The cold morning air brushed against her skin the moment she stepped out of the car. The sun was bright, but a heaviness still lingered in her chest. Pressing her fingers lightly to her temple, she felt the dull ache in her head. At least the fever had passed. She had missed work for nearly two days, mostly lying in bed, lost in her thoughts.
Today offered no room for retreat. It was the company's anniversary celebration. The morning was reserved for a charity event at Angels Charity Foundation, an orphanage for children who had suffered abuse. Troy had personally selected the organization as this year's beneficiary.
"Ma'am Maxine, you're here," one of the event coordinators greeted her warmly.
She managed a small smile despite the heaviness in her body. "Good morning. How's the setup?"
"Everything's in place. We just need a final check on the food table, and the kids will be arriving shortly."
She nodded and started reviewing the checklist on her clipboard. She wore a simple white blouse tucked into flowy beige pants. But when she caught her reflection in the tablet screen, she noticed her nose was still red and her lips looked dry.
She pinched her palm as another wave of dizziness rolled over her.
Stay standing, Maxine. Don't fall now.
She steadied herself just as footsteps approached from behind.
"Maxine."
That voice. Even just hearing it made the fine hairs on her arms rise. Somehow, it still had the power to stir something deep within her.
She paused and slowly turned around.
Troy stood before her, wearing a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked put-together, yet tired. His gaze swept over her, and she noticed. Her brows drew together slightly.
"You still look sick. Are you really, okay?" he asked.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Oh, please, Troy. Why do you always show up when I'm finally trying to move forward?
She gave a single nod. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"Max—"
"Don't look at me like you're actually concerned, Troy."
He froze. She watched as his jaw tightened and a flicker of discomfort crossed his face.
She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe you forgot that I know you too well. I can tell when you're lying." Her legs still felt unsteady, her heart was pounding, but she didn't break eye contact.
"I wasn't lying," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear.
She gave a quiet, dry scoff. "Right."
Then she took a small step back.
"If you've got nothing else to say, I need to check the gift table."
Troy opened his mouth again, but—
"Love."
Trina's voice came from beside him. She slipped her arm around his, as if it belonged there. Her eyes drifted to the pair. The way Trina held him like she always had.
Of course. They've always fit this way.
"I figured I'd find you here," Trina added with a mocking laugh, lifting her brows as she looked straight at her.
She gave her a glance and a faint smile. "Perfect timing, as always," she murmured. Then she turned and walked away. She didn't look back, though she could sense the silence that hung between them.
As the team distributed gifts to the children, she knelt beside a little girl holding a sketchpad.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked gently.
"Lara."
"Are you drawing something?"
The girl nodded. "I want to be an architect. So, I can build homes for kids who don't have one."
She smiled warmly. "You're going to be a great architect. And when you finish your first design, I'll be your first client."
"Promise?" the girl asked, raising her pinky.
She linked hers with it. "Promise."
She stood up, and as she walked away, she felt it again—Troy's gaze. This time it lingered. He wasn't even trying to look away.
Her lips parted slightly. She quickly turned and pressed her thumb into her palm.
Stop shaking.
He stepped closer.
"Max..."
Her phone vibrated. It was a message from her mom—everything was ready for her birthday tomorrow. She smiled to herself and used the moment to step away. While she was sick, she had time to think. This year, she decided to spend her birthday with them. No more waiting for the weekend.
By late afternoon, the event had ended. She could barely keep her eyes open, but one glance at the time reminded her, she still didn't have a gown for the gala tonight.
Thankfully, it wouldn't start until eight. The dress she'd originally planned didn't feel right anymore. Something soft and sweet didn't match where she was emotionally. Despite her exhaustion, she asked the driver for a detour.
"Let's go to the boutique I used to visit with Mom," she said softly, leaning her head against the seat.
Earlier, she was surprised to find Elmo, one of her mother's old drivers, waiting outside her condo. He said her mom had sent him. Her mom always seemed to know exactly when she needed help.
As she stepped into the boutique, the scent of lavender greeted her. Dim lighting, soft piano music playing, and polished interiors. Everything was the same.
"Miss Maxine," Camille greeted with a warm smile. She was the owner of the boutique
She nodded. "Do you have any ready-to-wear pieces available?"
Miss Camille's smile deepened, as if she had been expecting her.
"Your mother left something for you. She said it's for a day when you might need it."
"Really?" She blinked.
Her mother never missed a beat.
Miss Camille didn't elaborate. She led her to the back.
There, hanging alone on a brass rack, was a red gown. The neckline was a clean, straight cut, subtle but striking. The bodice was shaped with precise seams, tailored to follow the lines of the body. The waist dipped naturally before falling into a soft column skirt, the fabric holding just enough weight to drape with quiet grace. It was simple, but to someone trained like her, the craftsmanship was undeniable.
She touched the fabric. It was smooth and cool. Exactly her taste.
"Would you like to try it on?" Miss Camille asked.
She nodded.
In front of the mirror, she didn't speak. The gown fit her like a second skin. No need for adjustments. It traced her shoulders, waist, and legs perfectly. She didn't smile right away. But her spine straightened. She ran a hand down her side, observing herself in silence.
Then, slowly, her lips parted.
After changing back into her casual clothes, she stepped out. The gown was folded inside the boutique's signature white box, sealed with a navy ribbon. She held it to her chest.
She was about to thank Miss Camille when the boutique's entrance bell rang.
Trina walked in, smiling. Her grin widened the moment their eyes met.
"Oh… Maxine? You're also here?"
She didn't answer.
Trina's gaze moved to the box she held. Then— Troy entered.
His eyes locked on her. He froze, clearly caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see her there.
Of course he didn't. Was this supposed to be a date? In her favorite boutique, of all places?
"Troy just accompanied me," Trina said lightly. "I needed to pick something up for tonight. I'm also invited, you know."
She gave a small shrug, like it didn't need an explanation. Staying composed, she turned to Miss Camille.
"I'm done. Thank you," she said with a faint, polite smile.
Then she looked at Trina, her expression calm almost amused.
"You may replace me now."
Trina blinked. Her smile faltered.
She walked past them without glancing back. Then she realized—the air in the boutique suddenly felt colder than the marble floors.