Frank smiled faintly as he scrolled through photos of Nathan and Nadia enjoying the honeymoon gift he had given them. A private message from Nathan had popped up, thanking him sincerely.
He leaned back in his chair, checking his schedule.
"Finally, a calm day," he muttered, relieved. For once, things weren't so hectic.
His workload had lightened. The pressure from managing his father's business had lessened, and to his surprise, a few Filipinos worked in the company too—making things feel a little more familiar.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated. Not Messenger. It was WhatsApp.
He frowned when he saw the caller's name.
What now? He sighed and reluctantly answered the call.
"Clover, have some decency. I'm at work," he scolded, quickly turning away from the screen.
Clover was shirtless, with clothes strewn across the room, with a woman clearly asleep beside him.
Clover just laughed. "Since when did you become so sensitive?"
"I'm not sensitive. I'm just at work. Someone might think I'm watching porn or something," he muttered, exasperated.
"You sound stressed. Looks like you're having fun over there, huh?" Clover teased.
Frank sighed. "With all the work Dad dumped on me, do you think I even have time to think about fun?"
"You're such a liar. I know you're busy with women. Come on, spill—how is she?"
"Idiot," Frank said, shaking his head at his shamelessness.
Then Clover's tone shifted. "Still thinking about your ex?"
Frank's expression stiffened. "Are you crazy? Of course not," he replied firmly.
But Clover caught the change in his eyes.
You're not going back to anyone, Frank, he reminded himself. Especially not the one you left behind.
"You're hopeless," Clover muttered, stretching.
"Don't you have work to do?"
"It's my day off, idiot," Clover replied.
"Want to come over and help me out instead?" Frank said.
Clover chuckled. "You're unbelievable. Besides, you left a pile of stuff here when you flew out—I'm the one cleaning up your mess."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I have better things to do," Frank said with a smirk.
"Alright, take care," Clover said as he ended the call.
Frank sighed as his screen went dark.
****
Meanwhile…
"Hey, that's enough."
Anthony spoke firmly, watching Edward slam his empty glass onto the table. They were inside the casino, and Edward had just burned through what little money he had left.
"I guess luck's not on my side tonight," Edward mumbled, eyes glassy, reeking of alcohol. They had started drinking hours ago.
Anthony checked his watch. "We should go home now, Ed. You've lost enough." He patted him on the back, trying to guide him away from the poker table.
Edward lazily followed, collapsing into the passenger seat of Anthony's car.
As Anthony started the engine, Edward's gaze drifted toward the casino entrance. Two women stepped out, laughing.
"Ah… whichever one comes out first, she'll be my girlfriend," he slurred with a smirk.
"You idiot, stop. You're drunk," Anthony muttered.
But Edward leaned closer to the window. "Wait… I know that one. She's a teacher. Works at one of those private schools nearby."
"Can we not do this tonight?" Anthony snapped.
Edward smirked. "She doesn't even look that pretty—probably easy to get."
Anthony's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "You're disgusting."
Edward didn't care. "Bet she earns enough to treat a man right. You know how I roll. Remember the principal's daughter? She practically begged me to date her. Rich, too. Gave me cash whenever I asked."
"You're lucky she didn't report you," Anthony said coldly. "You used her, manipulated her—and you're still proud of it?"
Edward scoffed. "Come on, we were both having fun. No harm done."
Anthony stared straight ahead, disgusted.
Edward lit a cigarette. "Let's go visit that new teacher I was talking about. She's my next target."
"You go. Leave me out of your sick games."
Edward chuckled. "God, you're no fun. What's the matter? You and your girl didn't hook up tonight?"
Anthony glared. "That's it. Get out and walk if you keep talking like that."
Edward just reclined his seat and grinned. "Whatever. You're just jealous."
The next day…
Edward entered his classroom ten minutes late, eyes bloodshot, the faint scent of alcohol still on him. He hadn't even bothered to shave. The students, used to his tardiness, barely reacted.
"Alright, open your books—uh… what were we doing again?" He muttered, tossing his bag onto the desk.
The class sat in silence.
"Sir, we were supposed to have a quiz today," a student reminded him.
Edward blinked, then laughed. "Oh, right. That. Ugh. Too lazy today. Just answer anything, and I'll give you all 85. Deal?"
Some students chuckled awkwardly, unsure if he was joking.
He slumped in his chair, pulled out his phone, and scrolled mindlessly. Minutes later, he propped his feet on the desk.
"If anyone has snacks, bring them here. Sir's hungry."
He didn't teach a thing. When one student timidly approached him with a question, he waved them off.
"Sir… I didn't understand the homework…"
"Google it," he replied without looking up.
Later, in the faculty lounge, murmurs started.
"Does he even teach anymore?" a teacher whispered.
"Barely. He just gives out random grades," another added. "Third time this week."
"Didn't he have that rumor with the girl from 11-B?"
The room fell silent. No one dared speak further.
But everyone knew.
Edward was bad news.
And the worst part?
He didn't care.