Rule One: Don't Fall

Chapter 4

“COME ON, Lei!” Jesh whined, practically stomping behind me like a toddler in a tiangge. This girl’s been tailing me for a while now—like a shadow with a vendetta.

We’re inside my unit, and for the past ten minutes, Jesh has been buzzing in my ear like a persistent mosquito. All just to convince me to meet up with my so-called date. Ugh, I don’t get her. I already said no—firmly—especially after what happened last time. It was traumatizing! Like, "delete my number, block me on all socials" level traumatizing.

“Please? Come on? You still have four more dates lined up this week, girl,” she pleaded, clutching both my shoulders like she was trying to physically transfer her enthusiasm to me.

I scowled, hard. “Tsk. Why’d you even listen to Mama? You should’ve asked me first!” I said, throwing myself dramatically onto the couch like I was in a teleserye.

“Just go! You’ve still got two hours to prep,” she said, glancing at her watch like some overbooked PA.

I scoffed, full of disbelief. “Then why don’t you go instead? Since you’re the one being so pushy,” I said, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed, in full-on HR Director Leiria Cortes mode.

But Jesh just grinned, smug as ever. That all-knowing kind of smirk.

“Whatever. Still no. I’ve got a session tonight,” she added with a smug grin that already gave away the punchline.

“S*x session. Yeah, I figured,” I said, deadpan. Welcome to my life.

She just laughed. Loud and proud.

See what I mean? This girl’s something else. She’s out almost every night like it’s a full-time job. She’s taken her playgirl phase way too seriously—honestly, someone give her a trophy and a certificate of flirtation. Signed, sealed, delivered by yours truly, Leiria Cortes.

“Come on, get up! I’ll help you get ready,” she said, still laughing as she tugged at my hand like she was yanking a teddy bear.

I shot her a glare. “You, ha. I haven’t even gotten back at you for what you said earlier,” I warned, pinching her side just for spite.

“Ouch!”

“Is it a guy or a girl?” I asked after the pinch, eyebrows raised.

She smirked. “Both?”

“Shut it!” I said disgusted and pinched her again, harder this time. “Aren’t you scared? What if one of the people you're sleeping with has something?!”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so OA! It’s not every night, okay? And I always choose wisely when it comes to—”

I cut her off with a groan. “Heh! Shut up already! Fine, I’ll go!”

She practically dragged me to my room like I was a stubborn little sibling refusing to go to school, determined to find something—anything—for me to wear. I told her I just wanted something simple. Oversized T-shirt and pyjamas? That would've been my dream outfit. Comfortable. Non-threatening. Zero expectations.

But no, of course not. Jesh is the type who gets triggered by mismatched socks. So of course, she picked out the simplest—but still classy and elegant—dress from my closet like it was her mission in life.

She only grabbed one. No second-guessing. Wherever her hand stopped, that’s what she pulled out. Like a fashion oracle. And honestly? It looked really good on me. No try-on needed. No arguments from me. The dress just... worked. As if it had been waiting for its moment.

To be fair, most of the expensive dresses in my closet? Jesh bought them. Not because I couldn’t afford them—let’s be real—I just never saw the point. Spending that much money on fabric when I could invest in something actually useful? No, thank you.

But if I were to splurge on something pricey, no hesitation—footwear. I’m obsessed. Like, mildly possessed levels of obsession.

“Oh, you have this, huh?” she said, grinning wickedly as she spotted the Louboutins on my shelf like she’d just uncovered treasure. “This one. Wear it.” Without another word, she plucked the white Louboutin pumps from the shelf like they were the crown jewels.

“You think it looks okay?” I asked, eyeing myself in the mirror with one brow slightly raised.

She smiled at my reflection, that proud stylist glinted in her eye.

I was wearing a Chanel cream tweed mini dress with sleek black-trimmed edges and front pockets, hugged by a matching long-sleeve blazer. And on my feet? White Louboutin pumps that looked like they belonged in a glass display case.

“Of course! Do you even need makeup? Your bare face looks perfect with that outfit,” she said, still admiring me in the mirror. “You know what… if I were a man, I’d totally court you,” she added, throwing me a playful wink.

I gave her a look of pure disgust. “If you were a man, there’s no way I’d say yes. You’re already a playgirl—what more if you were a guy?” I shot back, arms crossed.

She burst out laughing. “Oh, gosh. You really don’t hold back, huh?”

“Stop it! You’re creeping me out,” I said, squinting at her. But the crazy girl just laughed harder.

“But seriously, you’re so pretty,” she said, smiling warmly as she adjusted the sleeve of my blazer, her touch gentle for once. “In case you didn’t know… you’re the most beautiful one in your department. I overheard some guys from other departments talking about you—how gorgeous you are. A lot of them have a crush on you, in case you’re still clueless.”

I rolled my eyes like I always did when she started this nonsense.

“Except, of course, for that part where they call you Ms. HRminator.” She winced slightly, like even she wasn’t proud of that nickname.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re scared I might back out.”

“Yes, a bit. But I’m serious! If you stood next to Jessica Alexander, I swear people might think you’re twins!”

I frowned, totally lost. “And who’s that supposed to be?” I asked, already half-expecting this Jessica girl to look like an ugly creature or some shapeshifter.

“Of course, you don’t know,” she said, shaking her head like she was silently judging me for being outdated. “Jessica is an English actress—and she’s really pretty. You look like her. The only difference is, you’ve got dimples.”

I ignored that part. I didn’t even know who this Jessica was—and honestly, I didn’t care. What mattered was that I believed what my mom said when she told me I was beautiful.

Of course! She’s my mom. She should say that. She used to be a pageant queen back in the day. So, yeah… beauty runs in the blood.

“And you do look like your mother,” Jesh said while brushing on some eyeshadow. “Do you have foreign blood?” she asked casually after a beat.

“Of course! She’s my mom. Gosh. Why’d you ask?” I said, eyes closed as she worked on them.

“Because you’ve got that sharp nose, thick lashes and brows, and your eyes… they’re almost hazel brown,” she said, analysing my face.

I smirked. “Well, my mom’s half-Filipino, half-chismosa.” Chismosa means someone who's gossip.

She lightly smacked me, gasping. “You’re so rude.”

“But seriously, Mama’s such a gossip. She even knows the gossip from the next neighborhood. She might as well run for kagawad. I don’t think she can survive a day without juicy updates from our neighbor, Aling Bebang,” I said, half-laughing.

“What’s a kaga—kagawag?” she asked, clearly struggling to say it right.

“Ask my mom,” I said, just before she smacked me again. But I just gave her a judging look. “Are you Filo or what? Kagawad is council. You know the Kapitan? Like the Barangay Captain? You know, the Captain—like the one in the plane who drive-drives the plane? Or in the ship, the one who drive-drives the—ouch!” She smacked me again! I’m seriously reporting her to Mama this time!

“Gosh. You never give a proper answer,” she muttered, rubbing her temple like I was her biggest life problem.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I replied, completely sarcastic.

“But seriously though. What are you? You’ve been my friend for almost half my life, and I’m still curious if you’re full Filipino. Miller and I actually placed bets on it.”

I sighed. There was no escaping this line of questioning. “Mom’s Filipino. Dad’s Filipino-Finnish and English.”

“I’m calling Miller later,” she said with that mischievous grin of hers.

They really bet on me, huh.

After she helped me get ready—from choosing the shoes to dabbing on just the right amount of makeup—I was finally on my way to the meeting place. I sat quietly in the back seat of their car. I told her I could drive myself, but she insisted. As in, insisted. So much so that I didn’t even try arguing anymore.

Besides, I felt a bit guilty when I asked the driver how long he’d been waiting and he just smiled politely like it was nothing.

A man in a black suit. He’s at Table 26, L’Ora Restaurant. Fine dining. Dim lighting. Expensive wine. All the usual intimidation starters. His name is Evander. That’s it. No last name.

I didn’t even think to ask.

Inside the car, I kept fidgeting with my fingers, my nerves catching up to me. I don’t usually get like this, but something about this setup had me spiraling. I finally unlocked my phone to check the time.

7:39 PM. Almost ten minutes late!

“Reservation, Madame?” a front-of-house staff member greeted me as I stepped inside the restaurant.

“Uh… Ms. Jesher Monville?” I asked, offering a polite smile that probably looked more forced than confident.

He smiled back. “This way, Madame.”

I followed behind him, trying to calm my nerves. But then he suddenly stopped in his tracks and pointed casually toward a table nearby.

“Table 25,” he said. He didn’t even bother walking me all the way.

At the far end, near the glass wall, I spotted a man seated alone. His back was turned to me. I gripped the strap of my saddle bag a little tighter. From this distance, I could already tell—broad shoulders. A sharp silhouette. He wore a tailored black suit that practically screamed “expensive.”

He sat there with an air of quiet confidence, totally unbothered. At one point, he glanced at his watch, and in that one simple movement, he gave away something. This was not a man used to being kept waiting. But he definitely looked like someone who’d made others wait before. Probably often. Probably with zero remorse. Tsk.

I took a slow breath and began walking toward the table. My heels clicked softly against the floor. I don’t usually get nervous during meetups like this—especially not ones Jesh sets up—but something about this one felt… different.

I mean, I have standards. Very high standards. I’m supposed to be the one who’s confidently out of everyone’s league.

But this guy? This guy is something else.

Damn. Sugar daddy vibes.

I slapped my mouth with my hand the second that thought hit me. What is wrong with me? I swear, my brain’s been completely corrupted—thanks to Jesh, Miller, and even my assistant, who’s slowly turning into them.

I took one last deep breath. The kind you take before diving into a shark-infested ocean.

“Hi…” I greeted sweetly, my voice a little breathy as I finally reached the table.

And then—

I almost gasped. I wasn’t ready.

My mouth went dry. That nose. Those brows. That mouth. That infuriatingly perfect jawline. And of course, that body. CHECK. CHECK. CHECK. Check. He just casually ticked every single box on my standards list like it was nothing. And let’s not even talk about his fashion sense. Was this man headed to a meeting, a secret agent mission, or a runway? Because honestly, I couldn’t tell.

He wore a sleek, all-black, three-piece suit tailored so well it could’ve been sculpted onto him. The lines. The fit. The quiet luxury. It was all there.

Who is this man?

Whose son is this?!