Chapter Eleven
879 Words
The moment Brianna stepped off the plane, the heat hit her like a challenge. Manila’s air was thick and heavy, clinging to her skin, smelling faintly of fuel and fruit. She slipped on her sunglasses and smirked.
“Home sweet humidity,” she muttered.
Her mother pretended not to hear her. Her father barked orders at the driver. The usual.
Brianna trailed behind them, her suitcase gliding noiselessly over the marble floor. She looked like she owned the place, because in her head, she did.
By evening, the Kim residence in Vigan was transformed. The dining table gleamed under chandelier light, the smell of imported wine drifting through the air. Brianna had to admit, her parents did know how to perform wealth.
“The Saavedras will be here soon,” her father said, adjusting his cufflinks.
“How thrilling,” she replied, twirling her glass of water.
“Brianna,” her mother warned softly. “Roberto is an old friend. His family deserves respect.”
“I’m full of respect,” Brianna said sweetly. “I just hide it under good taste.”
Laurel exhaled but smiled despite herself.
When the door opened, Brianna didn’t move at first. She stayed seated at the grand staircase, watching.
The Saavedras entered with their usual composure: Roberto Saavedra, stately and charming; his sons, polite in the way rich men’s sons are trained to be. And then there was him.
Jordan.
He was quieter than the rest. Dressed simply. Confident in a way that didn’t need to announce itself.
Their eyes met for a split second. She looked away first, but only because she wanted to.
Dinner was a performance: polished conversation, restrained laughter, the usual choreography of the elite. Brianna knew every step. She played the part effortlessly.
When someone asked about her studies, she smiled.“Commerce,” she said. “The study of making money without breaking a sweat.”
The men laughed politely. Her mother pinched her under the table.
Jordan sat two seats away, silent, observing. It was irritating.
He didn’t flirt. He didn’t even look impressed. He looked… curious.
When the elders left the table to discuss business, the air loosened. Jordan leaned back, finally speaking.
“So,” he said. “You’re the famous Brianna Kim.”
She tilted her head. “Famous, infamous, it blurs after a while.”
He smiled, not kindly. “Jenny mentioned you.”
Her fork paused. “Really?”
“She said you were friends. I didn’t believe her at first.”
Brianna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because…?”
“You don’t strike me as the friendly type.”
She gave a slow, cold laugh. “And you don’t strike me as the type who judges so quickly. But here we are.”
He shrugged. “I don’t judge. I observe.”
“How convenient,” she said. “That’s exactly what I do.”
Jordan’s expression softened, almost amused. “So you’re the observer type. Makes sense. You watch people instead of trusting them.”
Brianna leaned back, lips curling. “Trust is expensive. Observation is free.”
“You sound cynical.”
“I sound experienced.”
He smiled again, faint but real. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Good,” she said. “Expectations bore me.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them hummed, not romantic, but sharp, like two chess players realizing the other actually knew the game.
Then Jordan said quietly, “Jenny thinks the world of you. I can’t quite see why.”
Brianna smiled, slow and deliberate. “That’s because you see her world, not mine.”
“And what’s yours like?”
She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Colder. Cleaner. Fewer people who pretend to be saints.”
His brows lifted slightly. “You don’t pretend to be one?”
“Never,” she said. “I leave pretending to those who can’t afford honesty.”
Jordan laughed once, shaking his head. “You really are something.”
“Something dangerous?”
“Something complicated.”
“I prefer dangerous,” she replied.
When the dinner ended, the Saavedras prepared to leave. Jordan walked past her on his way to the car.
“Goodnight, Miss Kim,” he said politely.
“Goodnight, Mr. Saavedra,” she replied, then added, her voice cool and deliberate, “Tell Jenny I’m flattered she talks about me. Though next time, she might want to choose her audience better.”
Jordan hesitated, studying her face. There it was again, that flicker of something unreadable, half amusement, half warning.
Then he smiled. “You don’t like being talked about?”
“I don’t like being underestimated.”
His gaze lingered for half a second too long. Then he nodded once, slipping into the night.
Brianna stood by the window, watching the Saavedra cars disappear down the long driveway.
Her mother called from the other room, her father’s laughter echoing faintly. But Brianna didn’t move.
She just stared into the dark, her reflection faint in the glass.
He’d looked at her. Really looked.
And for her, that was enough, for now.
She smiled, the kind of smile that meant trouble.
Because Jordan Saavedra might have thought she was complicated.He hadn’t seen anything yet.
- Writer
