Two weeks later…
October 21.
The day my room turns into a boiling pot of emotions.
The day I cry into my pillow like it's a full-time job.
The day that should've been the happiest date on my yearly calendar—but instead, it never fails to break me.
My birthday.
I walked through the plaza carrying a bouquet of flowers. There weren't many people around anymore; late afternoon had painted everything in a soft, quiet glow. The place was beautiful—trees everywhere, a small playground, a gentle breeze. Anyone else would find peace here.
But not me. Not today.
Because today was also the day I lost the woman who raised me when my parents didn't—the grandmother who became my entire world. She died on my birthday, and since then, every year felt less like a celebration and more like a wound reopening.
I sat on a bench near a huge tree, leaned back, and looked up at a sky slowly being swallowed by dusk. A few people passed by, happy, laughing, living their lives freely. My vision blurred before I even realized I was crying.
Grandma hated seeing me cry. But I just couldn't stop.
I stayed there until the lamps along the path flickered to life. Six o'clock. I stood up, placed the flowers beneath the tree, whispered a small goodbye, and started walking home.
Passing by a small bakeshop, I felt an odd pull. I didn't even know why I went inside. I walked around until a mini mango cake caught my attention—simple, soft yellow, almost… comforting.
"Ma'am? Will you be buying that?" the shop girl suddenly asked.
I forced a small smile and shook my head. "No."
"Would you like something else?"
"Nothing. I'll go now, sorry."
I turned—only to stop short when someone was standing right behind me. I almost tripped, but a hand caught me in time.
"Thanks," I muttered as I straightened up. Then I finally saw who it was. "Francis?"
He gently nudged me aside, stepped forward, and pointed at the cake.
"I want this. And two bottles of Coke."
"For dine-in, sir?" the shop girl asked.
"No. We'll eat outside." He pointed to the tables outside the shop.
We'll eat?
My eyebrow twitched.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as we walked out.
He looked at me with zero expression. "I'm hungry."
Wow. Okay then.
I turned away. "Obviously. Anyway, I'm going home—"
"I'm hungry," he repeated.
I glared. "And?"
"Join me."
The shop girl arrived with the order. The cake. The drinks. The whole setup I absolutely did not sign up for.
"I won't finish this alone," he added calmly.
"Then give it to the kids on the street. Why order something you can't finish?" I muttered.
"I thought you were hungry. Are you embarrassed to eat with me?"
I sighed loudly. Lucifer tendencies—activated. Why tonight of all nights?
"No thanks. I'm not hungry. And please, don't ruin my night."
"It's your birthday, isn't it?"
I froze mid-step.
"This cake is yours. I bought it for you."
"What?" was all I managed to say.
---
The evening grew quieter around us. I couldn't even look straight at him. My boss—my cold, infuriating boss—was sitting across from me, calmly eating mango cake like this was the most normal thing in the world.
"Why aren't you eating?" he asked.
How could I? I was already awkward enough. No one had ever bought me a birthday cake before. Ever. Especially not him.
"It's good," he added, licking the fork.
I blinked. Did he just—?
"Don't you like mango? Should I order a different one?" he asked, already moving to stand.
I grabbed his hand. "Thank you."
He paused… stared… then slowly sat back down.
"So you do know how to say thank you," he said dryly.
"Thanks for this," I muttered and looked away.
"Okay."
"Just okay?"
"What? Do you want me to say 'you're welcome'?"
I let out a breath and ignored him, finally tasting the cake.
It was good.
And mango was my favorite.
---
After we finished, I stood. "I'm going home. Thanks for the treat."
"Okay."
I walked to the jeep station and boarded the first one that stopped. My phone buzzed.
Happy birthday.
Francis.
My heartbeat stuttered. Why? No idea. But suddenly I was smiling like an idiot all the way home.
---
"Excuse me… you're Ms. Magsandingan, right?"
A voice behind me made me turn—and I practically forgot how to breathe.
It was the gorgeous angel I'd seen once before. And wow. Up close, he was even more breathtaking.
"Yes, that's me, sir," I said quickly. "Are you looking for Mr. Locan?"
He smiled. Honest to God, I felt my knees waver.
"Yes. I need to speak with him."
"He's still in a meeting, but you can wait in his office. I'll make you some coffee."
"Will it take long?" he asked.
"Almost finished."
"In that case, sure. Lead the way."
I tried not to melt as I walked ahead of him.
"Coffee or tea, sir?" I asked.
"What's your specialty, Ms. Secretary?"
"I make coffee pretty well, sir."
"Then coffee it is."
He smiled again—dimples and all.
How did Francis end up with all the attitude and none of these good genes?
I brought him the cup and he thanked me with that same smooth charm.
Even sipping coffee, he was handsome. Unfair.
"I'm sorry," I blurted, realizing I'd been staring.
He chuckled. "Is it hard being my brother's secretary?"
"Sorry?"
"I know he's… cold. And I admire how you manage that."
"That's exactly it, sir. Why didn't he inherit even a little of your personality? No offense."
He laughed—actually laughed.
"Come sit. Tell me everything about my brother while we wait," he said.
I hesitated. "You don't know him well?"
"It's not that. We just rarely spend time together."
Oh no. I thought.
I'm already crushing on this man.
While waiting, I told him everything—every ridiculous thing Francis had ever done. His moods. His arrogance. His strange soft side when he's sick or drunk.
Asher—yes, his name was Asher—laughed nonstop.
"You're kidding," he said between laughs.
"I wish I was," I replied.
"You two seem to get along surprisingly well," he said.
"We don't. I just… refuse to let him win."
More laughter. More banter. More warmth.
"You're funny," he said.
A sudden ahem echoed from the doorway.
We both turned.
Francis stood there, emotionless as usual.
"Hi, L. You're finally here. Is the meeting over?" Asher asked.
No response.
Francis simply walked to his desk and sat down.
"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.
"Can you leave us alone for a minute?" Asher asked me.
I stepped back, about to leave—until Francis spoke.
"Stay."
Asher frowned. "But she—"
"Just say it. I trust her," Francis interrupted.
That made Asher pause.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Uncle Jim is back. I heard yesterday. You know what that means for the company, right? We're in danger. And according to my men, he's planning something."
"I know," Francis replied.
"You know? And you didn't tell us? I trust you, but—what's your plan?"
"He'll target the wine factory first. Probably the grape farm in Cebu. I'll send my men to investigate."
I had no idea what any of that meant. Who was Uncle Jim? Why were they in danger?
They spoke for another hour before Asher finally left.
Francis stood and turned toward me.
"Ms. Magsandingan."
My heart froze.
"Yes, sir?"
He walked closer—far too close.
"Stay away from my brother."
I stared at him, stunned.
"What?" was all I managed to whisper.