Chase After

THREE

"Wala nang appointments?" he asks as we walk back.

"Wala na, chairman." And then I remember: the party. Should I ask to leave early? Yes. Because if I don't, overtime will pop out of nowhere like a jump scare.

"Chairman?" I say.

"Yes?" he replies, the temperature of his voice somewhere between "glacier" and "air-con set to 16."

"May ipapagawa ka pa ba later?" That's me trying to translate "Can I go?"

"Why?"

"May importante akong gagawin mamaya." I stop, meet his gaze. Honesty is faster. "Party."

His eyebrows do a curious dance. "Where?"

"Some friend." He nods like that tells him enough, which it doesn't, but fine.

By 7:25 p.m., nasa condo na ako. Shower steam, playlist low. Outfit: cream sleeveless, above-the-knee high-waist skirt, heels na medyo kataasan sapat para marinig ako ng sahig. Hair in a bun; makeup light because it's just a welcome party, not a summit. I catch my reflection again: "Competent. Festive. Potentially clumsy in heels." Good enough.

I lock the door, elevator down, drive. Call Alliana. "Nandyan ka na?"

"Yesss, fren! Ang tagal mo!" I can hear how chaotic they are right now. Tsk tsk.

"Akala ko ba 9 p.m. pa?" It's 8:25.

"Pwede bang mag-advance ka? Halos nandito na lahat, kundi ikaw at si Maureen!"

"Fine, I'm driving—bye!" I hang up, then join traffic's meditative crawl. Ugh!

By 9 p.m., nasa mansion na ako. The guard checks a list. "Sino ho sila?"

"Celly Bones po."

He scans, nods, opens the gates of eden. I park beside a car I recognize in ways I'd rather not. He can't be here. Right? Maybe maraming kapareho. Maybe the universe is just making a joke.

Inside, the house pulses with disco lights that refuse to respect walls. My friends sit at a corner table, glowing like a constellation you can only name if you're part of it.

"Wazzup, guys," I say, sliding beside Rose.

"Celly! Late ka pa rin!" Bia lifts a slice of pizza like a trophy.

"Traffic."

"Rason!" Alliana laughs.

"Legit. Diba, Maureen?" I try to recruit her, naghahanap ng kakampi.

"Magkaiba tayo ng dinadaanan, girl," she deadpans.

We laugh. I turn to Clarita. "Bakit di mo kami sinabihan na uuwi ka?"

"Biglaan din," she pouts. "Kuya's idea."

"Siya pa ang nag-yaya?" Nhea whistles. "Himala."

"Exactly," Clarita says. "This was supposed to be my year of naps."

We keep up the shenanigans. My friends look rich and behave like some twelve year old—my favorite paradox: high-class but low-maintenance joy.

"Samahan n'yo 'ko," Clarita says eventually. "Punta tayo sa table nina kuya. May inimbita siya."

"Papi ba, teh?" Enna asks, eyes already doing a fashion scan of the room.

"Ewan, tignan natin."

We stand. The mansion is big enough to feel like weather. Every corner has its own climate—old friends laughing, titos discussing business, tita laughter like ice cubes clinking. The lights are warm but the vibe is cooler than a jazz playlist. Rock songs in the background, but the volume is right. It's noisy and calm, like rain that knows when to stop.

"Hoy, fren," Alliana nudges me, "pinayagan ka ni boss?"

"7 p.m. out siyan, diba?" Janelle asks.

"Minsan umaabuso 'yon," Alliana mutters.

"Papayag ka naman?" Enna arches an eyebrow.

"I like helping," I say, because it's true and also because money.

"May dagdag ba sa sahod?" Maureen is the economic index of our group.

"Syempre! Hindi ako charity."

"Eh bakit nagtitiis ka pa rin doon? Mayaman ka naman," Bia says, rolling her eyes.

I laugh. Before I can reply, Clarita sings, "Oh, we're here!"

I look up and my brain gently trips. At the table, beside Charles, sits the man the building wakes up for. Chairman Kane. He looks—different? No suit. Plain white V-neck. Less armor, more person. He looks at me and I'm caught between turning into salt or soup.

"Speaking of the beast," Alliana whispers from the corner of her mouth. She's the only friend who knows his face, thanks to a chance work visit. The rest just know the legend and the name we roast in group chat:

Kane. In another life, we would've founded "Anti-Kane Association." In this life, I'm on payroll.