9:00 A.M. | Sandoval Enterprise, Zambales

While most major companies established their headquarters in the buzzing capital of Manila, the Sandoval family deliberately chose Zambales—to stay close to the Hacienda, their ancestral land, and to maintain a quiet command post away from the spotlight.

The building stood tall with twenty-five sleek floors, a modern architectural marvel against the lush, provincial backdrop. On the top floor was Duke Sandoval’s office, which gave a perfect view of the Sandoval Hotels and Resort—a crown jewel of the family empire.

Inside the building were several company branches—Mining, Travel & Tours, and Manpower Services, among others. But this morning, all eyes were on the 19th floor, where the boardroom bustled in preparation for a high-stakes shareholders’ meeting.

Meanwhile, the buzz surrounding the company’s latest project in Makati was impossible to ignore. A 30-story luxury condominium tower—Sandoval Residences—was set to launch next month. Despite it not even being officially opened, most units had already been reserved.

Duke entered the conference room with his usual composed air, greeting each board member with firm handshakes and a confident nod. His father, Douglas Sandoval—imposing at fifty-six, still sharp as steel and as elegant as ever—was already seated, going through a thick pile of documents. Despite the passage of years and countless socialite temptations, Douglas had remained fiercely loyal to Duke’s mother, something that didn’t go unnoticed in their circles.

“Congratulations, Duke. You nailed it.” Mr. Calvin Buenavista smiled and extended his hand.

Duke accepted the compliment with a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you, Sir. We're all working hard to make it happen.”

The discussion quickly shifted to the next phase.

Douglas declared, "We are already looking for a new lot for condominiums." "For this reason, the first tower's launch must be perfect."

His cousin Addison, who was in charge of marketing, smiled as he leaned forward. "We have already booked photographers for next week. I contacted some friends who work in advertising and print. We will be highlighted in the lifestyle sections of multiple magazines. Additionally, the campaign will feature a celebrity.

Duke arched his brow. "And exactly who did you choose?"

"Selene Arguelles."

The name sank like a stone into his stomach.

His jaw tightened slightly. He felt the air shift, as if the name had its own gravity. Douglas gave Duke a curious, possibly amused look, which Duke deliberately avoided.

"Do we have any other options?" He asked, his tone low but clipped. "This is Makati real estate we are selling. We do not need a flashy endorser. We have already targeted our market.

Addison blinked. Duke, it is an X-deal. Her manager offered the endorsement in exchange for Sandoval Hotel accommodations. She is also promoting her new show here. We do not even need to pay her talent fee."

Addison, another board member, nodded in agreement.

“It’s strategic. She’s visible and trending, and her fanbase aligns with our demographic. It’s a win-win situation.”

Duke didn't answer. He simply nodded, lips pressed thin. He knew any more reaction would give too much away.

The meeting continued but his mind had already drifted into chaos. He could hear the discussion—terms, projections, financial expectations—but none of it registered.

When the room emptied, Addison stayed behind.

“Something wrong with Selene? You tensed up the moment I mentioned her name.”

Before Duke could respond, Douglas cut in with a smirk.

“She’s the only woman your cousin ever dated seriously before we moved back.”

Addison lit up with amusement.

“Oh really? That stunning woman’s your ex? What happened? Did you break her heart—or did she shatter yours?”

“Shut up, kid. That’s all ancient history,” Duke snapped, standing up abruptly.

He nodded politely and muttered something about having to step out, then left the room.

10:15 A.M. | Ingrid’s Café, Ground Floor

The scent of espresso and cinnamon filled the air as Duke pushed through the glass doors of Ingrid’s café. He wasn't supposed to be here. He had meetings, reports, and a dozen decisions to make. But the moment he heard Selene's name, something cracked inside him—and suddenly, he needed a distraction.

Ingrid stood by the counter, discussing something with her staff. She turned as he entered, her expression softening.

“You’re early,” she said, eyebrows raised. “I thought we were meeting at six?”

“I needed coffee,” Duke replied tersely, eyes scanning the busy street outside. “Meeting just ended.”

Ingrid's eyes narrowed. She could tell something was off.

“Come upstairs,” she said, already heading to the staircase.

Her office smelled of leather and lavender. A far cry from the boardroom—here, the rules bent. Or broke.

Duke sank into the couch near the door, running a hand through his hair.

He looked drained—emotionally, not just physically.

“You look tired,” Ingrid remarked as she sat beside him, brushing her fingers through his hair and down to his neck. She loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “Didn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” he murmured.

Without waiting for an invitation, she kissed him—along his jaw, down his neck.

Her fingers trailed his chest, unbuttoning his shirt fully now.

This was what Ingrid offered—no questions, no demands. Just fire. Just release.

And God, he needed it.

Her body moved over his with practiced ease, igniting something deep within him. It was raw. Wordless. A storm of skin and heat and frustration. They lost themselves in each other, in the rhythm, in the silence between moans.

Duke adjusted his shirt while Ingrid leaned back on the couch, cigarette already lit between her lips.

“Let’s have lunch,” she said casually.

“I can’t. I have lunch with Papa.”

Ingrid smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Then tell him you’re with me.”

He looked at her—really looked.

The smoke curled around her face, making her look almost distant like she wasn’t really there.

She wouldn't meet his eyes.

He noticed how she was starting to ask things now—why she hadn't been invited to Hacienda Sandoval, why she wasn’t introduced as more than just a "girlfriend."

He didn’t have answers. Or maybe he did—he just didn’t want to give them.

“I have to go,” he said, walking to the door.

She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even say goodbye.

Back at the Office

By the time he returned, meetings and calls consumed the rest of his day. There were new projects to review, architectural revisions to approve, and financial forecasts to update.

Hours passed.

And for a while—he didn’t think of Selene.

Until he did.

Until her name came back in a whisper. In a pause between emails. In the silence of his own breathing.