She took a breath as she stepped inside, her heels tapping softly against the floor. She gave a brief nod to the guard who opened the door for her, carrying nothing but the new designer bag Danica had given her yesterday as a birthday gift. No makeup and lipstick, just her bare face and a messy bun barely holding itself together.
She went straight to HR to hand over her leave form.
"Emergency leave," she said quietly, placing the filled-out form on the desk.
Mrs. Dela Riva , the HR officer who usually double-checked every detail, merely glanced at it and nodded. "Noted, Miss Dela Fuentes. Next time, you can just email it to me, so you don't have to come here personally," she said with a smile.
She blinked. That was quick. She gave her a faint smile, nodded, and walked out in silence. She hadn't expected questions, but the absence of them made her stomach twist. Maybe it was because they already knew that it was the first time she'd taken a leave that wasn't for health reasons. Or maybe they simply didn't care, since she worked directly under the CEO.
Back at her desk, the blinking cursor on her screen greeted her. It felt unfamiliar, even though she'd only been gone a few days. She powered on her system, opened her inbox, and began sorting through the pile of unread emails.
Five follow-ups from clients. Two reminders from accounting. And one message from Troy's executive assistant asking for his updated itinerary.
She clicked on the last one.
"Overseas flight confirmed: July 12–15. Hong Kong. Business forum. Reps from Martinez Co. attending."
She inhaled sharply. Of course—it was this week.She leaned back slightly. For years, she had assisted Troy with every business trip. She was always part of the preparation—sometimes even reminding him of his flight schedules, handling his passport renewals, and buying the exact neck pillow he liked. Sometimes, she would even use her own vacation leaves just to prepare for his departure. She used to treat these trips like a big deal.
Now? She barely felt anything. It was as if she was doing it out of obligation, because she was paid to.
She took a deep breath and minimized the tab.
Before, whenever the intercom buzzed from his office, she had a built-in reflex: fix her blouse, comb her hair, and head over with a smile ready.
Now, when the intercom buzzed, she stared at it blankly for a few seconds. Then she turned calmly to the side.
"Bianca," she called, her eyes still on the screen.
The intern, who was stacking folders near the cabinet, turned quickly. "Yes, Ma'am Maxine?"
She held out the tablet displaying the message. "Please go to the CEO's office. Ask him what he needs."
Bianca blinked. "Sorry, Ma'am?"
"Just tell him I'm busy handling emails. He'll understand."
The girl nodded hesitantly, but didn't ask further. She kept typing, though there wasn't really anything urgent on her screen.
As soon as the door closed, she leaned back, eyes closed, fingers still resting on the keyboard.
Her phone buzzed. Troy was calling.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she opened a new draft email for a client. But every now and then, her eyes drifted toward the closed door across the room—Troy's office, where the blinds were pulled halfway down. Normally, she would have already been inside, handing him coffee, briefing him on meetings, pretending not to notice when he looked annoyed at her presence.
Now, she couldn't care less.
She sighed and pulled up another bidding document. At least she had a distraction. She quickly turned her head when Bianca returned, holding out a sticky note.
"Miss Maxine, Sir Troy asked me to give this to you."
She took it without a word.
"I'm getting impatient, Max. Don't make me call you twice."
She stared at the note, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she crumpled it slowly and dropped it into the trash beside her desk.
Fuck you, Martinez! Go to hell.
By 10:00 AM, the conference room was already half full. She had no choice but to go. As much as she wanted to avoid Troy, this was her job, and she needed to remain professional.
She entered with her usual clipboard in hand, a crisp beige blouse tucked into black slacks. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't look upset either.
Most of the senior managers were already seated, each one reviewing documents or quietly talking to their assistants. At the far end of the table, Troy was seated alone.
His elbows rested on the table, one hand holding a pen, the other against his chin. His eyes landed on her the moment she walked in.
She felt it—that stare that used to weaken her knees.
She didn't falter. She simply walked to the opposite side of the table and sat beside the finance head, placing a deliberate distance between Troy who's already glaring at her.
The meeting began.
Troy spoke with his usual demeanor. But she noticed the subtle shifts—the way his eyes often flicked toward her, how he paused whenever he expected her to respond. And how his jaw tightened when she handed a document to the marketing head instead of passing it to him directly.
She only nodded when necessary, answered when addressed, and took down notes for the meeting minutes. She never met his gaze.
When the meeting ended, executives started collecting their things, murmuring among themselves as they left. Troy stayed seated, eyes fixed on her, waiting—like always. But she didn't move.
She stood, slid her pen into her folder, and turned to leave without sparing him a glance.
"Maxine," his voice rang out, low and steady.
She paused but didn't turn around.
Instead, she took a slow breath and slightly turned her head, just enough to acknowledge him without giving in.
"I'm needed in the marketing wing. I still have a budget review," she said.
"I just need five minutes," he replied, standing up.
She heard his footsteps behind her. She reached for the door handle, forcing herself to remain still, even as her heart thudded louder than it should.
"Five minutes won't fix anything, Mr. Martinez," she said quietly. Then she pushed the door open and left.
Back in office, her breathing was quiet but uneven. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, eyes shut.
Her phone buzzed again.
From: Troy
Why are you doing this? Can we talk? Please. I can explain everything.
She stared at the message. Then deleted it without hesitation.
It was nearly 4 PM when Bianca entered her office, knocking softly, a puzzled look on her face and a tray in hand.
"Ma'am, delivery for you. From the CEO."
She blinked. Was she hearing that right—or was her mind playing tricks on her?
The tray held a takeaway cup from her favorite cafe across the street. Beside it was a small box wrapped in parchment paper, tied with a thin red ribbon.
Bianca placed it gently on her desk. "It comes with truffle pasta too."
For a moment, she just stared, caught off guard. She tilted her head slightly, lips parted—not from anticipation but something closer to disbelief.
Troy never did this.
He didn't send coffee. He didn't bring food. If anything, it had always been her bringing him coffee before meetings, the one who knew exactly how he liked it.
But now? Him?
Bianca waited silently, glancing between the tray and her unreadable expression.
She reached for the cup slowly, feeling its warmth spread through her fingers. She brought it close to her nose.
Then gently set it back down.
Her chest tightened—but not the way it used to. It wasn't hope nor butterflies. She exhaled softly and turned to Bianca.
"Bianca?"
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Drink it."
Bianca blinked. "Ma'am?"
"You like coffee, right? It's yours. Take the pasta too. Eat it."
"But Ma'am, wasn't this meant for you?"
She finally looked up, her expression calm but firm. "It's yours now. I'm giving it to you."
Bianca hesitated but eventually accepted the food and returned to her desk.
She offered a faint smile, then resumed typing as if nothing happened. Her heart didn't flinch. The gesture hadn't moved her.
She had dreamed of moments like this—small acts that showed he cared. She used to wonder what it would feel like if he brought her coffee or cared about her in the smallest way.
But now that it finally happened, it didn't matter. Maybe because it came too late.
When she checked the time, it was past 6 PM. Most employees had already gone home. She shut down her laptop, organized her desk, and slung her bag over one shoulder after stretching and rubbing the back of her neck.
As she reached the lobby, she was startled to see Troy sitting there. He stood up the moment he saw her.
Damn it!
He was the reason she extended her work hours—to avoid this exact moment. And yet he waited.
She pretended not to notice him, but as she walked past, he spoke.
"Heading home?" he asked, his voice low but direct.
She gave a small nod, barely meeting his eyes. "Hmm."
"I'll walk you to your car."
She raised an eyebrow. "No need."
Troy stepped forward, his gaze tightening. "Maxine—"
"Troy!"
A sweet, familiar voice echoed through the lobby.
She rolled her eyes. She knew that voice.
They both turned to see Trina walking toward them in heels, her soft pink blouse swaying with every step.
"Love," Trina beamed, linking her arm with Troy's like it was second nature. "Are we still going to dinner? I'm starving. I even told your mom we wouldn't join them tonight because we have a date." She leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder.
She looked at them and shrugged her shoulder. She can see Troy's gaze towards her but she didn't dared to met his eyes.
Glancing at her car keys, she pressed the unlock button, watching the headlights blink under the parking lights.
"Well then," she said softly. "Trina's here now."
Her voice was calm then gave them her most practiced smile.
"You two enjoy."
And with that, she turned away, walking to her car without looking back.
Not even when she heard Trina's laugh echo.