My Secret Romance (English Version)

Sitting silently in a dim corner of the nightclub, he watched a group of women who seemed barely senior high schoolers. The air was thick with a mix of cigarette smoke and perfume—an intoxicating haze that clung to every corner of the place. He frowned when his gaze landed on one woman whose head was nearly pressed against the table. It was hard to tell whether she was drunk or had consumed something far stronger. “Man, what’s running through your head? You’ve been staring at that girl in yellow for quite a while now.” A firm tap on the shoulder from Barron snapped him out of his trance. Barron—the owner of the club and his longtime friend since college—was grinning as he slid into the seat beside him. He was at Revel, one of the most exclusive nightclubs along 11th Avenue and 38th Street, Uptown Bonifacio, Taguig. The place was frequented by VIPs, high-rollers, and celebrities—people who treated excess as a lifestyle and indulgence as a sport. Some came to party, others to drown their sorrows, and a few simply to escape the weight of reality. Rustam ignored Barron’s teasing and reached for the crystal glass half-filled with whiskey. He gently swirled the liquid, letting the clinking of the ice cubes fill the silence between them. With a soft sigh, he glanced back at the group of women and took a slow sip. “So,” Barron began, draping an arm around his shoulders, “now that you’re running the company, I hardly ever see you around here anymore.” Rustam set the glass back on the table and brushed off Barron’s arm with a quiet shake of his head. “Nah,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the women. For reasons he couldn’t explain, something about the man talking closely to the woman in yellow stirred a twinge of irritation in him—something oddly close to jealousy. Moments later, the two—hand in hand—rose from their seats and disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor. Rustam had been there when the group arrived. He’d been watching them ever since they occupied the large eight-seater table at the far end of the club. His attention, drawn unintentionally, settled on one woman—not particularly tall; if she wore three-inch heels, she’d barely reach his neck. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was black as midnight, glinting faintly under the club lights. Now and then, she ran her fingers through it, sweeping it back behind her ear. Each time she did, he swallowed hard, catching himself staring. The truth was, she wasn’t even his type—not by his usual standards of beauty. He smiled faintly at the thought, shaking his head. Any man, he mused, would probably call her “plain.” Even before knowing her name, he had judged her looks. Unlike the women of today who were obsessed with cosmetic enhancements—some even addicted to them—he was certain this one was entirely natural. His thoughts were interrupted when the DJ spun a new track, a foreign pop hit with a teasing rhythm. He couldn’t make out the lyrics, only the heavy beat that pulsed through the floor. On the dance floor, the crowd moved with wild abandon, their bodies responding instinctively to the music. He cast a glance at the DJ, who was clearly enjoying himself, before turning back to Barron. “Just temporary,” he said. “Until my father fully recovers.” “Still, that makes you the boss now,” Barron replied. “Who else would your father hand Empire to? You’re his only heir. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t mean it like that. I really feel bad about what happened to Uncle Gerald. He’s still in his prime. Maybe he just needs some rest to get his strength back.” Barron stood and made his way to the bar. Rustam followed him with his eyes, thoughtful. His friend was right. His father needed rest. The heart attack had come without warning three weeks ago. Though it wasn’t the first—he’d suffered a mild one years earlier—the old man had brushed it off then. After being confined at St. Luke’s Hospital and showing signs of recovery, Rustam decided to bring him home to the province, believing the change of environment might do him good. Moments later, Rustam rose from his seat, feeling nature’s call. He made his way to the restroom, but as he was about to push the door open, voices caught his attention from inside. “Just make sure no one noticed, or we’re screwed,” a woman hissed. “Relax. Just don’t go back on our deal after this,” replied a man. The door suddenly swung open, and a man stepped out—startled when he found Rustam standing there. Without a word, the stranger turned and hurried away. Rustam frowned but entered the restroom anyway. “This room isn’t for ladies like yourself,” he said, catching sight of a woman inside. He raised a brow and motioned for her to leave. Startled, she scurried past him and out the door. When he returned, his gaze instinctively searched for the woman in yellow. She was on the dance floor, pressed tightly against her partner. If not for the color of her dress, he might not have recognized her—her movements now were different, bolder, uninhibited. Even from across the room, her sensuality was palpable. The way she rolled her hips against the man behind her, her hand grazing her neck while the other trailed down her thighs—it made Rustam’s jaw tighten. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to shake off the images forming in his mind. “Man, I’m heading out,” he said as he approached Barron at the counter. “Long drive ahead. Can’t afford to get drunk—I’m driving, and the roads to the province are slippery this time of year.” “Hey, don’t go yet, babe. After tonight, you’ll barely have time to party—you’ll be too busy getting richer.” It was Aisha, who had appeared beside him without him noticing. She slipped her arms around his waist and, before he could react, pressed a quick kiss on his lips. He immediately pulled her hands away. “You hurt my feelings, you know,” she pouted, rolling her eyes dramatically. Aisha was stunning in her black, body-hugging dress with a slit running up her right thigh. The fabric clung to her curves, accentuating every line of her hips and breasts. She had the kind of beauty that demanded attention—half Latina charm, half dangerous allure. Rustam sighed, shaking his head, and took the stool beside Barron. He might as well stay for a few more minutes. Barron was smirking, clearly entertained. Aisha perched next to him, her mojito already in hand. Rustam turned his seat toward the dance floor again, eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for something—or someone. When he didn’t find her, he was about to turn back when his gaze caught two figures by the exit. His body went rigid. The woman in yellow—her lips locked with a man’s. And that man... was the same one who had walked out of the restroom earlier. Rustam’s jaw clenched. In one swift motion, he stood and strode toward them. His friends barely had time to react before he grabbed the woman by the arm and, with eyes blazing, landed a solid punch on the man’s face. The blow sent the man crashing against the wall, stunned. He wiped the blood from his lip and glared up, fury in his eyes. “Are you crazy?” he spat, pushing Rustam hard. “What the hell’s your problem, man? Don’t touch her!” The woman giggled drunkenly, wrapping her arms around the man. “I’m only yours, baby,” she slurred, pressing herself against him. Rustam yanked her away. “Are you insane? You’re drunk—you don’t even know what you’re doing!” he barked, grabbing the man by the collar. “I saw everything. You’re in deep trouble, asshole. Back off, or you’ll end up in jail—or worse, a hospital.” He shoved the man aside, tightened his grip on the woman’s arm, and led her out of the club. She didn’t resist—too dazed to make sense of anything, her vision spinning, her world dissolving into blur. Behind them, the man smirked, wiping the last trace of blood from his lip. He knew exactly what he had done—and what no one else did. He hadn’t even planned to get involved with Trisha tonight, but the chance to finally get what he wanted from her was too tempting to pass up. For a moment, the entire club stood frozen, the music still pounding but the air suspended—everyone was stocked by how fast the night had turned.