LOVING AN OLD SOUL

Rain kissed the glass walls of Gabriel Monteverde’s office in Singapore. From the forty-second floor, the city looked like a living constellation—cold, glittering, and obedient. Below him moved highways of light and men in expensive suits hurrying toward lives they believed they controlled. Gabriel stood with one hand inside his pocket and the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey. At thirty-three, he had already become the kind of man business magazines liked to write about. Young billionaire. Visionary founder. The heir who refused to rely on inheritance. He hated all of those labels. The Monteverde name carried weight long before he earned his own success. His family owned agricultural estates in Central Luzon, hotels in Manila, shipping interests, and old properties inherited from generations that had mastered wealth before the country learned to call it capitalism. Old money. Gabriel respected it. But he had never wanted to live beneath it. So he left. He built Monteverde Global Technologies abroad, turning logistics software into an empire powerful enough that people forgot to ask whose son he was. Until now. His phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. Mother. He already knew what the conversation would be. With a sigh, he answered. “Ma.” “Gabriel.” The voice of Doña Celestina Monteverde carried the same elegance that had intimidated politicians and charmed bishops. “When are you coming home?” He smirked faintly. “There it is.” “You say that as if hearing from your mother is a burden.” “You only call twice a week when you want something.” “I always want something.” He sat behind his desk. “What is it this time?” A brief silence. Then— “You need to come home.” Gabriel leaned back. “I have meetings.” “You always have meetings.” “I built a company, Ma. Companies require meetings.” “And families require sons.” His jaw tightened. That old battlefield again. “I sent gifts last month.” “We are not asking for gifts.” Then came the line he had been expecting. “We need you to meet Lola.” He closed his eyes. There it was. The woman. The arrangement. The carefully planned future his parents kept trying to hand him like a business proposal. “I already told you,” Gabriel said calmly. “I am not interested.” “Because you have not met her.” “I don’t need to.” His mother sighed. “Lola is not some stranger.” “She is exactly a stranger.” “She grew up with us.” “Not with me.” He had heard her name countless times over the years. Lola. The girl his parents found as an infant in their provincial farm. The child they raised. The woman who later became involved in their businesses. According to his mother, she was brilliant. According to his father, she negotiated better than most executives. According to household gossip, she was beautiful. Gabriel cared about none of it. Marriage had never appealed to him. Especially marriage arranged through parental affection and family expectation. “Gabriel,” Celestina said softly, “your father and I are getting older.” “That line should be illegal.” “Come home.” He stared at the rain. Then he said the lie he had already prepared. “I can’t marry Lola.” A pause. “Why?” “Because I have a girlfriend.” Silence. Then— “You never mentioned one.” “She prefers privacy.” His mother sounded unconvinced. “What is her name?” “Bianca.” Another pause. “I see.” “Problem solved.” “No,” Celestina replied gently. “Come home anyway.” The call ended moments later. Gabriel stared at his phone. Then laughed under his breath. His mother was impossible. He rubbed his temple. A girlfriend. The lie had been spontaneous. But now he needed to make it real. He opened his contacts. Bianca Valdez. Socialite. Influencer. Occasional business collaborator. Beautiful enough to convince anyone. Practical enough not to confuse arrangement with affection. He pressed call. She answered on the third ring. “Well,” Bianca purred. “This is rare.” “I need a favor.” “That sounds dangerous.” “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” Silence. Then loud laughter. “Oh, this I need to hear.” Three hours away, in the quiet province of Tarlac, Lola Santillan sat beneath an acacia tree overlooking the Monteverde estate. The farm stretched endlessly beyond her. Rice fields. Sugar cane. Wind carrying the scent of earth and rain. The old hacienda stood behind her like a sleeping memory. She preferred the fields. They asked nothing. Her fingers traced the edge of a book resting on her lap. She had not read a single page. The sky looked bruised with gathering clouds. She loved this hour before rain. It reminded her of endings. And beginnings. At twenty-five, Lola had become a woman people spoke about before they met. Some admired her. Some envied her. Many desired her. She had long learned to ignore attention. Beauty lost novelty when one had lived enough lives. And she had. Eight before this one. The realization came when she was eighteen. A memory first. Then another. Then entire lifetimes unfolding inside her like forgotten rooms. She remembered deserts. Ships. War. Lovers. Cities long erased by history. In one life she had married for love. In another, for survival. In another, she had refused marriage entirely. She had known reckless passion. Crushing grief. The intoxicating thrill of being wanted. She had done nearly everything curiosity could invent. That was why this life felt different. She was no longer searching. Peace had become her rebellion. “Thinking again?” Lola looked up. Bella Reyes approached carrying iced coffee. Her closest friend wore oversized sunglasses and effortless confidence. “You look dramatic,” Bella said. “I am sitting.” “You are philosophically sitting.” Lola smiled. Bella handed her a drink. “So,” Bella said, lowering herself onto the grass, “I heard the prodigal son is returning.” Ah. Gabriel Monteverde. The man she had never met. Lola took a slow sip. “So I heard.” “You sound unimpressed.” “I am.” Bella grinned. “Come on. Tall. Wealthy. Handsome. International businessman.” “Those are brochure descriptions.” “You’re impossible.” Lola gazed toward the fields. Doña Celestina had already spoken to her. The marriage idea. The proposal before the proposal. And thankfully— Gabriel had refused. Apparently he already had a girlfriend. Lola nearly laughed when she learned it. Relief. Pure and uncomplicated. “I’m happy for him,” she said. Bella blinked. “For rejecting you?” “For being in love.” “You think he’s in love?” “No.” “Then?” Lola smiled faintly. “I think he is trying to escape.” And she understood that feeling too well. Bella nudged her. “You don’t even care?” Lola looked toward the distant horizon. “No.” Because she had spent life times learning something people rarely understood. Love was beautiful. But freedom— Freedom was sacred. The rain finally began. Soft. Steady. And somewhere far away, a man she had never seen was already planning to disappoint his family. Neither of them knew fate was preparing a much more inconvenient introduction. One that would happen not in the province— but beneath crystal chandeliers and candlelight in a fine dining restaurant in Manila. And neither Gabriel nor Lola had the slightest idea that the first battle between them would begin with a single glance. Or rather— with a woman who refused to look.