CHAPTER TWELVE
638 Words
The clock on the bedside table blinked 12:06 a.m.
Jessica had been waiting for two hours.
Her nerves had dulled into something colder, not fear anymore, just a tired kind of dread. She’d spent the first hour sitting perfectly still on the edge of the bed, afraid to move. The second hour, she’d started pacing the room, checking the door, checking her phone, then sitting again.
Now she just stared at the blinking red numbers on the digital clock.
12:07.
Still nothing.
The city outside was alive, car horns, laughter, distant music, but inside, everything was silent except the hum of the air conditioning.
Maybe I’ve been scammed, she thought bitterly. The idea almost made her laugh. “Figures,” she muttered under her breath. “Even the sins of the rich come with waiting time.”
Finally, she picked up her phone and texted Ate Mara:
It’s past midnight. No one’s here. Did they cancel?
The reply came almost instantly.
No, Jess. The client will come. Just stay put. Don’t panic.
Jessica sighed and leaned back against the headboard, her pulse slowly settling. She started typing a reply, Okay, I’ll wait a bit more, when she heard it.
A soft metallic click.
The sound of a key sliding into the front door.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She froze. The doorknob turned, then the faint thud of the main door closing echoed through the hallway. Footsteps followed, slow, heavy, deliberate.
Her heart raced so hard it hurt.
The steps drew closer. She could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of keys dropping onto a table, the quiet exhale of someone who’d just come home.
She sat still on the bed, her hands gripping the sheets, every muscle in her body tight.
Then, after what felt like forever, someone appeared in the doorway.
A man.
He was tall, maybe six-foot-three, with broad shoulders, still wearing a red and white athletic jacket. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face flushed, like he’d had a few drinks.
Jessica blinked, her mind lagging behind what her eyes were seeing.
The logo on his jacket caught the light. San Beda University.
And then it hit her.
Her breath stopped.
It was him.
Alexander Almeda.
The captain of the San Beda Red Lions. The same man she’d once watched through a flickering TV in her dorm room, the same man who seemed to exist on a different planet.
He looked even more striking up close, sharp jawline, straight nose, the faintest trace of stubble. His features leaned foreign, like he’d been carved from sunlight and privilege.
Jessica felt her entire body go cold.
He looked around the room, confusion tightening his brow. His eyes landed on her, a stranger sitting stiffly on his bed, clutching her phone like a weapon.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, in a low, slightly slurred voice, he asked, “Who are you?”
Jessica’s throat went dry.
He stepped closer, his gaze sharper now. “What are you doing in my place?”
His tone wasn’t angry, not yet. It was cautious, curious, laced with disbelief.
Jessica couldn’t find her voice. Her tongue felt heavy, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air between them felt electric, not with attraction, but with sheer, disorienting tension.
He frowned, running a hand through his hair. “Are you lost or something?”
Jessica opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked down at her phone, as if the answer might be written there.
It wasn’t.
Just the message thread -
Stay put. Don’t panic.
Her chest tightened.
She looked back up at him, at the stranger, the athlete, the man whose life was supposed to be untouchable, and realized something that made her stomach twist:
He had no idea why she was there.
- Writer
