Lina's POV
I went to my bedroom, my heart beating fast and my hands shaking after seeing Rio and Jennie. They are laughing and relaxed in a way he never is with me. The image of her head on his shoulder, the casual intimacy between them, burns behind my eyes like acid.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and scroll to Diego's number.
"Lina?" His warm voice answers on the second ring. "Is everything alright?"
"Diego, I..." I pause, not sure how to explain the desperate need to get out of this penthouse, away from Rio and his perfect childhood friend. "Are you free tonight? I know it's last minute, but I'm going crazy sitting here, and I could really use some company."
"Of course, querida. There's a new wine bar downtown that's supposed to be excellent. Why don't I pick you up in an hour?"
"Actually, I'll meet you there. I need to get out of here now."
An hour later, I'm walking down the hallway toward the elevator, dressed in a sleek black cocktail dress that makes me feel powerful and beautiful. Marcus and David fall into step behind me, while Isabella coordinates with Carlos about the evening's logistics.
As we pass the living room, I catch a glimpse of Rio and Jennie still on the couch, now sharing what looks like takeout from expensive containers. Rio looks up when he hears my heels on the marble floor, his expression shifting from relaxed to surprised.
"Lina?" he calls out. "Where are you going?"
I don't stop walking, don't even slow down. "Out."
"Out where?"
But I'm already at the elevator, and the doors close on his confused expression before he can say another word.
Rio's POV
I stare at the closed elevator doors, something cold and uncomfortable settling in my chest. Lina looked stunning in that black dress, but there was something different about her demeanor—a hardness, a distance that felt more final than her usual professional politeness.
"Where do you think she's going dressed like that?" I ask, more to myself than to Jennie.
"Probably a date," Jennie says casually, picking at her pad thai. "I mean, you two aren't exactly acting like a couple in love. Maybe she's lonely."
The suggestion hits me like a physical blow. A date. With Diego, probably, given how much time they've been spending together lately.
"She wouldn't..." I start to say, then realize I have no idea what Lina would or wouldn't do anymore. Our relationship has become so strained, so distant, that I barely know her thoughts on anything beyond business.
"Rio," Jennie says gently, setting down her chopsticks and turning to face me. "Can I ask you something? When was the last time you two did something together? Just the two of you, no business, no public appearances?"
I try to think back and realize with dawning horror that I can't remember. Every interaction we've had lately has been either for show or so cold and professional it barely qualifies as human contact.
"Maybe she is jealous," Jennie continues thoughtfully. "Seeing us together, reminiscing about old times. Perhaps she feels left out."
"Jealous?" The idea seems impossible. Lina has her own company, her own success, her own... Diego.
"Women notice these things, Rio. The way you've been with me tonight—laughing, relaxed, happy—when was the last time you were like that with her?"
Never, I realize with sinking dread. I've never allowed myself to be that open with Lina, never let down my guard enough to just be myself.
"You know what?" Jennie says suddenly, standing up with renewed energy. "You should cook for her. Remember how you used to cook for me when we were kids? Your mother's recipes?"
The suggestion catches me off guard. I haven't cooked my mother's food for anyone in years—it feels too intimate, too revealing.
"I don't know if that's—"
"Come on," Jennie says, already heading toward the kitchen. "It'll be fun, just like old times. And maybe when Lina comes home, she'll see that you can be the warm, caring man I know you are."
Despite my reservations, I find myself following her into the kitchen. Jennie has always been persuasive, and the idea of doing something normal, something that connects me to happier memories, is suddenly appealing.
As we work together preparing my mother's recipe for chicken adobo, Jennie keeps up a steady stream of chatter, pulling out her phone to take pictures.
"This is so cute," she says, snapping a photo of me stirring the pot. "You look just like you did when you were fifteen, trying to impress me with your cooking skills."
"I was not trying to impress you," I protest, but I'm smiling.
"You absolutely were. Remember that time you tried to make that elaborate dessert and nearly burned down Lolo's kitchen?" She holds up her phone, recording me. "Say something for posterity!"
"Jennie, put the phone away," I laugh, but she's already posting the video to her Instagram story.
"Too late! Now everyone knows that the great Rio Kalinawan is actually domestic."
Lina's POV
The wine bar with Diego feels just right fancy but cozy, with soft lights that make it feel private and comfortable. Diego is nice and talks about his businesses in Europe. He also asks smart questions about how my company is growing.
Even though Diego is fun to talk to, I keep looking at my phone, feeling more and more worried. Then I see it—Jennie's Instagram story from just two hours ago.
The video shows Rio in his kitchen, laughing as he cooks, looking more relaxed and genuinely happy than I've ever seen him. Jennie's voice teases him playfully from behind the camera, joking about him burning kitchens, and Rio answers back warmly and in a fun way.
The caption reads: "Reunited with my favorite chef! Some things never change #childhoodfriends #homecooking #memories"
I watch the video three times, each viewing feeling like a knife twisting deeper in my chest. This is the Rio I've been trying to reach for months—warm, laughing, unguarded. But he's sharing that version of himself with Jennie, not me.
"Lina?" Diego's voice breaks through my spiral. "You've gone very quiet. Is everything alright?"
"I need another drink," I say, signaling the waitress. "Actually, make it a double."
"Perhaps we should—"
"No, I'm fine. Just celebrating my company's success." I raise my glass in a mock toast. "To being an independent woman who doesn't need anyone!"
Diego looks concerned but doesn't argue as I proceed to drink far more than I should, using alcohol to numb the pain of watching Rio be genuinely happy with someone else.
By the time Diego insists on taking me home, I'm drunk enough that walking in heels requires serious concentration. He keeps a steadying hand on my arm as Marcus and David escort us to the penthouse, his expression worried.
"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" he asks as we reach my door.
"I'm perfectly fine," I slur, fumbling with my keys. "Just peachy."
Lina's POV - Back at the Penthouse
The penthouse is dimly lit when I stumble through the door, my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. I can hear voices coming from Rio's bedroom—his deep voice and Jennie's lighter laugh, intimate and close.
Of course she's in his bedroom. Of course they're having their cozy reunion in the most private space in his home, the space he's never once invited me into despite our supposed engagement.
I kick off my heels and pad barefoot toward the sound, alcohol making me bold and reckless. Through the partially open door, I can see them sitting on his bed, still looking through photo albums, Jennie curled up against his side like she belongs there.
"Lina?" Rio's voice cuts through my drunken haze as he notices me swaying in the doorway. "What are you doing?"
"Just wondering what you two were up to," I say, leaning against the doorframe for support. "Looks cozy."
Rio stands up quickly, his face changing from surprise to worry when he sees me messy and clearly drunk. "Are you drunk?"
"Maybe a little," I admit, holding up my thumb and forefinger with an exaggerated squint. "Just a tiny bit."
"How did you get home?"
Before I can answer, my phone rings loudly in my purse. I fumble to answer it, Diego's concerned voice filling the room.
"Lina, I just wanted to make sure you got inside safely. You seemed—"
"Diego!" I interrupt loudly. "You're so sweet to check on me. Thank you for bringing me home, you're the best—"
The phone is suddenly yanked from my hand as Rio grabs it, his face dark with fury. He ends the call and tosses the phone onto a nearby chair.
"That's enough," he says, his voice dangerously quiet. "Jennie, could you give us a moment?"
"Of course," Jennie says, but she doesn't move very far, hovering in the doorway like she's reluctant to miss whatever's about to happen.
Rio grabs my arm and pulls me down the hallway toward my bedroom, his grip firm enough to keep me upright but tight enough that I know he's furious.
"I've had enough of this nonsense you've been doing with Diego," he says once we're in my room, his voice low and controlled but vibrating with anger. "I made you independent, gave you everything you have, and this is how you repay me? By parading around the city with him like some—"
"Like some what?" I interrupt, my own anger flaring through the alcohol haze.
"Like a woman who doesn't remember she's engaged," Rio snaps. "I made you who you are today, Lina. I gave you that company, that success, that lifestyle. You're still my fiancée, which means you don't have the right to come home late from dates or go out with other men like a—"
The slap happens before I even realize my hand is moving. The sound echoes in the room like a gunshot, and Rio's head snaps to the side, a red mark blooming across his cheek.
For a moment, we both stand frozen, staring at each other in shock.
"Even if I am who I am today," I say, my voice shaking with rage, "I earned it. You didn't make me who I am, Mr. Kalinawan. I am who I am because of my hard work and because of Diego's support. And who are you to question me about my life? You are nobody to me. Everything between us is just—"
I stop mid-sentence, suddenly aware that Jennie is standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise and something that might be satisfaction. The words I was about to say—that everything between us is just a business arrangement, just a fake engagement—die in my throat.
"Get out of my room," I say instead, my voice deadly quiet. "Get out right now."
I slam the door in both their faces, the sound reverberating through the penthouse like thunder.
Rio's POV
I stand in the hallway, my cheek stinging from Lina's slap, my mind reeling from what just happened. No one has ever raised a hand to me. Ever. Not in business, not in personal relationships, not even when I was a child.
The shock of it, combined with the alcohol on her breath and the way she defended Diego, creates a toxic cocktail of rage and hurt that I don't know how to process.
"Rio," Jennie says softly, approaching me with concern in her eyes. "Are you alright?"
"She hit me," I say, more to myself than to her. "She actually hit me."
"I saw. I can't believe she would do something like that. Even drunk, there's no excuse for violence."
Jennie's hand comes up to touch my cheek gently, and I flinch away from the contact. Everything feels wrong suddenly—Jennie's presence, the fight with Lina, the alcohol on Lina's breath that speaks of hours spent with Diego while I was cooking dinner and sharing memories like a fool.
"Maybe you should give her some time to sober up," Jennie suggests. "In the morning, when she's clearheaded, she'll probably apologize."
But even as she says it, I know Lina won't apologize. The look in her eyes before she slammed the door wasn't just drunken anger—it was something deeper, more final.
It was the look of someone who's reached their breaking point.
"I should go," Jennie says after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "This is between you two."
"No," I say quickly, surprising myself. "Don't go. I... I don't want to be alone right now."
Jennie studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Alright. But Rio? Whatever's going on between you and Lina, you need to fix it. What I saw tonight... that's not a woman who feels loved and secure in her relationship."
As she says it, I realize she's right. But I also realize something else, something that chills me to the bone:
I don't know if what's broken between Lina and me can ever be fixed.
And I'm not sure I'm brave enough to try.
Lina's POV
I lean against my closed bedroom door, my hand still stinging from the slap, my heart pounding with a mixture of alcohol, adrenaline, and something that feels dangerously close to finality.
The look on Rio's face when I hit him will haunt me forever—not just the shock, but the hurt underneath it. As angry as I am, as justified as I felt in that moment, I know I crossed a line that can't be uncrossed.
But what cuts deeper than my guilt is the knowledge that Jennie witnessed the whole thing. Saw me at my most vulnerable, most destructive moment. Saw the complete breakdown of whatever Rio and I had built together.
Tomorrow, when the alcohol wears off and reality sets in, I'll have to face what I've done. I'll have to confront the fact that I've probably destroyed any chance of salvaging our relationship.
But tonight, as I slide down the door to sit on the floor of my bedroom, still wearing my cocktail dress and smudged makeup, all I can think about is the way Rio looked at Jennie in that video.
Happy. Genuinely, completely happy.
In a way he's never looked at me.
Outside my door, I can hear their voices—low, concerned, intimate. Planning, probably, how to handle the unstable woman who just assaulted the great Rio Kalinawan in his own home.
I close my eyes and try to imagine a future where this gets better, where we find our way back to each other.
But for the first time since this whole arrangement began, I can't picture it.
I can't picture us at all.