Confidential

Chapter Nine

By the time Sari finished her second cup of coffee that afternoon, she had officially run out of options.Her calls were being blocked. Her emails were ignored. And Matthew Elizalde was apparently too busy living his billionaire video game life to deal with the mess he’d made.

So she did the only logical thing left. She called Joan.

Joan de Vera had been Sari’s classmate in high school: loud, fearless, allergic to subtlety. While Sari buried herself in textbooks, Joan built a career in fashion and chaos, eventually becoming the fashion editor at Echelon, the glossy bible of the top one percent.

When Joan picked up, her voice practically sparkled through the phone.“Czarina Howard, my favorite ice queen in exile! I thought you were too busy delivering babies in London to remember us common folk.”

Sari pinched the bridge of her nose. “Joan, I need a favor.”

“Darling, you sound tense. Is this about the lawsuit? The one with the—”

“Yes,” Sari cut in. “That one. I need to talk to him. Matthew Elizalde.”

A dramatic gasp. “You mean Manila’s most toxic bachelor s***h media god? Oh sweetheart, you are playing a dangerous game.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Sari said. “His legal team blocked every possible line of communication.”

Joan hummed. “Typical Ardent Lex. Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”

Sari frowned. “Meaning?”

“If you can’t find him in his office,” Joan said, the smirk audible, “you’ll find him in his playground.”

“I’m not following.”

“Elysium Club,” Joan said. “BGC. He owns it. He’s there almost every weekend, sometimes midweek, depending on how much he wants to unwind. And trust me, darling, that man unwinds loudly.”

Sari hesitated. “Joan, I’m not going clubbing.”

“Oh, you’re not going clubbing,” Joan corrected. “You’re going fishing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

Sari groaned. “I am not dressing up just to—”

Joan cut across her laugh. “Listen, if you want the attention of a man like Matthew Elizalde, you cannot show up like you’re delivering a PowerPoint on ethics. You need to dress like temptation disguised as trouble.”

“Joan—”

“I’m serious, Sari. The man has a radar for beautiful disasters. Lucky for you, you’ve been repressing your hotness for too long. Time to weaponize it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m effective.”

Sari exhaled. “Fine. But I’m not going alone.”

Joan squealed. “Oh, I love this already. Who’s coming?”

“Mariella,” Sari said.

A pause. “Your lawyer?”

“Yes. She’s my voice of reason.”

Joan laughed so hard Sari had to hold the phone away. “Perfect. You, me, and brilliant Mariella David crashing the most exclusive club in the country. What could possibly go wrong?”

Sari muttered, “Everything,” but Joan was already planning shoes.

That night the plan came together faster than Sari wanted. Joan took charge of their presentation. Mariella arrived like someone emotionally blackmailed into glamour: hair slicked back, black dress sharp enough to pass as legal armor.

Sari stared at herself in the mirror. Joan had forced her into a deep red dress that clung in all the wrong, right, ways, and heels that felt like personal betrayal. Her hair, normally a severe ponytail, now fell in soft waves framing her face.

She looked unrecognizable.

Joan beamed from behind her. “Perfect. You look like sin on scholarship.”

Mariella arched an eyebrow. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Joan said cheerfully. “Subtlety does not exist in Elysium. It’s a temple to vanity.”

Sari sighed. “I cannot believe I am doing this.”

Mariella smirked. “If it helps, this might technically count as entrapment.”

“Comforting,” Sari said dryly.

Joan clapped. “Ladies, to the battlefield.”

Their car pulled up to Elysium. The bass thudded through the pavement. The club felt like a cathedral of sound and light: mirrored ceiling, neon splinters, a twelve-foot LED wall, ice swans, guarded stairs to private suites. Ultra-exclusive, ultra-loud.

The moment they stepped inside, the air changed: perfume, alcohol, the low hum of secrets.

Sari scanned the crowd. Executives, models, politicians, all pretending not to be seen. Somewhere among them was the man she’d come for.

Mariella leaned in. “You sure about this?”

“He dragged my family’s name through the mud,” Sari said, cool and steady. “He is going to look me in the eye when I tell him to stop.”

Joan sipped her cocktail and smirked. “Yes. Make him regret ignoring a woman in red.”

Sari smiled, faint. “You are impossible.”

Joan winked. “And you’re about to be unforgettable.”