Chapter 2
750 Words
Elara's POV
St. Jude Academy of Business felt like a giant, air-conditioned coffin.
Everything here was too clean, too sharp, and smelled too much of expensive cologne and anxiety. I didn't belong here. I was a scholarship student from the College of Fine Arts, taking this MBA elective because my mentor told me that "an artist who doesn't understand the market is an artist who starves."
But the moment I walked into Room 402, I realized the "market" had a face. And it was terrifyingly handsome.
"Ms. Santos. Sampung puntos ang bawas sa participation grade mo. Don't let it happen again."
His voice. Gosh, it was like a bucket of ice water being poured down my spine. I looked at Professor Liyro Dave Ferrer. Everyone on campus talked about him like he was some kind of god. The "Ice Professor." The heir to the Ferrer Empire.
He was wearing a charcoal gray suit that probably cost more than my entire apartment building in Cubao. His glasses were perched perfectly on his nose, and his eyes... they were cold. Cold but intense. Para siyang scanner—tinititigan ka niya hanggang sa parang mabasa niya pati 'yung mga utang mo sa tindahan.
I sat down, my heart still thumping from the sprint I did from the LRT station. I didn't open my laptop. Instead, I pulled out my charcoal pencils. When I'm stressed, I draw. It's the only way I can process the world.
Habang nagdi-discuss siya tungkol sa Market Equilibrium, hindi ko mapigilang tignan ang mga kamay niya. He moved with such precision. Every stroke of the marker on the whiteboard was calculated.
"He's like a blueprint," I thought. "Walang labis, walang kulang. Pero walang kaluluwa."
Elara's POV
I didn't realize I was sketching him until the end of the class.
I hadn't drawn a portrait; I had drawn a structure. I drew him as a skyscraper made of glass and steel, with a storm trapped inside. There was something about the way his jaw tightened when a student asked a stupid question. There was a flicker of... something... in his eyes when they landed on me.
Anger? Disgust? I couldn't tell.
"Ms. Santos," he called out. His voice made the hair on my arms stand up.
I walked up to his desk, feeling like I was approaching a judge. When he told me my sketching was a waste of time, I felt a spark of defiance. People like him—people born with gold spoons—they think they own the truth because they own the numbers.
I showed him my sketchbook. I wanted him to see that my "messy" art had more logic than his clean formulas.
For a second, napatigil siya. His eyes scanned my drawing—the tree I made out of his lecture. I saw his throat move as he swallowed. For a brief moment, the "Ice Professor" mask cracked.
"Just... don't be late again," sabi niya. He didn't look at me. He looked at his tablet, dismissing me like I was just a footnote in his day.
I walked out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief. "Sungit," I muttered under my breath.
Elara's POV
When I got to the gate, I saw Julián waiting for me on his old, beat-up motorcycle. The sight of him was like a warm blanket. Julián was everything Professor Ferrer wasn't. He was messy, he was loud, he smelled of turpentine and sun, and he loved me without conditions.
"Hey, Love! Kumusta ang 'Ice King'?" biro ni Julián habang inaabot sa akin 'yung helmet.
"He's... intense, Juli. Parang laging galit sa mundo," I laughed, hugging him tight as we sped off into the chaotic, colorful streets of Manila.
Pero habang binabagtas namin ang traffic, hindi ko maalis sa isip ko 'yung tingin ni Prof. Ferrer kanina. Even when I was blocks away from St. Jude, I felt like his eyes were still on me.
Hindi ko alam na sa loob ng office niya, Liyro was watching me from the window. Hindi ko alam na 'yung drawing na ipinakita ko sa kanya ay magiging simula ng isang bagay na sisira sa tahimik kong buhay.
I am just a student. He is a billionaire.
In my world, colors blend and create something new. In his world, things are either black or white. I didn't know that he was already planning to paint my world black, just so I would have no choice but to let him be my only light.
- Writer
