're still here," M/n interrupted gently, pulling back just enough to cup Mikhail's face again.
"You're here with me, okay? no one is going to hurt you if I'm here." Mikhail's lips quivered. He looked at M/n as if he were afraid the man in front of him would vanish too.
"But I'm an undead corpse, I'm Broken..." he whispered.
"Who would want to stay with someone like me?" M/n leaned closer, his voice low and firm, his gaze unwavering.
"I would." Mikhail's eyes widened. M/n nodded slowly.
"You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to be whole. all that matters is you're here... with me. Let me be the one to stay." A fresh wave of tears fell from Mikhail's eyes. but this time, not all of them were from pain.
"I... I don't deserve you," he whispered. M/n smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
"Then it's a good thing I'm not here because you deserve me. I'm here because I want to be. Because I see you, Mikhail... and I'm not going anywhere." Mikhail trembled, still clinging to M/n like he might vanish in the blink of an eye.
"I'll stay. As long as you need me. For as long as you want me. I'll stay."
Mikhail seemed to calm down; besides the sobbing, still, he was breathing more calmly. M/n held Mikhail's arms like how he hold him yesterday.
The worst of the storm had passed—but the wreckage it left behind still clung to Mikhail like a second skin.
He hadn't said much since that morning. Not after the breakdown. Not after clinging to M/n with trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks. Now, his silence was heavy, but not unbearable. at least not for M/n. It spoke more than words.
Mikhail followed him everywhere.
Not in an annoying, clingy way, no. It was the quiet, almost ghostlike kind of following. He stayed a step behind M/n, never making a sound unless Lucien turned to speak to him. Even when he did, Mikhail just nodded with those weary eyes. M/n never once asked him to move away.
When M/n ate breakfast, Mikhail sat silently at the corner of the kitchen, unmoving, eyes watching M/n.
"You should eat too," M/n offered gently, placing a plate in front of him. Mikhail only shook his head.
"I'm fine. I... just want to stay here."
M/n didn't press him. Later, when M/n moved to the sitting room to read, Mikhail followed again. He sat on the floor beside the couch at first, arms loosely wrapped around his knees, his gaze far away but always shifting to M/n when the pages turned.
Then, slowly, like a wilted flower finding sunlight, Mikhail rested his head on M/n's lap. No words. Just quietly lay there like it was the only place in the world that didn't hurt.
M/n glanced down at him, a bit surprised.
"Mikhail...?" Mikhail didn't answer, but his eyes slid shut, a silent surrender. M/n ran a hand through his hair without thinking. Soft, gentle strokes.
It made Mikhail breathe a little easier.
Time passed. When M/n stood up to go shower, Mikhail followed. He stopped just outside the bathroom door and sat down, his back against the wall.
M/n paused mid-step, turning.
"...You're going to sit there the whole time?" Mikhail nodded.
M/n offered him a small smile. "Alright, then. I'll be quick."
True to his word, when M/n stepped out ten minutes later with a towel around his shoulders, Mikhail was still there, waiting, like a loyal shadow.
By nightfall, Mikhail moved when he moved, sat when he sat, stayed a step behind. Even now, M/n stood by the edge of his bed, fluffing the pillows when he noticed Mikhail standing silently by the doorframe, arms limp at his sides.
"You're not planning to just stand there all night, are you?" M/n asked gently. Mikhail blinked, caught off guard. He looked down at the floor.
"...I'll sleep outside your room. Just by the wall. I don't mind."
M/n lowered the pillow slowly.
"Outside?" he repeated, eyebrows pinching together.
"Mikhail, no. Come on. The bed's big enough." Mikhail hesitated, eyes flicking toward the mattress, then away again.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he murmured.
M/n stepped forward and gently tugged him by the wrist.
"You're not. Honestly, I'd rather have you here where I can keep an eye on you. You've talked... You think I can sleep peacefully knowing you're outside the door like some lost puppy?"
Mikhail didn't fight him. He let M/n pull him toward the bed and sat when gently nudged to do so. He perched on the edge stiffly, like he didn't know what to do with himself.
M/n pulled the blanket back and slipped under the covers before looking up at him again. "Lie down."
"...Okay." Mikhail lowered himself with slow, careful movements, like the bed might reject him. He lay on top of the blanket at first, facing away from M/n, still wearing the same button-up shirt he'd had on since earlier.
M/n tilted his head.
"You're allowed to rest, you know." When Mikhail didn't respond, M/n reached over and tapped his shoulder gently.
"Come here."
Mikhail slowly turned, eyes unsure, but the unspoken invitation in M/n's gaze was too soft to deny. With a deep, shaky breath, he shifted closer, then wrapped his arms around M/n.
M/n was startled, but only for a second. Then he relaxed into it, brushing Mikhail's hair back with tender fingers.
They stayed like that for a long time. M/n read in silence, his other hand occasionally drifting to smooth a wrinkle from Mikhail's shirt or trace the back of his ear.
Eventually, Mikhail spoke, quiet as a leaf brushing the ground.
"You're warm..." M/n looked down and smiled softly.
"I should hope so. I'm not a corpse." Mikhail gave the smallest chuckle, barely a sound. But it made M/n's heart ache.
M/n was under the covers, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting warm shadows on the walls. Mikhail lay beside him, not even under the blanket, just on top of it.
"You sure you'll be comfortable like that?"
"I just want to be close," Mikhail mumbled, barely audible.
"I know it's strange. I just... I keep thinking you'll disappear if I blink." M/n's chest tightened. He reached out and carded his fingers through Mikhail's hair again.
"I'm not going anywhere. I promise." Mikhail looked up at him. His eyes weren't teary now, just tired.
"I used to think... closeness meant danger. That if I loved someone too much, they'd be taken away." He paused.
"But you're still here." M/n's fingers paused for a moment before resuming their soft motion.
"Well, I said it myself, no? I said I'll stay. As long as you need me. For as long as you want me. I'll stay." M/n smiled warmly at Mikhail, meeting his olive eyes.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Mikhail asked, almost in a desperate way.
"Then sleep, Mikhail. I'll be here when you wake up."
And for the first time on that day, Mikhail drifted off without fear, no shadows clawing at his mind, no screams echoing from the past. Just the quiet rhythm of M/n's breathing and the steady warmth of his arms wrapped gently around him. Curled beside the one person who stayed, Mikhail closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep, finally feeling safe.
DICTIONARY SECTION:
ANAK — Child
INA — Mothes
ARCHIVES:
—In traditional Filipino society, a man having extramarital affairs (often referred to euphemistically as the querida system) was often considered a "normal" part of being male or a status symbol. Conversely, a woman who committed adultery faced severe social ostracism, public shame, and legal penalties.
—Wives, often economically dependent, were pressured to endure the situation to avoid family dissolution and maintain outward appearances.
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