Her Unwanted Marriage | MikhAiah

Chapter 19

Johann's POV

Tahimik akong nakatayo sa malayo, pinagmamasdan si Stephanie habang nasa gitna ng photoshoot niya para sa Dior. Nakangiti siya habang hinahabol ng lente ng camera, effortlessly graceful, embodying everything Dior represents—elegance, strength, and sophistication.

Hindi ko maiwasang mapangiti habang tinitingnan siya. Ang bawat galaw niya, ang bawat tingin niya, parang sinadya para sa mga ganitong eksena. She was born for this.

But behind that smile, there was a heaviness in my chest. Ako ang kumuha sa kanya bilang Dior ambassador pagkatapos ng breakup namin. Hindi na niya alam 'yon, at wala na rin akong balak ipaalam. Ano pa bang silbi ng pag-amin? Masaya na siya, at sapat na sa akin ang makitang nagningning siya sa bago niyang mundo.

Walang ibang nakakaalam, pero ang Dior ay bahagi ng Robles Empire. Hindi rin niya alam 'yon. Hindi niya kailangang malaman. Mas okay na ganito— Na nasa likod lang ako, tahimik na nagbibigay ng suporta, kahit hindi na ako bahagi ng buhay niya.

Sinabi nila, ang pagmamahal ay hindi laging tungkol sa pag-aari. Minsan, sapat na ang makita mo siyang masaya. At masaya siya ngayon. Masaya siya sa bago niyang buhay. Masaya siya sa bago niyang mahal.

Huminga ako nang malalim, pilit na nilalabanan ang nararamdaman ko. Tila isang panaginip ang pinapanood ko, pero alam kong hindi ako bahagi ng kwento niya ngayon. I accepted that a long time ago.

"Boss," bati ng isa sa mga staff, naputol ang pag-iisip ko. Tumango lang ako, bago muling tumingin kay Stephanie.

She deserves this. She deserves everything. At kahit nasa likod lang ako, kahit hindi niya alam, nandito ako. Palihim na pumapalakpak na kahit paano, ay nakatulong ako sa pagkamit ng mga pangarap niya.

At iyon na ang pinaka-huling regalo ko para sa kanya.

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Stephanie's POV

The bright flashes of the cameras lit up the studio as I posed for my Dior photoshoot. Every angle, every movement felt second nature, like I was meant to be here. The creative director nodded approvingly from the sidelines, the stylists murmuring their praises.

This is it, I thought. This is the life I've always wanted.

But as the shoot progressed, there was a strange tug at the back of my mind. A familiar weight. It wasn't sadness—not exactly. It was more like an ache, a whisper of something left behind.

I shook it off, focusing on the job at hand. There was no room for distractions, not here, not now.

"Stephanie, perfect! Just like that, hold it!" the photographer exclaimed.

I gave a soft smile, channeling the confidence Dior embodies.

But in between takes, as I adjusted my stance and glanced at the bustling crew, a thought crept in: Would Johann be proud of me?

It's been a while since the breakup. I thought I'd moved on. I have moved on, I reminded myself. But sometimes, when the world quiets down, her face would surface in my thoughts—her quiet strength, her unwavering support, her presence that used to anchor me.

Now, I don't even know if she still thinks of me. Does she even care anymore?

"Stephanie, ready for the next setup?" one of the assistants asked, pulling me out of my reverie.