Chapter III
925 Words
Two Days Before the Wedding
“Urrrgh!” I groaned, slamming my bag on the office floor and kicking at nothing in particular.
How was it already nine in the evening, and I was just leaving work? Time had slipped away in a blur of deadlines, emails, and meetings I had lost myself in. Tomorrow I was supposed to be on leave, enjoying the calm before my wedding—but instead, here I was, still chained to my desk.
“Figures…” I muttered under my breath. “Mr. Estillore had to make things worse.”
Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Out of nowhere, he dumped part of his team’s workload onto mine. Couldn’t he see I was supposed to be off tomorrow? And it had nothing to do with work—he was annoyed that I was getting promoted and he wasn’t. Typical.
As I stormed toward the elevator, ready to escape the office, I froze. There he was. Mr. Estillore, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone I wanted to strangle.
“Heading home, Miss Hidalgo?” His voice had that irritatingly casual tone, like he hadn’t ruined my night.
“Acting innocent, I see,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes.
“What did I do now?” he asked, tilting his head as if he had no clue what havoc he’d caused.
“Explain why you dumped your work on my team! Don’t you know I’m supposed to be off tomorrow?” My voice cracked slightly, betraying my frustration.
“Oh… right. Sorry about that,” he said slowly, realization finally dawning. “Our team was short-staffed, so I asked Boss Jeffrey for help. Didn’t mean to make things difficult.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Sure, there was nothing I could do when the boss approved it—but it didn’t stop the irritation from gnawing at me.
“You know I’m on leave tomorrow, right?”
He hesitated. “Oh… right. The wedding.”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “So no more calls, no more tasks. I want to enjoy my last day as a bride without work interfering.”
He seemed caught off guard, but I ignored him. The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped in, leaving him standing there, speechless.
A Day Before the Wedding
Full days off were rare for me, so I made sure to wake up early—determined to recharge after a grueling week. Tomorrow was the wedding. I couldn’t afford to look tired or stressed, with dark circles under my eyes, when I walked down the aisle.
“Good morning!” I called cheerfully as I descended the stairs, greeted by the familiar warmth of my parents.
“Good morning, my baby girl,” Papa said, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Papa, don’t cry yet! The wedding’s tomorrow,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment.
They laughed, sharing a look full of love and pride. “We’re just so happy for you, Max. Feels like only yesterday we were carrying you around, and now tomorrow… you’ll be walking down the aisle.”
Watching them, a pang of hope and nostalgia hit me. Seven years had passed since Roman and I first met in college. We had faced struggles, doubts, and challenges, yet our bond had only grown stronger. Tomorrow marked the start of the life we had worked so hard to build together.
After breakfast, I instinctively checked my phone. Still nothing. No good-morning message from Roman. Seven years of tradition, and today—silence.
“Max?” Mama’s gentle voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Why the long face?”
“Roman didn’t say good morning,” I admitted, unable to hide the disappointment.
My parents chuckled softly. “Maybe he’s busy preparing for tomorrow,” Papa suggested. “Or maybe he’s trying to make you miss him… since you won’t see each other before the wedding.”
I drew in a deep breath, trying to shake the uneasy feeling crawling up my spine. Maybe I was overthinking. Surely, he was just preoccupied.
Determined to focus on myself, I headed to the salon. Manicure, pedicure, foot spa, hair treatment, facial—everything to make me feel radiant for my wedding day.
“What a beautiful bride!” my stylist exclaimed after hours of pampering.
“Exactly! This beauty is all for Roman,” I said with a playful grin.
They laughed with me, sharing in my excitement and showering me with congratulations. Years of loyalty had earned their warmth, and I cherished it.
Later, stepping out of the salon, I checked my phone again—maybe Roman had finally sent a message. Nothing.
Frustration prickled at me, and I dialed his number. Rings… then silence. The call abruptly ended.
“What the…?” I whispered, my heart racing. I tried again. Same result.
Desperation rising, I called Denise, Roman’s sister. Even she didn’t answer.
“Please… just be a surprise, Roman,” I murmured under my breath, anxiety twisting in my chest. “Don’t ruin everything now.”
Finally, the phone rang. It was him. Hands trembling, I answered.
“Ro—”
“Sorry, Max.” His voice was clipped, cold.
“What do—”
“I’m really sorry, Max.”
The line went dead before I could respond. Now his number read ‘cannot be reached.’
A chill ran down my spine. Something was wrong. And I had no idea what.
- Writer
