46

Routines had never been Rafael's strength. For most of his life, schedules were obligations — board meetings, media briefings, flights across time zones, and a constant stream of signatures that shaped the empire his family built.

But now, the new rhythm wasn't about empire. It was about them.

After months of recovery and reflection, Rafael had formally stepped down as CEO of De Torre Vision Holdings too. His TVN CEO days were long over and he was hoping his DTVH days would as well. The board — after some persuasion from Doña Beatriz and Lea — had agreed to his request. He remained as President, the steady compass behind the company's vision, but no longer the one who carried its daily storms, not even remotely.

It meant he could finally spend more time in leisure rather than worrying about running an empire, though the change came with one caveat: he had to report to the DTVH Headquarters in person, at least on alternating days, to oversee strategy, mentor new executives, and maintain investor confidence.

Lea teased him that "President" suited him more — "You're still the boss," she'd say with a grin, "just less of a control freak."

He pretended to grumble, but the truth was he didn't mind. For the first time, balance didn't feel like surrender. It felt like survival.

And so came the new rule in the De Torre household — Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays belonged to Liam.

No meetings before 9:30. No phone calls in the car. No emails until after drop-off.

Every morning began the same: the scent of fresh toast, the quiet clink of mugs, and the sound of sneakers on marble as Rafael and Lea got ready for another school run.

Rafael traded his suits for plain v-neck t-shirts and jeans, hair slightly tousled beneath his cap. Lea matched his energy — polo shirts, fitted jeans, and a mischievous smile that could still disarm him after all these years.

Liam was the conductor of their routine — bounding down the stairs with his backpack, sometimes dragging one shoe untied, calling out, "I'm ready, Papa! Mama!"

They'd drive him to school together, half the time arguing playfully about who forgot to pack his lunch, the other half laughing at Liam's endless chatter.

When they arrived at the school gates, Rafael would kneel, straighten Liam's collar, and say, "Remember, champ, always be kind." And Liam would grin. "Always, Papa."

Sometimes, they still drew attention — a teacher doing a double take, a guard whispering to a colleague — but they had learned to laugh it off. "We're just another family," Lea would say, waving cheerfully as they walked back to the car.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were Rafael's official office days.

By 8:00 a.m., the black De Torre Vision Holdings Tower gleamed against the Manila skyline — a symbol of legacy he once thought would define him forever. Now, as he stepped out of the elevator to the top floor, Rafael saw it differently.

He didn't walk into the boardroom to prove himself anymore. He walked in to guide, to teach. His office was simpler now — Lea's framed photo on his desk, Liam's crayon drawing pinned beside quarterly charts, and a shelf of books Ellie had given him.

The staff greeted him with warmth, not fear. "Good morning, Mr. President," they'd say, and he'd smile instead of nodding curtly as he once did.

Sometimes, Lea would visit during lunch. They'd share sandwiches in his office instead of a fancy restaurant. "I like you here," she'd tease. "All that glass makes you look poetic."

He'd laugh softly. "Only if you're on the other side of it."

Thursday nights were theirs alone. Dinner at home, quiet music in the background, sometimes a shared drink in the garden once Liam was asleep. They didn't need big gestures anymore — just stillness. Just presence.

Then weekends were for family days...

Ellie has since moved to the penthouse. It was closer to her work and they wanted to give her space at twenty-eight. When Ellie wasn't swamped at her firm, she'd drive down to Forbes for the weekend. The moment her Harley pulled up, Liam would bolt out the door yelling, "Ate Ellie's here!"

The villa would fill with sound — Ellie arguing mock-trials with Liam, Lea shouting from the kitchen for them to stop using her flower vases as courtroom props, Rafael watching it all unfold from the lounge with quiet amusement.

"Chaos looks good on us," he'd murmur.

And Lea would smile. "It's called life."

When Ellie couldn't make it, family day was just the three of them. They'd go for drives, visit small cafés outside the city, or stay in and build pillow forts in the living room.

Rafael sometimes caught himself watching Lea and Liam from afar — her laughter, his energy — and realized that peace wasn't something you stumbled upon. You built it, brick by gentle brick, even when the world wasn't watching.

On most nights, when the house finally settled, Rafael would sit by the window of their bedroom, looking out at the faint city lights in the distance. Lea would curl beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"You've changed," she'd whisper.

He'd smile faintly. "Or maybe I finally became who I was supposed to be."

She'd tilt her face toward him. "And who's that?"

He looked at her, eyes soft. "A husband. A father. Just Rafael."

And sometimes, when she smiled back, it was enough to remind him that titles — CEO, President, Mr. De Torre — all meant nothing if he couldn't hold onto this: a life that was no longer about legacy or success, but about love lived fully and quietly.

It wasn't perfect. There were still days when Rafael stayed too long at the office, or Lea got pulled into a last-minute meeting, or Ellie's schedule bled into weekends. But the difference now was that they always found their way back — to breakfast tables, school drop-offs, late-night laughter.

For the first time in years, the De Torres weren't just running their lives. They were living them.