Surrender

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jessica arrived at Bayside Tower Residences fifteen minutes before ten.

The building looked like something out of a dream, all glass and marble, every corner gleaming under soft white lights. The guards at the front desk wore crisp uniforms, their smiles polite but practiced. A faint scent of lemongrass hung in the air, the kind that only existed in places where the air conditioning never stopped.

She hesitated just outside the entrance, clutching her small purse. Her reflection in the glass doors startled her, out of place, small, trying too hard to look like she belonged.

So this is what money buys, she thought. Quiet. Clean air. Safety.

She stepped inside. The marble floor reflected her every move. A concierge greeted her with a bow she didn’t deserve. Her slippers clicked softly as she made her way to the private elevator.

When the doors closed, the silence pressed in. The numbers on the panel glowed softly, 18, 19, 20… 24.

Jessica leaned against the wall, heart pounding, her stomach twisting.It was all too much, the cold metal walls, the faint hum of the elevator, the scent of perfume still lingering from whoever rode before her.

Part of her wanted to laugh, the other part to scream.

Here she was, a girl from Nueva Ecija who once lined up for rice relief, standing inside a luxury condo elevator where each floor probably cost more than what a middle earner could save in a lifetime.

People like them, she thought bitterly, buy people like us, like it’s nothing.

Her reflection in the elevator door looked ghostly. Her lipstick was slightly smudged. Her eyes, too wide.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

A man stood waiting in the hallway, tall, suited, clean-cut, his face unreadable.

“You’re Jessica?” he asked quietly.

Jessica nodded, her throat dry.

He checked his watch, then handed her a small silver keycard. “Unit 2406. The client will arrive shortly. You’ll wait inside.”

Jessica hesitated. “Wait… where?”

“Bedroom.” His tone was polite but detached, purely professional. “Do not leave until you’re told otherwise. You’ll find everything prepared.”

She wanted to ask who the client was, what his name was, what kind of man needed this kind of secrecy, but the words stayed trapped behind her teeth.

The man gave a small nod. “You may go.”

And that was it.

No threats. No reassurances. Just instruction, efficient and final.

Jessica walked down the hall, her heels echoing against the marble tiles. The corridor was silent except for the faint hum of air conditioning. She slid the keycard into the slot, the door unlocking with a soft click.

The condo lights turned on automatically.

It was… breathtaking.

The space opened up into a wide living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything was sleek, polished, minimalist. The furniture was expensive but deliberately simple, leather, chrome, glass. The walls were lined with black-and-white photographs, all perfectly aligned.

On the coffee table sat a stack of unread magazines, a decanter half-filled with whisky, and a bowl of keys.

Jessica moved carefully, afraid to touch anything.

There were three rooms, the first was clearly a home gym, complete with weights, a treadmill, and a punching bag that looked barely used. The second room was an office, modern, cold, the kind of space meant for productivity, not comfort. A desk, two chairs, a closed laptop, and a single framed photo faced the window.

The third was the bedroom.

It was large but spare. The bed was massive, perfectly made with white sheets and two pillows aligned neatly. A minimalist lamp which is dimly lit stood on the nightstand beside a digital clock blinking 9:42 p.m.

There were two bathrooms, one by the hallway, spotless and barely used, and the master bath connected to the bedroom. That one gleamed with glass and marble, its counters lined with expensive cologne, rolled towels, and a toothbrush holder with only one toothbrush.

The kind of luxury that spoke not of comfort, but control.

Jessica stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. The silence was so complete she could hear her heartbeat.

She looked around for a chair, but there wasn’t one. The only place to sit was the bed.

Slowly, she sat down, careful not to wrinkle the sheets.

Her legs trembled. Her hands wouldn’t stay still.

She stared at the city lights outside the window, glittering, endless, cruelly beautiful. The city that took everything from her, now asking for one more piece.

She whispered under her breath, almost like a prayer:“Please, just let me get through this.”

The clock ticked softly in the background.

9:50 p.m.

She was alone, waiting.

Every second stretched like a held breath.

And somewhere deep inside her chest, the last of her old self, the girl who still believed life could be fair, began to fade quietly away.