This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire hears the crowd's initial collective gasp. Followed by a long silence. She knows they're out there. She knows they're all staring at her, judging her. But when she opens her eyes, she couldn't see anything—the darned floodlight is blinding her and hides everyone else in the darkness.

The microphone's static feedback hisses. "Friends," Gabriel says calmly over the mic. "The love of my life. The one I'm going to spend my life with. Claire Monteverde!"

The crowd, having gotten the say-so from the de-facto alpha of everything around here, roar in applause. Ladies surround Claire, greeting her, giving her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder, telling her how lucky she is. It amazes her—the previously unreachable jet-set crowd, these supermodel-looking beautiful people, are welcoming her into their fold. This is it. She has arrived. She's at the pinnacle of life's awesomeness.

There's only one problem: this is all fake.

Now that Gabriel has so brazenly announced to the world their engagement, with people taking note of her, it's only a matter of time until one of them penetrates whatever cloak of secrecy Gabriel Tan has put up and discovers that Claire Monteverde is a big impostor.

So what would happen to her? What happens after a month, when her employment agreement with Gabriel, on account of the Red Contract, finally expires?

"I am quite speechless," a voice says. Claire looks up to see Michelle, still dripping wet from having just emerged from the pool, but nevertheless a striking beauty still.

"For someone who's quite speechless, you're actually talking," Claire says defiantly.

"Don't be too ċȯċky," Michelle says. "He'll discard you like yesterday's news. Gabriel Tan is the most fickle-minded man I know."

"Really?" Claire says. "He stood by you despite knowing about your cheating—"

--"You lie!"

--"I'm not!" From a corner of her eye Claire sees Gabriel approaching them. "Gabriel has always known about your men, yet he put up with it as long as he didn't personally see it. Until two weeks ago, when you got so careless."

"There's only one monster I see here," Claire says coolly. "And she's right in front of me."

Rage lights up in Michelle eyes. In an instant, her hand flies, hitting Claire on the side of the face.

The pain—and the sheer unexpectedness of it—stuns Claire. Nobody has ever hit her before. Nobody. And she would never expect such a thing to be coming from a high-society person like Michelle Alcantara. Instantly, she loses it and retaliates, her hand hitting Michelle on the left cheek.

"You bitch…" Michelle holds her cheek as if it's about to collapse. "You…"

Now, before we proceed to describing the slapping, hair-pulling, scratching, and bikini-shredding that follow, let's point out a few things first.

While this exchange is happening, Gabriel Tan is standing just a few meters from the two women. He stops and admires them from that short distance: he mentally compares the body shapes of the two, admiring their differences, appreciating the fact that these two offer two different worlds. He also realizes, much to his own secret pain, that none of these two are his: Michelle is the irretrievable past, while Claire is just an employee, his fake fiancée. In a perfect world, these two would actually be fighting over him, two gorgeous, head-strong, incredibly voluptuous women who actually love him to death. But the reality is way sadder than that. And his money—the salary he offers Claire—could only achieve so far. So Gabriel stands there, sad and amazed and entertained at the same time.

Meanwhile, everyone has stopped whatever they're doing. They're all watching the two exchange "pleasantries." They know it's about to get red-hot serious. The Palace guards stand at attention, but will interfere only if Gabriel gets directly involved—at this point, he's not.

And DJ Blue, the house DJ, realizes they're at the cusp of a turning point in history, so he decides to spin the appropriate track for what's about to happen: Enrique Gil's "Mobe."

So hell is unleashed. Michelle couldn't believe this usurper to her throne could have the gall to actually slap her back, instead of submitting to her will and ċȯċkroaching back to the hole she has come from; naturally, she is burning with rage. She grabs Claire's hair and pulls it with all her might. But Claire has quick reflexes—she parries the attack with both her arms while also grabbing Michelle's long tresses. Both women scream curses at each other. The crowd cheers them on. At some point, Michelle manages to use her weight to push Claire into the pool, but it works against her, too—she also falls into the water.

Claire is all poised to follow and attack but a hand grabs her—it's Gabriel. "Stop it. The show ends here."

"What?" Claire is still in the thick of emotion. "Let me show that bitch what real pain is."

"Stop it, will you?" Gabriel says firmly. "Let her go."

Claire struggles from his grasp, but it's no use. She hyperventilates, willing herself to calm down, closing her eyes, counting. She opens her eyes and finds Gabriel still holding her, almost in an embrace.

"Listen," he says. "We have to be ready."

"For what?"

Gabriel gazes into her eyes, and in his best Tony Stark-Robert Downey Jr. voice, mutters, "For the shitstorm that will follow."