93

The gala had ended, but its energy lingered for weeks. Clips of Rafaella De Torre — fierce, dazzling, and utterly magnetic — still flooded everyone's feeds. Even international entertainment outlets caught wind of it. Lea's name trended next to Rafael's, the internet calling them "The Power Couple of the Decade."

But life in the De Torre villa never stayed quiet for long.

The morning sun poured softly through their bedroom window. Lea stirred awake to the faint hum of the city, turning to see Rafael — or Rafaella, as Kris now fondly called him — still asleep beside her, a faint trace of glitter clinging to his hairline.

She smiled, tracing his jaw gently with her thumb. "My husband, the CEO-slash-drag-queen," she whispered, amused.

Rafael's eyes flickered open, lazy and warm. "Don't remind me," he muttered, his voice still husky from sleep. "My back hurts from those boots."

Lea chuckled. "You wore five-inch heels for five performances. You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

He grinned sleepily. "Worth it though." Then, after a pause, "Did I go overboard?"

She tilted her head. "Overboard? You shut down the internet. Kris is still recovering. Boy Abunda wants to book you for a Pride Month special."

Rafael groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. "Absolutely not."

Lea laughed, tugging the pillow away. "You loved every second of it."

He looked at her, defeated but smiling. "I did. Because you were watching."

Her chest warmed at that. For all his bravado, Rafael was still the man who only ever performed for her.

By mid-afternoon, the villa was filled with noise again — Kris, Boy, and the Divine Divas had invited themselves over for a "post-show debrief."

The front door burst open without warning. "Rafaellaaaaaa!" Kris's voice echoed through the foyer.

Lea nearly spilled her tea as Kris, Brigiding, PPN, and Viñas swept in like a royal entourage. Boy followed behind, trying to catch his breath.

Rafael, in his usual crisp white shirt and jeans, appeared at the top of the stairs looking every bit the stoic CEO again — except for the way his expression fell when he saw the entire drag cabal gathered in his home.

"Good God," he muttered. "It's an invasion."

Kris cackled. "Call it divine retribution! Come down here, Miss Rafaella!"

Brigiding winked up at him. "The people's queen must address her court!"

PPN added, "You slayed five times — you can't retire now, ma'am!"

Lea was doubled over in laughter. "You brought this on yourself, love."

Rafael sighed dramatically, but descended the staircase like he was approaching a board meeting. "If anyone posts a video of this on TikTok, I'm shutting down Wi-Fi for the entire country."

Kris fanned herself. "Oh, please. You're trending in Brazil already."

They gathered in the lounge — laughter, champagne, and light teasing filling the air. Boy Abunda lifted a glass, his tone suddenly warm.

"To Lea, the eternal muse — and to Rafael, the husband who continues to redefine what love looks like."

Everyone clinked glasses, and Rafael, caught off-guard by the sincerity, smiled modestly.

Lea leaned into him. "They're right, you know."

He brushed her knuckles with his thumb. "About?"

"About love. You've turned it into an art form."

He chuckled softly. "That's your department."

"Maybe," she said, smiling up at him, "but you're my favorite masterpiece."

The group collectively groaned in playful disgust. Kris dramatically fanned herself again. "See?! This is why we're all single. No one can compete with that!"

Rafael laughed, clinking his glass with hers. "You're welcome, Your Majesty."

When everyone had left, the house was quiet again. The air smelled faintly of champagne and candle wax.

Rafael stood by the terrace, looking over the city lights — his reflection faint in the glass. Lea approached silently, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He smiled, resting his hands over hers. "You're quiet tonight."

"Just thinking," she said softly. "You've given me so many versions of you, Paeng. The husband, the partner, the businessman... now the queen."

He laughed, turning to face her. "You forgot 'the fool.'"

She shook her head, eyes glinting. "No, never that. You're brave. You keep showing me that love doesn't have to look one way."

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I only ever wanted to make you proud."

"You did more than that," she whispered. "You made me feel seen."

For a long moment, they just stood there — the world outside fading, the two of them framed in the soft glow of city light. Then Lea whispered something that made him freeze.

"Next year, it's my turn."

He blinked. "Your turn?"

"To surprise you," she said, grinning. "Better start praying now."

By morning, social media had exploded again.

#RafaellaReturns was trending globally. Clips of the performances had been spliced together into tribute videos. One user captioned it: "He didn't just perform. He liberated love."

Lea scrolled through the comments, smiling softly. Rafael, beside her, tried not to look.

"You're a phenomenon," she said proudly.

"I'm a meme," he corrected dryly.

"Both can be true," she teased, setting the phone down. "But you know what you really are?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Lea leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Mine."

And in the quiet that followed, somewhere between laughter and love, they both knew — no viral video or gala could ever match this: a song only they could hear, sung softly in the rhythm of their hearts.