Hospitality Man Series II: His Magnificent Specimen (ENGLISH VERSION)

CHAPTER-18

Halter and his IT team have just finished installing the 360-degree CCTV cameras, the additional 180-degree ones, and the discreet audio microchip. Every corner of Saphire’s office now has a watchful eye, but we’ve been careful—placing them in unnoticeable spots so she won’t be alarmed when she arrives in the morning.

I know this is a breach of her privacy. I know this is wrong. And yet, my possessive nature refuses to rest unless I can monitor her every move, especially now that she’s so close—so dangerously within reach.

The live feed from these cameras streams directly to a monitor in my office. It’s the closest I can be to her without physically standing by her side. Every day, I will watch over her, see the people she interacts with, observe what she wears, admire how stunning she looks even while simply sitting at her desk.

This isn’t about satisfying some perverse curiosity. No, that’s not the reason at all.

If any man dares to lay his hands on her—if anyone even so much as harbors thoughts of taking her from me—I won’t hesitate to eliminate him.

She is mine. Only mine.

“Sir, will that be all?” Halter asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

F*ck these people. Why do they insist on speaking English? Just because I spent years in Australia doesn’t mean I can’t understand Tagalog. I want to scold them for it, but then again, I realize I speak English so often that they probably assume it’s all I’m comfortable with.

“Yes, Halter. Salamat.”

A ripple of surprise flashes through his team. Their eyes widen slightly, as if they had just discovered something shocking.

Based on the way they’re looking at me, they had no idea I could speak Tagalog.

“By the way,” I add, my voice casual, “you can speak to me in either Tagalog or English. I don’t mind. Whatever you’re more comfortable with, I’ll be fine too.”

They bow respectfully before leaving. As I make my way toward the elevator, Zoren and my other PSGs fall into step behind me.

When we reach the lobby, my limousine is already parked at the entrance, the driver standing by the passenger door. As I approach, he swiftly opens it, and I step inside. I don’t slide across the seat, leaving room for Zoren and Paul to enter from the other side.

The moment we settle in, I turn to Zoren.

“Tell the driver to make a short stop at Saphire’s home. I want to see them… even from a distance.”

Zoren knows better than to argue. He merely nods and relays my request to the driver. The rest of the trip is spent in silence. Paul doesn’t say a word either; I had already told him we’d talk once I got home.

Thirty minutes later, the limousine slows to a stop. I step out, finding myself in a subdivision called Villa de Manila.

So, this is where they live.

Why here? Why not in my family’s estate, in Villa Kreistine?

Then it hits me—Saphire must have known. She knew I would look for her there, so she chose a different place.

She planned to stay away from me.

The realization makes my jaw clench. My hands curl into fists.

From where I stand, I see them through the kitchen window. They look… happy. My son, Markle, kisses his mother on the cheek, and she grins at him, warmth radiating from her expression.

I feel a pang of jealousy so sharp it nearly cripples me. I should be in that kitchen with them. I should be part of their laughter, their conversations, their home.

But I know if I force my way back into their lives now, they will only run further away from me.

Their house is simple—modest, even. A two-story villa with a neatly landscaped lawn and a well-maintained fence. Through the glass windows, I can see the cozy living room connected to the small kitchen. The shutters are framed by soft, rosy curtains.

A Managing Director of my company lives here? In such a humble home?

Saphire, why won’t you let me give you the world?

Inside, she and our son talk animatedly. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the way Saphire grins, I know it’s something amusing.

Is he telling her about his day at school? Does he ever think about me? Wonder about the father he never met?

I want to believe he does. Because if he doesn’t… that would hurt more than anything else.

I exhale heavily, and I know Zoren and Paul are watching me, their gazes filled with unspoken concern. They’ve seen this look on my face before. They’ve seen the way I break a little more every time I watch from afar, unable to reach them.

Inside the house, their maid moves about the kitchen, bringing plates and utensils to the table. Soon, they’re seated, heads bowed in prayer before eating.

My chest tightens painfully.

Two dishes. That’s all they have.

F*ck.

I eat like a king in my estate, yet the woman I love and my son are living like this?

I can’t stand it.

Before I realize it, my feet move on their own, carrying me toward their gate. My heart pounds in my chest, my mind screaming at me to stop, but I don’t. I just want to reach out, to do something, to let them know I’m here—

A hand clamps around my arm.

I whip around, ready to lash out at whoever dared to stop me, but my anger falters when I see Zoren’s expression.

Worried. Terrified.

“What?!” I snap.

“Young Master, please. Don’t do this,” he pleads, his voice thick with emotion. “I know how you feel, but if you act recklessly, all your years of longing, all your suffering—it will be for nothing.”

My breathing is heavy, ragged. My fists clench.

“They’re struggling,” I choke out. “And I’m just standing here, doing nothing. Watching them suffer. It’s killing me.”

Zoren doesn’t let go. His grip tightens. “If you force your way in now, they won’t come with you. They’ll run. Please, Sir. We have to wait for the right time. Things will change.”

I swallow back the frustration, the despair clawing at my chest.

I just want this pain to end.

I just want them back in my life.

But if I make the wrong move… I might lose them forever.

I lower my head, defeated. He’s right. If I push through with what I want now, I might just drive them further away. And if they leave again, I may never find them. It took me five years to track them down. I can’t afford another five, or worse—more—just because I let my desperation take over. With a deep breath, I force myself to step back. My life feels empty without them in it.

I inform Zoren that I won’t be going to the office tomorrow. Instead, I’ll visit my son’s school. I want to see him—be near him, even if he won’t know I’m there. No matter what I do, Saphire may never believe the truth of what happened that day. If I can’t make her understand, then I’ll take another route. I’ll get closer to my son, show him the love I was never given the chance to give. That’s my plan, one that solidified in my mind the moment I laid eyes on him today.

Zoren merely nods, assuring me that he’ll handle everything at work. He’s oddly accepting of my decision, likely because Paul and his team will be with me. Normally, he wouldn’t stand for me being out of his sight. He’s just as controlling as his brother, Jims.

Our conversation ends, and I shift my gaze back toward the kitchen window of their home. But they’re gone. Dinner must be over. A moment later, I hear Saphire’s soft voice calling to the maid, instructing her to bathe our son while she clears the table.

Then, she appears again. My breath catches as I watch her move through the kitchen, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink. She strides toward the window, fingers reaching for the curtain tie. But before she undoes it, she hesitates—her gaze flickers outside.

For a moment, I swear she sees us.

She steps away, moving toward the telephone mounted on the wall. Picking up the wireless receiver, she heads for the living room. A few button presses. A door creaks open.

Damn it. She’s calling the police.

She must have seen shadows lurking outside and thought we were some criminals scoping out their home. Without a second thought, I slide back into the car, and my men follow suit. The engine hums to life, and we drive away just in time.

By the time she steps onto the front porch, we’re already disappearing down the road. She’s still on the phone. My only saving grace is that it’s dark—there’s no way she saw our plate number. If she had, we’d be in serious trouble.

Leaning back against the seat, I replay the sight of them over and over in my mind. A fleeting smile tugs at my lips, but it quickly fades. No matter how much joy I feel from seeing them, sorrow follows right behind. Every beautiful moment turns into a reminder of what I’ve lost.

I’m broken.

There’s only one cure I can think of—having them back with me.

Then, my thoughts drift to their house. That house. My chest tightens. It’s too small, too plain. It’s not the life I planned for them.

When I first found out about my son, I envisioned him growing up in a grand home, never needing a thing. I wanted to give him everything—the security, the luxury, the comfort. But that dream crumbled the moment Saphire walked away from me.

Frustration gnaws at my insides. I can’t let them stay there.

A storm brews inside me, the urge consuming me whole.

I will bring them back to our home.

No matter what it takes.

That house is not where they belong. It’s not enough. Not for them. Not for what is mine.

Soon, I will end this suffering. I will take back what’s mine. And when that moment comes, these doubts, this pain—

They will be nothing but a memory.