Leashed

Chapter 8

The sky on this momentous tenth of December was azure and untroubled. There were no clouds to hover over one of the most remarkable churches in Makati—mayhap, the entire Philippines. The National Shrine of the Sacred Heart of Jesus offers a particularly demure exterior with the arresting statue of the Sacred Heart on top. It was established in 1976 and nine years later, it was declared as a national shrine. On this day, it holds a wedding too grand to disregard.

            There was an abundance of guests filling the pews up to the loft, and several were celebrated. Present were the presidents of companies, fashion icons, movie stars, politicians and artists, in particular, Jong Madali who, though Moslem, was chosen to sing for this regal occurrence. News about this wedding was surprising to them, since it was sudden, and it took less than a month to prepare. The invitations were swift, but they didn’t think of declining. Who would even think of reprobating the most expended nuptials of the year? This day, after all, marks the wedding of Ohm Consunji and Neoma Belmonte.

            The groom, looking stately in his coffee-colored suit, was standing exultant at the foot of the classy altar dedicated to St. Margaret Mary Alcoque whose relics are enshrined and venerated here. There was no anxiety that shadowed his face, for he was anticipating. It was implicit that his bride won’t run away—she wouldn’t dare, for it’d still be futile. Then, there she was, with the best aesthetic features like no other, completing the radiance of the afternoon.

            Michael Sixto, an internationally acclaimed Filipino couturier who’s also there to witness all of this, made her look like no ordinary swan that graced the middle of the sea of vermillion outfits. The people thought she looked splendid enveloped in those embroidered flowers that complemented elegant beads. The extensive flow of her white dress dragged majestically on the red carpet. Her hands held a bouquet of roses no redder than her lips, yet the veil that was draped over her failed to conceal her flinty eyes as she sluggishly traipsed towards her proud husband-to-be.

            Ohm was condescending as he watched her walk down the aisle in that three-million-peso dress which he himself solely chose. I won. He thought and grinned.

            Two months ago, he was wallowing in frustration. He couldn’t endure that she dropped him like a hot potato. His pride wouldn’t allow him. He couldn’t think of anything to get her back, for she was no average woman. She had power. She had influence. She had wealth. And she had a dog. He tried getting rid of the last, but it managed to live. He also couldn’t take the first three away from her, since he couldn’t afford to do so. He didn’t dominate her in power. He didn’t have that much influence, and they have nearly the same assets. He had no chance to win over her, but that was long overdue. It was like that until someone way more puissant raised to him a sublime proposition.

            His Ninong, the father of his would-be wife, was beaming as he took his daughter’s hand to clasp his arm. Behind that façade, he could visualize that he was grinning wickedly. He doesn’t find anything strange about his attitude towards Neoma. He perused that this is perhaps a way for him to teach her refractory daughter a lesson.

            There was more to the glass of whiskey his Ninong served him the previous month when he visited him at his office at the headquarters of Petrobel. As usual, he had a calm bearing, and he appeared like a very trustworthy aged individual.

            “I heard that things are rough between you and my unica hija, Ohm. What happened?” The tycoon initiated.

            There was a glint of disdain in his eyes when he replied, “She already broke up with me months ago. She was two-timing me with that lame-ass Gozon.”

            Wile cackled, and it sounded insulting to him. At the back of his mind, he sensed that he knew everything about the events that transpired, and he just wanted to bring up his defeat.

            “Anyway, Ninong, what did you call me here for?” He wondered.

            He turned his back on him, stared beyond the glass pane and with an uncomic tone, he uttered, “You are to marry my daughter.”

            He was silent for a while, unsure of how to react. He had tried every means to capture her again, and he failed miserably. What more that it’s asking her for marriage? “But I’m sure she wouldn’t agree to that.”

            Wile faced him and smiled. “It’s not a matter of whether she’s willing or not. It’s about subduing her.”

            “But how do I do that? She has that dog named ‘Sol’.”

            “Boy, you don’t have to do anything. Let me take the reins.”

            Ohm may be a huffish man, but he has always been too principled. He didn’t once even resort to the idea of asking for help from the man who can probably make anything possible. He believes in his charm and capacity that being helped by anyone in any of his dealings is like dying shamefully. However, this was another story.

            He simpered. “Thank you, Ninong.”

            Two days later, Sol was sent and then kept somewhere in Hong Kong, and Neoma was accused of embezzlement.

Neoma, on her part, was too peeved about all of this. She was beyond mad towards her groom, towards Ricardo Consunji who was pretty excited to officially have her as her daughter-in-law, towards Donna Cuneta who started trying her earnest to be mother material, towards the absent Sol, towards all of the oblivious guests and especially towards her overbearing father. He glanced at her, and his eyes were vaunt as they walked together in the middle of the nave. Damn you. She angrily thought. She didn’t foresee that he would shake off her foundations, and she didn’t expect him to incapacitate her very roots.

            There were evidences presented before the board. They were mostly records of anomalous transactions involving the corporate treasurer named Marco Pedrosa linking her in it all. He was cross-examined, and he accused her as the one who directed him to transfer a percent or two monthly from the funds of Deliciae, while he reported the missing portions of the institution’s cash holdings for renovation projects, promotional purposes and charity works. He had been doing it since June, his fifth month in the company. Summing it up, she is incriminated to have gained 87.5 million pesos.

            She denied the allegation. Honest down to her core, she is innocent. The evidences presented were all merely fabricated, but they were too solid to breach her defenses. Then, she remembered that she did a background check on Marco Pedrosa. He, now she realized, once worked for her father.

            “You son of a b***h! Goddamn you!” She was furious as she kicked her way to her father’s study. “I know you’re behind all of what’s happening to me, you crafty damnable geezer!”

            He carefully took off his reading glasses and slowly closed the book he was reading. “Mind the language, hija. That’s not the way any refined lady should talk.”

            “I’m going to talk in any way I want!” She stormed to his table, snatched the book from his grasp and was to slam it to his face. However, Gello abruptly emerged to grab her hand in mid-air before she could do so.

            His father knotted his fingers and rested his chin on them. Then, he sneered. “My, my, Neoma, just how much power do you think you have on me? To answer your accusation, yes, you are right.”

            She was shaking; she already knew that he was her misgivings’ author, but confirming it to her face sent her a more intense emotion. She was still angry; nonetheless, it was one of the rare circumstances in her life where she was scared. She was scared because she was powerless against his wiles. She was afraid that she couldn’t do anything to counter the man who now appeared monstrous to her. Most importantly, Sol was not by her side. Conceivably, this was how her mother felt; that’s why she left.

            Gello took the book from her when she seemed to calm down—more like tranquilized by her father’s intimidating admission.

            In a yielding tone, she asked, “Why are you doing this? Do you find it fun to see me suffer?!”

            He looked at her with a seemingly sincere concern. “Hija, I’m not trying to make you suffer. I’m giving you the chance to reform yourself.”

            “Reform from what?”

            “Reform from being rebellious? From being haughty perhaps?”

            “And you think I can be reformed by being stripped off my position? I worked hard for it without your endorsement. That is my achievement! Don’t talk like I need to repay you.”

            “Neoma, I can get you out of all of this mess.”

            The offer sounded fake to her, but of course, he was the only one who could do that. Knowing her father, whatsoever, he never proffered anything without collateral.

            “What do you want in return?” Indignantly, she stated.

            “I want you to marry Ohm Consunji.”

“Ohm will surely make a good husband,” her father said without looking at her, and he deliberately meant it to be sarcastic. Of course, he likes to see her despond.

            She felt handcuffed. In his presence, she was restricted from moving how she desired. She could only bottle up her anger. She felt like crying with all this aggravation, yet she would never allow herself to, especially not in front of the guests. Her eyes took a gander at the awestruck guests; she couldn’t afford to appear weak before them especially with what she’s about to do.

            She paused and withdrew her hand from her father’s arm.

            He was not only startled by Neoma’s gesture; he was also careless. Just as he was to glance back at her, with all her might, she shoved him, causing him to ludicrously tumble over a flower stand. The guests gasped, and Ohm’s eyebrows met in the middle. They were looking at her confused.

            “I’m not sorry, by the way, Papa” she steely told him before she removed her heels and yanked her veil.

            Wile was still disoriented particularly that his head slammed against iron. Two of their bodyguards rushed over to his aid—just perfect as she calculated. Ohm decided to head over the fiasco only to halt when she snatched one of the aiding bodyguards’ gun, pointed it to his feet and planted a bullet a centimeter before these.

            “STAY where you are,” she threatened.

            His eyes abruptly widened then he gritted his teeth. “Ne-o-ma!”

            The other bodyguard who helped her father get back on his feet tried to pull out his gun to outdo her, but she was alacritous to pierce a bullet to his leg.

            “Aaahck!” he shrieked in pain.

            “Try that again, and I’ll drill a hole on your head. I’m very confident with my aim, you know,” she undauntedly said. Having taken shooting lessons and target practice twice or thrice a month really came in handy.

            “Give me your gun.” To which he complied, making her hands full. She then raised her left hand upward and stared smirking at her father while she continually released the bullets until the weapon was empty. All the people in the church ducked; they never expected such a parlous display of rebellion from the bride.

            Neoma spotted a female guest just about her age at the edge of a pew close to her. She didn’t personally know her, but she conjectured that she may be an employee of her father. “Come here!” And she grabbed her by the hair.

            “Please don’t!” The woman protested.

            “Don’t do anything stupid. Not now that I’m in a frenzy to kill anyone,” she warned her and pointed the gun on her temple. The muzzle felt cold, and she was dead serious. Then to everybody else inside the church, she yelled, “Nobody come near me! I am willing to be incarcerated just to kill many of you; I will start with this one over here!”

            Dragging her teary hostage, she carefully made her way out of the church while occasionally pointing the gun on those who seemed to draw close.

            Ohm quickly chased after them but a shot almost hit him in his shoulder when he was at the entrance.

            “Don’t even think about it.” He heard her say.

            She was already standing beside the bridal car. The woman she dragged with her had her face flat on the ground. She pointed the gun at the driver. “Out!”

            The driver wasn’t likely to waste his life, so he wasted not a second to hand her the key and scrammed.

            Ohm could only watch her leave.

            The bodyguards followed and were now behind him.

             “After her! Hurry!” He announced to them.

She was driving too fast like she was begging for a traffic accident, but she wouldn’t regret it even if it was fatal. That would only mean getting away from being forced to marry the detestable Ohm Consunji. But just as she expected, she had company pertinacious in tailing her. There were four cars, and she was certain that they’re composed of her father’s and the Consunjis’ men.

            She sped up as she came to one of the thoroughfares of Makati. Angry horns were honked as she made risky maneuvers while trying to get pass approaching vehicles. The chasers still tried to keep up even when one of their cars crashed into an island. Barefoot, she stepped on the accelerator and slyly led another to smash against a dump truck. She scoffed in satisfaction.

            She decided to finally lose her remaining pursuers when she entered an alley to take a shortcut. To her surprise, on the other end of the narrow street, a gray Lamborghini was blocking her way. She knew who was behind the wheel even with the tinted windshield.

            “Hello, Ohm.” She amusedly said.

            On the other side, Ohm was clenching his teeth as he fiercely stared towards the bridal car which was supposed to deliver him and its current driver to the reception.

            “How dare you shame me,” he angrily uttered. “You won’t get away. I’ll make sure of that. Once I get my hands on you again, I’ll give you the worst punishment.”

            Using a new kind of technology, Ohm had tracked Neoma’s bridal car’s trail and found a route to intercept her. Now, she could not go forward; also, not backward, the ones chasing her earlier plugged a potential exit. She had no other choice but to go out and relinquish herself.

            Or so they imagined.

            Void of second thoughts, she stepped on the gas and headed straight for the nose of her would-have-been husband’s luxurious car.

            “Is she out of her mind?!” He said, alarmed.

            Zoooooooooooooooooom! Came the sound of the raging vehicle as it looked to ram right to his Lamborghini. In fear of the collision, he steered the wheel to dodge, but he was seconds late as his right headlight was ripped off.

            She smirked victoriously albeit with the impact scrapping the bumper of her vehicle. She managed to shove him to the side and gain an exit point. She took a glance back at Ohm and his car.

            “Ciao,” she cheekily uttered.

Neoma came to a quiet arterial, and that’s where she spotted a blue sedan in front of a bakeshop. The driver was a man who had a huge appetite for donuts that at first, he didn’t hear the tap of her gun on his window while being engrossed in eating one.

            “Hey!” He heard someone say. When he turned to look who it is, he was not that surprised how arrestingly beautiful the woman wearing a wedding gown was, but he was more so of the gun she was pointing at him.

            “Get out.” Her voice was faint, but he grasped her intention clearly. “Give the key to your car.”

            He panicked. “Miss, please consider. I got this car because of an auto loan I just finished paying last week. I worked my butt for this car. You can have my donuts instead.”

            She didn’t feel pity for him, and she didn’t find him absurd either. “I don’t care, and I don't want your donuts. See that car over there,” she pointed over to her bridal car, “That’s yours in exchange for this.”

            And so, she left him gaping at the damaged white Benz.

It was already eight in the evening, and Joule was too spent. He had been taping the entire day for a romantic-comedy film. He ditched social media and television, for he needed to rest. Working today was stressful particularly with a perfectionist director and with a stuck-up leading lady; howbeit, he tried to be emphatic by trying to understand their individual predicaments. You see, he doesn’t only have boyish good looks, but he’s an all-around good guy. He’s the epitome of being “too good to be true.” It is because of this that many love him, yet his heart has long belonged to someone who found it impossible to love him back since she’s encaged in hatred and sadism.

            He remembered the day he confessed to her. Her back was on him while she stood on the veranda of this same condominium, gazing aimlessly beyond the tall buildings and towards the clouded sky. She was wearing a peach satin robe and nothing else underneath it, and she looked tempting. He, in his boxers, embraced her from behind.

            “Neoma,” he whispered to her ear, “I know this is a little late, but I want to tell you that I’m in love with you.”

            She didn’t budge, but she replied, “I know.”

            Abruptly, he felt somehow nervous. “So, do you feel the same towards me?”

            This time, she faced him and cupped his face. “Joule, I think it’s time we end this.”

            He couldn’t move, and he was unsure of what to reply. “Why?”

            She looked at him intently. “You’re too pure. You are not the match for someone too contaminated like me.” She wrapped him in her arms. “You don’t deserve my sadism. You don’t have to be a channel for my vexation towards this world anymore.”

            That was two months ago, and he recalled that when she left, he was tearful not because he was left, but because she couldn’t give him her heart.

            This evening, however, was greatly unexpected of her to appear at his door wearing a black hoodie and seemingly edgy.

            “Joule, I need your help,” she said.