Craving Mr. Architect

Chapter 3

A heavy shoulder slams brutally into mine, nearly throwing me off balance on the swarming pavement of Bajada. I stand frozen, like a deer in headlights, staring up at the sleek, towering skyscraper that houses the peak of my career ambitions: **Veritas Architectural Group**.

*Hell.* My stomach twists into a nauseous knot, and I entirely blame Nico and my love-struck younger sister, Chloe. Ever since we got back from Siargao, I haven't been able to shake Nico's grim warnings about the Alcantara family. Surely a high-caliber firm like this wouldn't harbor cartel figures as clients? Nico had to be exaggerating, though dark humor isn't exactly something I'd associate with a man that lethal. I still don't know how Chloe manages his intense nature.

*Focus, Mateo.*

My thoughts are scattering, and I desperately need to channel the professional confidence I usually carry. Leaving Cebu was a massive, terrifying gamble. But when the most prestigious firm in Mindanao headhunts you for a senior partner track, you don't say no. Besides, my life in Cebu had hit a bleak, stagnant wall. I was working myself to the bone for zero recognition, my dating life was an absolute wasteland, and genuine connections were rare. I’m praying this fresh start changes the narrative. I live for this work. Ever since I was a kid, my brain has been wired to absorb structures, solve spatial design flaws, and bring complex visions to life.

Getting here wasn't easy. Chloe and I didn't have parents who cheered us on; honestly, I don't think they even recognized our faces by the time the alcohol completely swallowed them whole. Being the older brother, I had to grow up fast and make sure Chloe had a roof over her head and a chance at a future. I did the best I could, and seeing her thrive as a therapist makes my chest tighten with pride. It was painful leaving my hometown of Tacloban when I first moved to Cebu for work, but she exceeded every expectation. We built a life out of our broken childhood without a single hand to help us.

Taking a deep, anchoring breath of the humid morning air to quiet my racing pulse, I steel myself and step inside the opulent, marble-clad lobby. Everything is going to be fine. I'm letting a cynic's ghost stories get under my skin. I adjust my collar and approach the expansive reception desk where a striking woman with long, sleek dark hair smiles warmly, instantly easing my nerves.

"Good morning. I'm Mateo Del Rosario. It's my first day."

"Good morning, Mr. Del Rosario. Mr. Carreon is expecting you. Here is your executive RFID lanyard. Please wear it at all times until security can take your official photo for the biometric ID. Take the express elevator to the thirtieth floor and sign in with Mr. Carreon’s executive assistant, Amalia. She’ll guide you through."

"Perfect. Thank you," I say, slipping the lanyard over my head.

As the elevator glides silently upward, the paranoia about the Alcantaras begins to recede, replaced by a surge of ambitious adrenaline. I want to blow my new boss away; I can't afford to compromise this opportunity. Reaching the thirtieth floor, I step out toward a massive minimalist desk to the left. A middle-aged woman sits rigidly behind it. The moment her sharp, slanted gaze cuts through her severe, vintage-styled glasses, she looks exactly like a strict headmistress at an elite boarding school. Terrifying.

"Yes?" she asks, her tone dripping with zero patience and absolute annoyance at my existence. *She's going to be an absolute joy.*

"Mateo Del Rosario. The new Senior Architect."

"Ah, yes. Follow me. I’ll show you to your wing," she says, rising from her leather swivel chair. She barely reaches my shoulder, yet she marches down the corridor like an officer leading troops into a combat zone.

We traverse a wide, quiet hallway lined with private offices on the left and vibrant, expansive abstract art pieces on the right. At the very end, we stop outside a spacious, sunlit corner office with my name freshly etched onto the glass plaque. She ushers me inside. I set my briefcase down on the wide, polished mahogany desk and take in the panoramic, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling heart of Davao City. A massive drafting table is positioned flawlessly under the streaming natural light. *God.* I can barely process it. This is exactly what making it feels like. An involuntary smile spreads across my face, an undeniable surge of personal pride taking over—until I catch the assistant scowling at me from the doorway.

"Mr. Carreon expects you in his office the moment you are settled. Do not linger. His suite is on the opposite side of the floor, just past my station. I strongly advise against keeping him waiting."

Before I can even nod, she turns on her heel and marches away with militant precision. I take one more loop around the room, resisting the urge to pinch myself. Pushing the emotion aside, I smooth down my pressed white shirt and charcoal-gray tailored trousers, straighten my tie, and head down to meet my boss.

When I arrive, his double glass doors are open. I tap lightly on the frame, and his commanding voice barks for me to enter. Mr. Carreon possesses a deeply regal, intimidating gravitas. He's in his late fifties, sporting a thick mane of silver-gray hair, dressed in an impeccable navy bespoke suit. He is tall, graceful, and holds himself with absolute authority. His shrewd eyes are an intense, assessing hazel, constantly weighing your worth. But he’s an industry legend; I’ve admired his structural innovations for years.

"Mateo, sit," he greets me with a brief, disciplined smile and a crushing handshake, gesturing to the heavy leather wingback chairs facing his desk. His office is easily double the size of mine, offering an epic, sweeping view of the Davao Gulf. As I sit, he retreats behind his desk, assessing me like a piece of prime real estate. "Are you adjusting well to the new condo?"

"Yes, sir. I still have a mountain of boxes to unpack, but the location is perfect."

"Excellent. Have you thoroughly reviewed the primary contract details we discussed during your signing?"

"The Alcantara estate expansion? Yes, I have."

"Any logistical hesitation?"

The question makes me falter. I look at him, trying to calculate whether to voice the dark rumors Nico dropped on me, or shut my mouth and play the good soldier. But the gnawing anxiety wins out. I choose direct honesty. "Actually, sir, I do have a conceptual concern. A source of mine informed me that the Alcantara clan has... significant ties to the regional underworld. To put it bluntly, that they operate outside the law."

An abrupt, freezing silence drops over the room, heavy enough to make my skin crawl. Mr. Clayson tilts his head slightly to the left, his unblinking, predatory stare locking onto me. I swallow hard, a wave of panic crashing over me that I've completely overstepped on morning one, but my rational mind insists I had a right to know.

"Listen to me closely, Mateo," Carreon says, his voice dropping into a low, chilling register. "The Alcantara portfolio is the most lucrative contract this firm has held in a decade. It is fundamentally not my position—nor yours—to audit the morality or background of our clientele. We provide an elite, lawful service; we are not the moral police. I deal in architecture, not rumors. Now, my question to you is very simple: is this contract going to be an issue? I chose you because your portfolio is brilliant, and this project will cement our firm's legacy. And in this building, business always comes first."

I process his words, feeling the subtle, razor-sharp threat laced beneath his calm demeanor. Carreon is entirely indifferent, entirely cold. I realize I've let the silence stretch entirely too long when he lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh and leans his forearms forward onto the desk.

"Mateo, if this ethical hesitation is going to be a recurring theme, then perhaps joining Veritas was a severe miscalculation on your part."

The blunt threat snaps me right out of my spiral, triggering a cold sweat of survival panic. "No, sir. Not at all. It was purely an introductory inquiry. I can execute the project flawlessly."

*Idiot.* My stomach bottoms out with a sickening intuition that I am walking right into a trap.

"Good. The structural files have already been uploaded to your secure terminal. You have your initial site meeting with the family at their compound tomorrow morning. You’ll take one of the executive fleet SUVs from the garage; the estate is tucked away in a secluded, restricted area of Shrine Hills. My assistant will provide the security clearance passes."

"Understood. Thank you, Mr. Carreon."

"Call me Alfonso. Is there anything else?"

"No, sir. Thank you for the trust. I won't let you down."

Alfonso stands up, and I follow his lead as he moves to open the heavy doors. The audience is officially over.

"Make sure you don't, Mateo. I'm counting on you. You have the potential to build a dynasty here."

I force a polite nod, walking out and slowly trudging back to my wing, my mind aggressively re-evaluating my life choices. You know what? *f**k it.* Nico is an underground cynic; he views the entire world through a distorted, violent lens. He was just trying to spook me. I'm getting paid an obscene amount of money to design a dream estate, and that's where my responsibility ends. What they do in the dark is none of my business. I’ll keep my head down, deliver a flawless design as fast humanly possible, and slip right under their radar without ever looking back.

*It's going to be fine.*

After an exhausting, grueling day of corporate onboarding and memorizing dozens of names I’ll likely forget by tomorrow, I finally unlock the door to my new condo. The firm secured the corporate lease to get me to Davao ahead of schedule. The monthly rent is staggering, but my new salary easily absorbs it, though it’ll be a while before I'm ready to buy a permanent property here. I’m hesitant to put down deep roots just yet, just in case this corporate dream shatters and I have to relocate again.

The space itself, however, is breathtaking. I'm perched so high up that the expansive glass walls offer a stunning view of the city’s glowing nightlife, the streetlights and high-rises illuminating my dark living room without me even flipping a switch. I drop my leather bag and jacket in the foyer and walk into the open-concept kitchen and living area, letting out a defeated sigh at the sea of taped cardboard boxes cluttering the floor. I don't have the energy to touch a single one tonight.

Knowing my refrigerator contains nothing but a carton of milk, I open a local delivery app, order a premium sushi platter, and head straight into the bathroom to wash the day's tension off my skin. By the time I step out of the steaming shower clad in light gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, the delivery driver is buzzing the intercom.

Right now, the apartment consists of a bed, a sofa, and a mountain of cardboard. It looks like a hollow, lonely shell rather than a home, but I promise myself I'll attempt to make it liveable over the weekend. I probably should have dragged Chloe out here with me; she loves meticulously organizing my life. Little does she know, beneath the polished professional exterior, my personal life is an absolute disaster. She has no idea how isolating the last few years have actually been. Date after disappointing date, trying to find someone genuine to build a life with, only to end up back at square one. My career is exactly where I always dreamed it would be, but it feels hollow coming home to an empty room.

On top of the crushing loneliness, I'm frustrated, wired, and completely starved for affection. It's been two solid months since I’ve even touched another person, and the isolation is starting to wear thin.

I plate the sushi, sink heavily onto the sofa, and boot up a movie on my laptop because I haven't even bothered to buy a television yet. I let the fictional dialogue drown out the ringing silence of the room, desperately trying to distract my brain from the reality waiting for me tomorrow morning: my drive into the Alcantara territory. I could honestly strangle Nico right now for putting this suffocating paranoia in my chest.

*Oh, to hell with it.* I'm an architect, not a cop. I’m going there to build a masterpiece, and nothing more. Whatever dangerous secrets live behind the gates of Shrine Hills have nothing to do with me.