Fired Today, Engaged Tomorrow
“Goodbye, Rhea Lin.”
Those were the last words Rhea heard before the elevator doors closed in front of her.
Just like that—five years of her life, her effort, her loyalty—gone. No warning. No second chances.
She clutched the cardboard box in her arms, filled with her now-pointless desk items: a framed photo of her team, a cactus she forgot to water half the time, and a coffee mug that read “Boss Babe in Progress.”
A cruel joke now.
Outside, the world moved on like it hadn’t just collapsed around her. The sun shone too brightly, the breeze too warm. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked away from Langford & Ridge, where she once believed she'd grow into a director. Maybe even partner.
But that dream was stolen.
By him.
Tyler.
He stole her idea for the Monroe pitch, presented it behind her back, then charmed the senior board like the snake he was. And when she confronted him? He spun lies—said she was unstable, that she was emotionally unfit after their breakup. The HR team didn’t even give her a chance to speak.
“Professionalism is about perception, Miss Lin,” the head of HR had said, not meeting her eyes.
Now here she was, clutching everything she had left like a child holding a teddy bear, walking back to an apartment that smelled like him, looked like him… and haunted her with every memory she couldn’t shut off.
The door creaked open with a push, and the silence of her apartment wrapped around her like a cold fog. Tyler’s leather jacket still hung on the hook. His cologne clung to the couch pillows. The photo of them in Cebu—fake smiles and forced poses—still sat crooked on the kitchen counter.
Rhea didn’t cry. She refused.
She walked straight to the bedroom, dropped the box on the floor, and sat on the bed that had felt too empty for months now.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom:
> Come home, baby. Just for a while. Maybe luck will find you there.
Her fingers trembled as she typed a reply.
Rhea:
> Okay. I’ll come this weekend.
She arrived at her childhood home the next day.
The scent of jasmine rice, ginger tea, and home-washed sheets wrapped around her the moment the front door opened. Her mother hugged her so tightly, Rhea thought she might burst. Her father, ever the quiet type, just patted her shoulder with a firm squeeze and a faint smile.
She didn’t say much that night. Just unpacked. Breathed. Ate dinner like she hadn’t in weeks. And for the first time in a long time… she slept without waking up to tears.
The next few days moved softly.
She reconnected with herself—long walks, random journaling, helping her mom prep vegetables while 90s music played in the background. For a moment, she even laughed.
Then she ran into them—
Jasmin, Alia, and Nico.
Her college best friends.
“Rhea freakin’ Lin!” Jasmin squealed when they spotted each other at the old bakery they used to haunt. “Girl, where have you been?”
That night was all nostalgia and wine-stained laughter. They went back to Nico’s condo rooftop, where the city lights blinked like scattered dreams. They talked about everything—jobs, heartbreaks, bad bosses.
Turns out, all three of them worked at Golden Age Corp now.
The biggest privately owned company in the country. The empire in energy, mining, and construction.
“Golden Age is wild,” Alia said, sipping rosé. “The Cruz family is practically royalty.”
“I heard Zayden Cruz trashed a $300,000 car just because he was bored,” Nico added.
Rhea rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a spoiled man-child.”
They laughed. They danced. And for the first time in weeks, Rhea felt like herself again.
Then came the morning that changed everything.
She woke to the sound of… scrubbing?
Rhea blinked as she came downstairs in pajamas to find her mother dusting the shelves with fierce determination and her father vacuuming the rug like his life depended on it.
“Uh… good morning?”
Her mother jumped. “You’re awake! Good. Go wash your face. We have a guest coming.”
“What guest?” Rhea asked, already sensing the tension in the air.
Her father didn’t speak.
Her mother turned to her, wiping her hands on her apron. “We didn’t want to tell you like this, but… he’ll be here soon.”
“Who?” she demanded.
Then she froze.
Her mother gave her a tight, guilty smile.
“You’re getting married, sweetheart.”
“What?!”
“To who?!”
Just then, a deep, smooth voice spoke from behind her.
“To my son.”
Rhea turned slowly. Her breath caught.
A tall, elegant woman in a sleek black coat stood in the doorway, a commanding presence in heels sharper than her tone.
She smiled with practiced ease.
“I’m Isadora Cruz. And we need to talk.”
