When she returned to the office, her movements were automatic: sorting documents, reviewing slides, and checking the presentation deck. It was all muscle memory. She had mastered the art of functioning even when breaking inside.
Pretend nothing happened. Smile. Be efficient. Be invisible. That was her motto.
"Good morning," she greeted Troy casually. She didn't turn to look at him; instead, she walked straight to her desk to continue working.
"Morning," he replied dryly. No glance nor smile. No trace of the man she saw last night.
And yet—
"Have you eaten?"
She turned to him. It was a simple question, but for her, it meant the world.
"Yes," she answered softly, trying to inject liveliness into her voice.
Before ten o'clock, they walked into the conference room together. She carried her laptop and the meeting notes Troy would need. Inside, the acting CEO of Saavedra Construction was already present. Everyone stood in respect. Mr. Rivas greeted her with a smile and gave a nod to Troy.
"Shall we begin?" Troy said. She quickly arranged her materials. Her folders almost slipped, but Troy caught them before they fell. She gave him a quick, quiet thank you.
But before they could start, the door opened.
She froze.
Seymour Saavedra entered the room.Her ex. The first man she ever loved—before Troy.
Their eyes met. Only for a few seconds, but it felt like everything stopped. He looked nearly the same, just a little taller, leaner, broader, with sharper features. Still as striking.
"This is Mr. Seymour Saavedra, the CEO of Saavedra Construction," the older man introduced. She blinked. CEO? The last time they spoke, he was leaving for Canada. That was also the day they ended.
Seymour didn't take his eyes off her. "Hi," he greeted, calm but weighted.
Troy extended a hand. "Troy Jace Martinez."
"And this is my secretary, Maxine."
Ouch.
Not girlfriend or partner.
Just his secretary. His coffee maker. His paperwork girl. And at night… his warmth.
"Hi," she managed to say.
Seymour walked over to her, smiling, and gently took her hand. "I'm glad to see you here. I thought I'd have to ask around to find out where you live."
She forced a smile and pulled her hand back. She glanced at Troy—cold. Distant. His brows were tight, jaw clenched. He said nothing, just sat down.
"Let's begin," he said curtly.
She couldn't help glancing at Seymour again. Not because she still had feelings, those were long gone. It was more curiosity. How did he become a CEO? When she met his gaze again, he smiled wider.
"Next slide, Maxine," Troy ordered coldly.
"Yes, sir," she replied, slightly flustered as she fumbled through the slides.
The meeting ended, but she was tense the entire time. She wasn't sure if it was from Seymour's glances or from Troy's coldness. She quickly packed her things, expecting Troy to leave right away for his next meeting. But Seymour approached her.
"Dinner?"
"Why?"
"To catch up."
"I think Tro—I mean, Sir—might need me.
Maybe next time." She gave a small smile.
Seymour chuckled. "Didn't seem like it earlier."
"O-Okay. But just briefly. I have things to do later."
He handed her a card. She took it and tucked it into her bag without looking. Back in the office, Troy was quiet. He didn't speak to her, even as they walked side by side. At lunch, he left without a word. She stayed in the pantry, quietly staring at her untouched food.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Hi. This is Seymour. I got your number from Mr. Rivas. I'll pick you up at 7:30 PM.
7:30 PM.
Black dress. Red lips. A version of herself she barely recognized.
When she stepped out, Seymour was already there with a bouquet of violet tulips. Her favorite.
"You look stunning," he said.
"So do you," she replied.
That evening, she sat in the passenger seat of a sleek black sedan. Seymour drove them through BGC traffic.
"You used to hate steak," Seymour said casually after she placed her order.
"People change."
"Then I'll cut it into small pieces later. So you won't get tired." She blinked but didn't respond.
The restaurant was warm and quiet. No fancy candles, no pretentious jazz, just dim lights, wooden tables, and a soft acoustic playlist.
He pulled her chair for her. Such a small thing but so unfamiliar because no one had pulled a chair for her in a long time.
He ordered, only after asking what she liked. Not demanding nor controlling. Just thoughtful.
When the steak arrived, Seymour carefully sliced her portion into neat pieces. He placed the plate gently back in front of her before cutting his own. He was still a gentleman—the very reason she once fell in love with him.
"You still like red wine?"
"Sometimes."
She watched how he spoke to the waitress, polite but warm. How he asked about her family and actually listened. How he looked at her like she mattered.
"Do you still live alone?"
She nodded. "I like the silence. Most days."
"And tonight?"
She paused. "I don't know. I just needed something different."
He leaned back and stared at her.
"Maxine, maybe this ends after dinner. But let me say this—"
She looked up.
"You deserve to be looked at with full attention. Spoken to with kindness. And touched only when you say yes, not when someone's hurting."
Her breath caught. He didn't mention Troy. But he didn't have to.
On the ride back, they were quiet. Seymour parked near her condo but didn't get out.
He looked at her like he was memorizing her face.
"Thank you for tonight."
"Thank you too."
"Maxine?"
She turned.
"If ever there's a night when you're tired of waiting for someone who won't come home… just know I'll drive."
She stared at him but she didn't respond. Instead, she stepped out and didn't look back. But something in her chest ached.
Inside her unit, silence greeted her. She dropped her keys and stared at her reflection.
She wasn't in love with Seymour. But she wasn't sure she could keep loving someone who only needed her in secret. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.
Tonight, someone pulled a chair for her. Cut her steak. Made space without asking for her body.
And maybe… maybe she liked how that felt. She sat on the couch, one leg tucked under.
Her phone lit up.
A message from Troy.
"Are you home?"
Then—
"Who dropped you off?"
She turned toward the window. There, under the streetlight, a black SUV.
Parked.
Watching.
She didn't move nor reply. She closed the blinds and turned her back on him. For the first time, she didn't run to explain.
Outside, Troy's grip tightened on the wheel, jaw clenched—as he watched the blinds fall between them.